I wrote this for a history class. Those of you who know me well are very aware of my love for the midieval times. I like this story. ;D[glow=red,2,300]Living Without Life[/glow]
The woman is the gate to the devil’s domain. She is the path to wickedness, the sting of the serpent, and the vile taste of poison. She is a perilous object, never to be handled more than reason calls for. She is property, and property does not speak, nor does it have agency over what happens to it. These are facts that I had accepted long ago.
I stretched and looked out of my room’s window, situated by my bedside. The sun had just risen. Dawn had spread her slender fingers into the clouds, spilling the magical dye that can be found in all of those amazing creations. I always have loved rising at the same time as the sun. She seems to be the only one happy to see me, and the only one to give me a warm greeting every morning.
I sighed as a loud knocking came from my door. I decided that it was better to admit whoever it was rather than pretend to be asleep, so I called for the unseen person to enter, my back to the door.
“Good morning, Milady,” came a rather loud old woman’s voice. I recognized it immediately as the voice of my personal servant.
“Good morning, Theda,” I answered politely, turning to look at her. “What brings you to my chambers so early?”
“Your mother wishes to see you down in the dining hall, Milady.”
I made a sound of exasperation. “What does she want now? I just got up! Why would she want me to do something now, anyway? I have spinning to do! Beside that point, isn’t it reaping day today? She should be out helping Father, should she not?”
Theda shrugged and absently wiped some dust off of my bedside table with her ever-present cleaning rag. “Do not ask me questions that I cannot answer, Milady, and do not be so brazenly insolent toward your mother. She says that she wishes you down there at once, however.”
I looked down at the way I was dressed and tried to hide a smile. “Do you suppose that I can just answer her summons in my bedclothes?”
Theda’s worn face became even more wrinkled as she looked at me in disgust. “Lady Avelina, that is absolutely revolting. We’re going get you dressed, and quickly.” I was about to retort to her command, but she stopped me. “You may be my mistress, but remember that you are only fourteen years old, and I am near to my grave. You should try listening to me once in a while. It may keep you out of some trouble.” With that, Theda stepped toward me in a superior manner. I hurriedly took of my bedclothes and strode toward my closet, choosing one of my favorite dresses and holding it out to her.
“There, old woman. Are you happy now?”
She did not look at me as she took the dress and put it gently on the bed, grabbing my cursed corset from out of my closet and wrapping it about my slender waist. “I will not be happy until you get your young posterior downstairs where your mother is waiting.”
I chuckled to myself. Dear old Theda. She was forty-seven, an age that was hardly ever reached. She was treated like the mother of the servants and everyone liked her.
I breathed in sharply as she pulled the strings tighter and tighter. After about a minute, I could no longer stand it. “Theda, stop! I will do the rest myself!”
Theda ceased the torture in surprise. “Milady, that is unheard of!”
“Well, you are the first to hear it, then. I will finish it myself. Take my laundry and wash it instead of trying to slay me in my own bedchambers.”
Theda curtsied with a bewildered look on her face as she look my laundry basket and exited, going off to the river to do my bidding and wash my clothing.
It took me longer than I expected to situate my dress on my slender body properly, but I managed. I looked at my reflection in my looking-glass, which bore a mahogany frame engraved with beautiful carvings made only by the finest artisans. I was pleased with my appearance. I brushed my long black hair, not bothering to put it up. My face did not need any cosmetics, and my green eyes peered through my long lashes in a way that I was extremely satisfied with.
I cursed myself and swept out of my room, the sleeves of my dress touching the stone floor. A good woman must not subject herself to pride, nor must she sit in front of the mirror all day as I did.
I descended our large staircase and walked across the hall of our home to the dining hall’s wooden double-doors. My mother, nearly thirty years old, was sitting at the end of our long table waiting for me. Her head, as always, was held in an arrogant manner, her linen wimple covering her hair. She looked at me coolly as I walked toward her. When I reached the end of the mahogany table, I stood and simply waited for her to speak.
“Sit down, Avelina.” My mother did not sound very pleased to see me, but then, nobody ever was. I did what I was told and looked at her fashionably white face expectantly. Her blue eyes shone like those of a cat’s as she stared at me from across the food-laden table. “I have called you here to tell you that your hand has been asked for.”
My face turned nearly as white as my mother’s. Not another marriage. She and my father, Lord William, had promised me to a Lord Warin when I was nine years old. I was married when I was twelve in 1455. My husband had been twenty-one years my senior, and we did not love each other. But then, what did love have to do with marriage? Women are like nails; we are used to bind two families together. Luckily for me, I did not have to bear any of his children. Soon after our marriage, Warin went off to battle. The War of the Roses had begun that year, and he was one of the men who were utterly mad with vigor over the battles. I had to run the household in his absence without much knowledge on what exactly to do. When I received word that he had been killed three months later - and I know that it is sinful to think this - I was extremely relieved.
I was still very young, so it was decided that I was to live in my parents’ house and leave my estate to my elder brother, who was in need of a place to live. By giving him my estate, he would not have to pay to get one of his own.
My parents had not been pleased about the idea at all. An unmarried daughter is nothing but a burden to her family. Now, after two years of putting up with my presence, I suppose that my parents had finally found a new man to take me away.
Drawing in a calming breath as not to show my worry and discomfort to my mother, I finally opened my mouth to pose a question. “And shall I know my suitor? Or is it to be a secret, Mother?” When my mother raised her dark, well-trimmed eyebrow at me, I quickly revised the last word in my sentence to “My Lady.” I sometimes forgot that Mother did not want me as a daughter.
She relaxed, but kept her face expressionless. “It is Lord Geoffrey. We are very fortunate to find such a man for you, and for some reason he actually seems to be impressed with your looks and your attitude.”
Well, there was an insult if ever I did hear one. My eyes began to itch, and I fought to hold back the tears that were threatening to show my weakness. “Yes,” I said with counterfeit indifference, ignoring my mother’s biting remark. “It is quite a business transaction, is it not?”
My mother’s eyes glinted with anger, but she answered to my insolence with that same coolness that I had known all of my life. “Yes, I daresay that it will benefit our family beyond measure.”
I nodded mutely, and then I asked when I was to be married to Lord Geoffrey, who was thankfully only thirteen years older than I. She answered that my fate was to be sealed three days hence. I groaned inwardly, but I nodded again and asked to be excused. She let me leave and I made my way up the stairs to my chambers. When I reached it, I wilted onto my soft bed and let the dam behind my green eyes break, letting the flood of tears out. I wept silently but harshly, my fourteen-year-old body wracking with the sobs. At least Lord Geoffrey was nearer my age and somewhat handsome. Mother said he even had a liking for me. What was I crying for? I could get away from my unloving family; I would be married to someone who cared at least a little bit and I would be well-off. Geoffrey was quite wealthy. Yet I did not want it. I felt that I should have a different way of living. My whole mission in life was to be married, bear children and be silent, as was every woman’s in this day and age.
Three days later, my young body was adorned with an elegant white wedding gown and our family’s most expensive jewels, which demonstrated our wealth to everyone present. My raven-colored hair was up once again in a headdress, something I did not have to wear since my last marriage. I held the hand of Lord Geoffrey loosely in my own. He was tall, handsome, and he had the decency to compliment me the night before when our families had met.
Yet I did not want to marry him. I knew that did not make a difference, however, and I should simply accept my fate as a woman. I was worthless, as was every other woman on the face of the earth. I lived only to produce Geoffrey’s heirs and to obey. I should have been thankful that I was marrying this man and not marrying another like my late husband or some of the other men I knew who treated their wives like slaves.
The preacher looked into my young face and asked if I took Geoffrey as my husband.
The words “I do” escaped my lips, even as my mind screamed, “I do not!” But what did that matter? I was a woman, and I was to serve this man with my life and obey every word he spoke to me, living a life that was not my own to live. I was nothing but a woman... a woman at fourteen years old.
Nobody will mark my name under the year 1457. Nobody will care that I lived. I am a wealthy woman, but there is no way that I will be able to earn my place in the world as anything but Lord Geoffrey’s wife. My husband may rise to fame and fortune, but I will always be invisible. I am simply just another worthless statue in the garden of women; a statue that is only worth a glance to the eyes of men.