Free The Breath of Peace by Penelope Wilcock

set about the task of living with him.’
    With a scrape of his chair on the stone flags of the floor, the unexpected harsh noise of it startling her, he got to his feet then.
    â€˜I’ll get the wood in. And I think, while the weather’s cold and it keeps the stink in check, I’ll dig out the night soil from the gong, so if you feel the need to relieve yourself, have pity, won’t you? And it’s market day. I promised I’d go for some things, if you have a list.’
    â€˜Is that it?’ she cried after him as he picked up the crockery and carried it through to the sink. ‘Is a woman’s word not worth waiting for?’
    He stopped. The sudden grin that lit his face as he turned back to her took her completely by surprise. ‘Good alliteration!’ he said.
    She stared at him blankly. ‘What?’
    â€˜Aye, and that.’
    â€˜William, will you –’
    Now he was laughing. He left the bowls and came back to the table, sat down opposite her again.
    â€˜Well, O wise one? What word will work as a weapon to wield to win this William into ways worthier than those in which his wickedness is wont to wend?’
    She stared at him. ‘You’re impossible! You’re just impossible!’
    â€˜What?’ he said. ‘Why?’ He shook his head, laughing, reaching his hand across the table to her. ‘You can have your say! For sure you can have your say. But first, dearest, will you hear this?’ His gaze met hers, serious again. ‘You and I, we have struck sparks against each other from the very first meeting. I liked the challenge of it – it amused me. And I still… well… I love your spirit, I love the bite of your wit. I love that you see through me and flick aside my every pretension. “Honour has not been your strongest suit,” aye, indeed! You don’t let me get away with anything. I don’t always enjoy it while it’s happening to me, but I love you for it.
    â€˜But your contempt wears me down, makes me less of a man. It diminishes me. When you call me a fool and an idiot, when you sneer at the occupation of my hands, I hate that. I have to reach deep within myself to try and remember that whatever the world thinks of me and whatever you think, Christ does not hold me in contempt. He may not respect my choices or admire my character, but he accepts me. He does not scorn me. I hold on to that when it feels as though everything else is slipping, and I am losing all sense of myself as ever being able to be worth anything to anyone. I have to reach way down inside to find that hope to hold on to.
    â€˜And this ceaseless bickering wears me down. It’s carping; it’s not wit, it’s not fun. When I cross the threshold of our home, for mercy’s sake, this should feel like a sanctuary. I should not be bracing myself for whatever might hit me this time – what reprimand, what fault exposed. As I open the door, I take a quick glance at your face to see if I must expect trouble. Sometimes all is well. Sometimes my heart sinks and I think, oh save us, what have I done wrong now? Heaven knows I’m familiar enough with that kind of home: but I’ve always cherished a dream it doesn’t have to be this way. I’m sick of it, Madeleine. I hate it. We are little more than a year married, and I hate it already. This is rougher than playing. I’m always having to defend myself against you… and I can’t, not really. You get through all my defences. Every spear you throw finds the softest place in my belly and goes right in. Can’t we call a truce? Can’t we be friends, you and I, as well as lovers? I know what I am, all too well; might you be willing to be kind to me, and overlook some of it in mercy? God knows I need it! And I’m sorry, for I said I would let you speak and all I’ve done is go on even more myself. I’ll shut up now.’
    He kept his fingers