William did not sleep in my bed that night but, despite my entreaties, curled up in his cloak and slept on the floor like a dog.
He was gone when I woke at dawn and Marie Helene came to rouse me. “My lady, I have something to confound them.”
I saw the bladder of pig’s blood hidden under her cloak, and I laughed.
“Lady,” she hissed. “Be still. The monks will hear.”
I stifled my laughter with difficulty and helped her to spread a little false blood on the cold sheets of my marriage bed. Marie Helene had expected the sheets to be mussed, and my husband’s bolster to have been dented with the weight of his head.
She saw in a moment that I had spent the night alone. I could not speak of it, even to her. She knew me well, even after all those years, and did not question me.
“They will think
