The Story of Silence Read online

  ‘You’ve been to Tintagel?’

  ‘Of course!’ Young Wendell said, crinkling his nose. ‘Haven’t you?’

  ‘My father, the earl, comes to visit Ringmar every year,’ Silence said. He drew himself up straight, with his shoulders back. Something funny was fluttering in his chest and throat. An unpleasant tickle, as if he would cough.

  ‘My father’s going to bring me to court soon. I’ll be a page at first, but then I’ll be a squire. Our master-at-arms has been training me already.’

  Silence finished checking the hound’s paws and straightened up. ‘I’ve been training too, with the seneschal.’

  Wendell laughed. ‘That old man? What’s he been teaching you? How to train a dog? Or how to dress a deer?’

  In fact, the seneschal had taught Silence both of these things, years ago. But the flutter in his chest was going faster now, and he lifted his chin and said, ‘He’s teaching me the sword, of course.’

  Wendell laughed so loudly that the hounds started barking and then baying, setting each other off, and Silence moved through the pens, soothing and shushing, then pushed the still-laughing Wendell out into the yard. The boy caught his breath and said, ‘Let’s see what you know. You have equipment to spar with, don’t you?’

  Silence felt the flutter in his throat thicken and he swallowed hard. ‘I have a practice sword,’ he said. And he strode across the yard to the stables where he kept his sword, and took it down from its spot on the wall.

  ‘That’s not a sword,’ Wendell scoffed. ‘That’s a stick.’

  ‘It’s a sword. I helped to carve it.’

  ‘I have a real practice sword. A waster,’ Wendell said. ‘And a padded jacket and a shield, and our master-at-arms says that I will be the best-prepared page at Tintagel.’ He snatched the wooden sword from Silence and marched out to the yard. Only a spot of damp darkness marked where the hart had been. ‘I’ve learned the first forms already.’ Young Wendell hefted the sword. ‘This is much too light. No balance.’

  Silence found that he needed to swallow again as he watched Wendell step and lunge and cut. Heat rose up his neck, though the day was not particularly warm. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, foot to foot, as Wendell did a neat sidestep, and a low cut, and spun about to deliver a blow. ‘Well?’ the boy said, tossing Silence the sword (really, Silence saw now, it was no more than a stick). ‘Let’s see what you know.’

  Silence said a quiet prayer to St George and thought of the knight in the tapestry. Straight back, noble gaze. He raised the sword as the seneschal had taught him and summoned up his imagined enemy. A sinister knight, like Gawain encountered, all in black armour. Silence imagined the weight of those metal plates, the straps tight around his chest and arms. And despite the weight – which would be nothing to a knight – he would be ready to face anything, to save fair damsels and serve the king. And Silence parried and slashed and leapt and … Wendell began to laugh again. ‘What is that nonsense? You don’t know anything.’

  ‘I do so. I know the knightly virtues and …’

  ‘Virtues! You don’t know the first thing about wielding a real weapon.’ And Wendell tried again to snatch the sword from Silence. But this time Silence didn’t release his grip and soon the two were tugging back and forth. Wendell gave a mighty wrench and Silence spilled forward, relinquishing his grasp on the wood, and instead grabbing Wendell about the middle and trying to wrestle him to the ground. But Wendell wriggled away easily and threw a punch; Silence ducked and, knightly valour be damned, kicked Wendell hard in the shins. The boy howled, then grabbed Silence and threw him easily to the ground and sat on top of him.

  ‘Boys! Boys!’ The seneschal’s voice rang out. Silence felt a rough hand grab his shoulder and pull him up. He held the two of them apart and Silence stood there panting, his face hot and dusty. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and he blinked them back. ‘What’s the matter now? You ought to be helping with the horses …’

  ‘That’s a groom’s job,’ Wendell sulked.

  Lord Wendell came around the corner of the stables. ‘Fighting with our host? For shame. Come with me, now, and help with the hart. We’ll soon need to be on our way.’

  ‘You should help, too, Silence,’ the seneschal said, releasing his grip on Silence’s shoulder, as the groom led out the cart horses.

  Silence shook his head, turned his back on the seneschal, and walked around the back of Ringmar. The funny thick feeling in his throat had returned and he thought he might walk through Cook’s gardens until it went away. But as he rounded the corner, he saw Griselle sitting with the lady and her daughter, as well as one of Lord Wendell’s servants, who played a flute.

  When Griselle saw him she jumped to her feet. ‘What in the name of the Good Lord have you been doing?’ She bustled over and began to brush at his jacket. He tried to fend her off, but it was no use. The dust flew from his clothes and hair. ‘Were you rolling in the dirt?’

  ‘Oh, Griselle,’ Lady Wendell said. ‘You know boys, they’re always tussling and wrestling and fighting …’

  Griselle gave him an odd look and pressed her lips together. Silence settled on a wooden bench in the garden, across from the flute-playing servant. Griselle and the lady resumed their conversation while the little girl sat primly beside her mother, swinging her feet.

  ‘Silence, dear,’ said Griselle. ‘Don’t you want to go off with Young Wendell? The lord will soon need to depart, so you should enjoy …’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said stiffly. ‘I would rather sit here and enjoy the music.’ And so he did, until the cart was loaded and the horses were readied and Lord Wendell came to lead his wife and daughter to their mount.

  Silence stood beside Griselle and bade Lord Wendell farewell and watched as the knot of horses disappeared past the curve in the track, the cartwheels squeaking.

  Then he rounded on Griselle. ‘When will I go to court?’

  ‘When your father the earl summons you,’ Griselle snapped. ‘Go inside, it looks like rain.’ She shooed him towards Ringmar.

  ‘But Wendell said he was going to Tintagel to be a page and then a squire. Why is he permitted to go but I can not?’ He felt his neck and then his cheeks flush once again, the heat creeping up, even though they had entered the cool darkness of the hall. ‘Why does he have a man-at-arms to train him, a real knight, but I’m stuck here in the woods?’

  ‘Now!’ Griselle said sharply. ‘That’s enough. The earl has the final say in these matters, and the seneschal is a good man, and you ought to be grateful for the freedom you have. Up to the chamber and no more nonsense from you!’

  Silence was taken aback, for Griselle was normally most kind and patient, but still, the heat had risen in him and his pulse pounded in his ears, so though he stomped towards the stairs as she had ordered him, he called over his shoulder, ‘But why? Why can’t I go to court?’

  The seneschal, beard dripping from the rain outside, stood by the hall’s back door, near the foot of the stairs, and put out a hand to arrest Silence, holding him gently by the shoulder. He shook his head, as a dog would, and droplets went flying. ‘My boy,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you why. I can’t bear it: I’ll tell you if no one else will. My boy, you are a girl.’

  ‘Geoffrey!’ Griselle cried.

  The seneschal still held Silence’s shoulder (which was good: without that steadying hand, Silence felt as if he might collapse) and he gave a little squeeze. ‘Good lady,’ the seneschal said to Griselle, ‘it is high time he understands. Did you not see him at play with Young Wendell? It is all very well for him to be raised far away from others and appear to be a boy, but if he is to be a boy in the world, then he must learn how to overcome his Nature. He must not simply look like a boy, but actually be one.’

  ‘That is why he must stay here,’ Griselle responded; she crossed the hall and stood on the other side of Silence, resting a hand on his other shoulder. He felt quite like a nut caught in a cracker. ‘It was a mistake to allow Lord Wend
ell to bring his son. Nature cannot be denied, but Silence can be hidden.’

  The seneschal cocked his head to one side, appraising Griselle, before saying, ‘He will have to enter the world at some time, good lady. I know the earl denies this and so you do. But the day will come when he will have to leave Ringmar, and he must be prepared.’

  Silence shrugged his shoulders, freeing himself of their grips. ‘Will someone,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice level, ‘please explain what you are talking about?’

  And so the seneschal bellowed that they were not to be disturbed until dinner was ready and they sat at the great wooden table beneath the tapestries while the firelight flickered and with many interruptions and contestations and not a few disputes, they managed to communicate a mangled version of the twin girls and the earls. The seneschal blamed the twins’ father for being a naïve fool. Griselle blamed the husbands for their greed, and the twins for choosing such ninnies for husbands. The seneschal took offence at this, as he held that the twins were angels. The things they agreed on were: first, that King Evan was of questionable intelligence and unquestionable avarice. Second, that after avarice, lust was the king’s great weakness and, if he could have, King Evan would have remedied the situation by marrying both of the twins himself. Third, that this situation was the root of Silence’s problem.

  ‘But how does this make me a girl?’ Silence demanded.

  ‘This is what makes you a boy,’ Griselle said. ‘For you see, you are a girl. That’s Nature. This law, though, forced your father to make you into a boy.’ Griselle pulled her embroidery hoop from her basket. ‘You must keep your Nature a secret, never telling anyone. There are only a few of us who know. Your father, Geoffrey, me, and now you.’

  ‘And you must not just act and move and speak like a boy, but you must know yourself to be one. It cannot just be pretence and pretend,’ said the seneschal.

  ‘Good,’ Silence said. ‘I don’t want to be a girl.’

  The seneschal clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘That’s right, lad. Come now, it must be time for dinner.’

  He stood and crossed over to the back door and hollered out through the drizzle for Cook to ready the meal. And Cook yelled back that he should fetch a few platters himself, and Silence and Griselle went over to help and as they stepped out into the pattering rain Silence looked at the seneschal and then at Griselle and said, ‘I have a question. Just what is it that makes a girl a girl and a boy a boy?’

  Cook, who stood at the door of the kitchens, bellowed with laughter when she heard this. ‘Oh-ho! This one is starting to grow up. And before you know it, I’ll be cooking dinners for the ladies he’ll be a-courting.’ She reached out and pinched Silence’s cheek, giving it a shake.

  ‘I expect that’ll be a while yet in coming,’ Griselle said, her voice as dry as kindling. She picked up a pitcher of cider in one hand, a basket of bread in the other and dashed back to the hall. The kitchen steamed and smoked; the hindquarters of the hart roasted on a spit in front of the massive hearth, and Silence followed Cook over. ‘Hold that platter,’ she said and turned the spit so that the brown-roasted side faced out. With careful cuts of the knife, she sliced neat rounds of flesh; flick, flick, they fell right onto the serving plate, until he could barely hold the platter with both hands. Then she gestured with the knife, pointing it right at him. ‘You listen to me, Master Silence. Too many men are rogues. They act gallant in public, but in private …’ The seneschal, who had been ladling dripping into a pitcher, opened his mouth to intervene, but Cook had gained momentum, like a stone rolling downhill, and barrelled on. ‘Don’t ever lay a hand on a serving maid. Even if she winks at you. It’s your coin she wants, not your touch. Don’t spend all your time staring at a woman’s chest. Try her eyes once in a while. Try learning her name before you stick your …’

  ‘That’s enough, then,’ the seneschal said. ‘We’ll teach him …’

  Cook ignored him and stabbed the air in front of Silence. ‘Remember – the babe that follows is half yours.’ She grabbed the ladle from the seneschal and spooned dripping over the haunch. ‘Go on, then. Eat.’

  They walked as fast as they could through the rain, and the seneschal murmured to Silence, ‘Cook has four daughters. All married now, with babies of their own, but not the easiest lot in life.’

  They set the platter and the pitcher on the table and Griselle poured mugs of cider for each of them.

  ‘I don’t understand about babies. And you still haven’t answered my question.’ Silence took out his belt knife and cut into the venison; the meat steamed and dripped juices as he raised it to his mouth. Over his head, Griselle and the seneschal exchanged a glance, Griselle’s eyes bulging with alarm. You tell him! the seneschal mouthed. She shook her head. You!

  Silence set his knife down and reached for his cider, looking between the two adults.

  ‘God made people, man and woman. Adam and Eve,’ Griselle began. ‘And God made women so they could bear children. And men so they could give their seed to make those children.’

  ‘Seeds?’ Silence said. ‘Like in an apple?’

  ‘Rather,’ Griselle said, just as the seneschal said, ‘Not at all.’ She widened her eyes at him, and he looked down at his plate, then cut into the venison, taking a hearty bite and starting to chew noisily.

  ‘When a man and a woman are married, it is their duty to make children. And a man and a woman have different roles to play in making children.’ Griselle paused. ‘The woman must receive the man’s seed and the man must give it. And the woman must nourish the child, first in her womb and then at her breast.’

  Silence nodded. ‘That’s why ladies have bosoms.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Griselle with some relief.

  ‘And since I don’t have a bosom, I am not a lady.’

  ‘When girls are young, they have no bosoms. But as they grow, they flower. Women are, by Nature, cold and damp, and when they start to ripen, when their bud opens, they rid themselves of excess dampness through monthly courses. And at this time, their bosom begins to swell and grow.’

  ‘It sounds terrible,’ said Silence. ‘What are courses?’

  ‘The womb swells and readies itself for a man’s seed. And if that seed doesn’t land, then the womb sheds its excess and a woman bleeds it out. That is a monthly course.’

  ‘Blood? Bleeding? Every month?’

  ‘It will happen to you,’ Griselle said gently. ‘And that is why you must stay at Ringmar. And it isn’t terrible.’ She reached out and patted his hand. ‘It can be a wonderful thing. But you must be known as a boy, though by Nature you are a girl.’

  Silence speared another piece of venison with his knife and cut it into strips. He felt Mooch rubbing against his shins and was careful to drop a piece of meat as he lifted it towards his mouth. He sopped up some dripping with a piece of bread and considered all that Griselle had said. He looked at her bosom, hidden beneath the dark blue wool of her dress. He looked at the seneschal’s beard, which had a trickle of gravy running down it. He could not imagine he would become either of these things. ‘I still don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘Well now,’ the seneschal said, wiping his beard and taking a swig of cider. ‘Let’s visit the hounds and see if we can clear matters up. C’mon, boy.’ He stood and Silence followed him out of the hall. The rain had quit its pattering and now hung in misty clumps. ‘Griselle was talking about buds and flowers, but you’ll see it plain enough. One of the greyhounds is in heat. That’s the same as a girl flowering into a lady, see?’ He pushed open the door to the kennels and the musty smell of dogs and straw greeted them. Silence breathed deeply; it was a smell he loved, a smell of warmth and comfort. As the seneschal lit a torch, Silence leaned over one of the pens and scratched at a hound’s ears.

  The torch cast odd shadows against the wall and the seneschal led them through the pens to the back of the kennel. Dogs yipped and whined and the seneschal quieted them, tossing slices of the hart’s hooves into th
e pens. Soon all Silence could hear was gnawing. Then, at the back of the kennel, a whimpering and whining plaintive sound made the hairs on his neck stand up. ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  ‘That’s the bit … the lady dog,’ the seneschal said. He held up the torch and peered down at Silence. ‘I want to make things perfectly clear. Griselle may talk of flowers and seed, but we have bodies, you and I, and they aren’t that much different from a dog’s. Look here.’ He stepped into the pen and the torchlight illuminated a greyhound, lithe body, dainty feet, eyes sparkling. It whined and growled as the seneschal came near. ‘Hold the torch.’ He passed that to Silence, who held it aloft; his heart thumped loudly. This was not normally how they handled the dogs. Normally they whistled or snapped on leads and collars and blew a horn to summon them. But now the seneschal put one hand on the dog’s neck and with the other lifted the dog’s long tail. ‘Take a good look. This is a lady dog. See?’ Silence did see.

  The seneschal extinguished the torch and set it in a bracket before stepping out into the night-filled yard. ‘What you should do,’ the seneschal said as they crossed the yard towards Ringmar, ‘is think about your own body. What is between your legs, eh?’

  The suggestion stopped Silence abruptly. The seneschal clapped him on the back. ‘But don’t let it worry you too much, lad. So long as you wear leggings, you’ve nothing much to worry about.’

  It seemed to Silence that he did. He had to worry about a bosom suddenly growing on his chest. He had to worry about the fact that he might abruptly blossom into a flower. But no one was coming to put him in a dress. Everyone was telling him that he was a boy. He paused as he reached the door to Ringmar, looking up at the rain-dampened stone. Would this be the only hall he ever knew? ‘But can I be a knight?’ he asked quietly. It was all he had ever wanted, the only story that had ever mattered to him.

  ‘That’s not for me to say,’ the seneschal said. ‘But and if it were, I’d say you could be. And a damn good knight at that.’