Introduction

“Watermark is a powerful novel about the destructive forces unleashed by ignorance and superstition.  Readers will care deeply for the courageous Auda.”
—New York Times bestselling author Sharon Kay Penman< ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 

Watermark is a magnificent debut by Vanitha Sankaran—an atmospheric and compelling novel about the search for identity, the power of self-expression, and value of the written word, set during the dark days of the Inquisition in Medieval France. Readers who were captivated by The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease or Geraldine Brooks’s People of the Book will be enthralled by this thrilling journey to a colorful and dangerous past.

Editorial Review

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Excerpt

NARBONNE, FRANCE

INTRODUCTION – WINTER 1300

CHAPTER 1

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Elena clutched her distended belly and tried not to cry out. A cold

winter draft blew through crevices in the cottage’s half-timbered walls. Yet

rivulets of sweat still ran down the sides of her face. Propped in a corner,

straddling a hay bale, she crossed her arms over the life growing inside her.

“Not y-yet,” she hiccupped amid the fierce pain cramping her belly.

She tilted her head back to stop her tears from falling and the salty moisture

dripped into her throat. Her gaze rested on the wildflowers drying upside

down in the corner. An old tune flitted through her head, a folksong her own

mother had taught her, the lyrics long forgotten. In a broken voice, she

hummed the melody.

Another sharp pang shot though her and she doubled over with a low

cry. Warm liquid surged between her legs. She reached to feel the sticky

wetness: thick dark blood. She looked across the room, over the floor of withered rushes and past the hearth to the single plank of wood that

served as supper table, kitchen lath, and her husband Martin’s workbench.

A near-empty flagon of wine rested beside his paper vat.

Knocking her head back against the wall, she cried out for him. He

had left hours earlier with their daughter, Poncia, to find the midwife. Why

hadn’t they returned?

The door flung open and an elderly woman stumbled through on thick

legs and swollen knees. Not the midwife but someone else. Biatris, the

healer. Had Martin brought her? She’d lost track of everything but the pain.

The woman directed her assistant, Onors, to build up the dwindled

fire, then hovered over Elena. The healer looked like a leathery vegetable,

weathered and withered, with a head of white curls wiry like the hairs of an

old onion.

Elena whimpered and searched for her husband. She found him

standing in the shadows, holding their daughter. Fear shone in his dark eyes.

She tried to smile. He shook his head only once. Onors trundled him

outside.

Elena keened a low cry after him. Another wave of birthing blood

coursed onto the linen blanket tucked between her legs. The bleeding had to

stop, but how? She curled her head over her stomach.

“Rest easy,” Biatris said. She reached out to steady Elena, then

glanced at her apprentice. “We need a compress of cinquefoil root to slow

the bleeding. Look in the kitchen garden.”

The young girl cast Biatris a grateful look and slipped outside. A cold

winter gust blew through the rickety cottage and the door slammed shut.

Elena gasped again, arms encircling her belly. Her body pushed out globs of

half-clotted blood.

The healer shoved a cup of wine at Elena. She choked on the bitter

poppy-laced drink.

Its warmth slid down her throat and seeped into her veins, limbs, belly, and

head. Soon a slow drowse tugged at her mind. The upsurge of pain receded

into a dull ache and then into nothing. Her fingers relaxed and dropped the

cup. She blinked, her vision murky, her eyelids weighted down.

Biatris stumbled among the stools and barrels cluttering the dim oneroom

home. Elena tossed her head back and forth. Oh, Martin would be

angry, the way the woman pushed aside his tools, quills, and ink that lay

scattered on the supper board.

Another jolt of pain knifed through her belly. Elena stifled a gasp and

breathed in and out to calm herself.

“That’s it, loosen the muscles,” the healer said, picking up Elena’s

cup. She waddled to the table and washed her hands in the basin of river

water, then dried each finger.

A low moan escaped Elena’s lips. Pangs of homesickness and pain

mingled together. “Mare,” she sobbed. But her mother wasn’t there. Elena

was alone, without mother, aunts, or cousins who could see her through this

birth. Surely there would have been work enough for Martin in the family

paper mill back home. Why had they ever left? A forlorn sadness gurgled

through her lips. Her limbs slackened.

Biatris passed a full cup of the drugged wine back to her, then lowered

herself beside the makeshift seat of hay.

Elena blinked back tears and swallowed the draught. She felt cold,

too cold, her only remaining warmth focused in the lump of her belly. The

metallic stench of blood gagged in her throat. She wheezed. Why was it so

hard to breathe?

“My child. My babe,” she said in a fading whisper. She dropped the

cup. Dry tongue licked dry lips. Would her babe survive? How, motherless

in this world? She focused on the healer, who reached to touch her clammy

forehead and smooth her sweat-soaked hair. “Please.”

Biatris gripped her hand and leaned in. “The Church permits us only

to cut babes from dead wombs.” Her gaze darted to the door through which

the young assistant had disappeared. “By then it may be too late.” She

stared into Elena’s eyes.

What had she said – dead wombs, dead babes? Elena stared back,

comprehension dawning. She placed her hands on either side of her belly

and felt the receding warmth.

“Cut my babe free,” she said in a whisper. Her breath burbled into a

sob. Who would look out for her children, both of them? She struggled to

remember what her daughter looked like.

The healer looked at her. “No time to call for a priest, but I bless you

in God’s name. He will understand.”

Struggling to her feet, the healer reached for her bag and uncorked a

clay bottle. She poured a thick white salve on Elena’s belly and rubbed the

numbing balm in circles into her cold skin.

“Prepare yourself,” she said and shoved a wooden stick between

Elena’s teeth. Her hand curved around the haft of her large knife. She

placed the tip of the blade on Elena’s pregnant bulge and drew in her breath.

Exhaling, she pushed the knife in hard.

Elena screamed, a shrill cry that split the bare room. The stick slipped

from her mouth and fell onto the straw. The woman was killing her – the

babe too? The healer pulled the blade through her thick flesh. Elena

screamed again. Her stomach tore apart like a split gourd. She kicked,

trying to escape the agony.

The healer broke through her belly and reached into her womb. Elena

thrashed, shrieking. Biatris pressed on her abdomen and drew the child out,

guiding its head and shoulders into the cold air. The infant’s scream rang

out.

Elena sobbed. Her babe lived.

In the background, the healer fussed over the child, cleaning the

mucous from its eyes, nose and mouth. Elena closed her eyes and drew in

ragged breaths.

But then Biatris gasped. “My God.”

Elena turned her pain-swollen gaze to her babe. Another girl? A

boy? “Alive?”

“Your babe has will to live,” the healer said, though Elena heard

reluctance in her voice.

Biatris brought the infant close but Elena couldn’t see, could only feel

its slimy skin stick to hers. She tried to smile, but her lips felt heavy and

curved downward.

“My babe,” she said. Her fingers swiped at the air and fell. The room

grew dimmer. A tune – her babe needed a tune. Again her mother’s song

ran through her head; with cracked sobs, Elena tried to hum along. A few

words surfaced in her hazy memory.

Love, my love, how can a mortal be

So pure, and innocent as is she.

Dressed in beauty, will and God’s grace

What wonders will she see?

Such wonders you will see, she thought to her child, and closed her

eyes. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the publisher:

1. Elena, Auda's mother, is often talked about in terms of her sacrifice. How did this sacrifice affect Auda? How is this sacrifice similar and different from the story of the pelican told by the Archbishop?

2. Auda suffered two traumas at birth—her albinism and the loss of her tongue. Which experience shaped her more?

3. How does Auda use her other senses and abilities to make up for her lack of voice?

4. Paper is discussed as a way to share knowledge among all people, thus equalizing everyone. Do you agree with this premise? Why or why not?

5. How is writing different from speech, both in terms of what and how something is communicated? Is there an inherent danger in writing, and in making that ability accessible to people of all backgrounds? Would the Inquisitors Manual be more or less fearsome if it were transmitted by the spoken rather than the written word?

6. What about the Good Men's philosophy cares the Church? How do piety and fear work against each other?

7. Why does Martin give the scribing job to Auda? What are his hopes for her?

8. Medieval beauty and love were spoken of both in terms of body and spirit. How do these concepts apply to Auda and Poncia? How do they apply to women today?

9. Watermarks were thought to be a way for heretics and infidels to communicate with each other. How do you think people might have used watermarks, and their designs, to communicate? Why is this different than a baker's mark, or other guild sign?

10. Medieval women often married for security rather than for love. Did Auda make the right choice in rejecting Edouard? How might her life have been different had she married him?

11. How does the Vicomtesse become a mother figure to Auda? Is she the type of mother Auda wished for? How does she displace or augment Poncia as a caretaker?

12. As Auda finds new freedom in her job as a scribe, Poncia retreats into her marriage and her faith. What events in Poncia's life cause this retreat? How is Poncia's shuttered life similar and different than Auda's childhood?

13. What does the Vicomte see in Auda? What does Jaime? How do the attentions of these men compare? Do they fall into the category of courtly love?

14. How is life at the Palace different from Auda's previous life? Was it a wise decision to send her to a place of such prominence?

15. Both Auda and Jaime seem to view the world differently than most others. How do they view each other?

16. The transition between the spoken and written word also brought with it ideas of single authorship, accountability and plagiarism. How does storytelling written by one author compare with the traditions of oral storytelling by multiple performers?

17. Courtly love seems to have different definitions according to men versus women. What are these differences? How do they compare to modern day attitudes from both genders?

18. It is easy to see why cheap paper may have had appeal for heretics wishing to share their ideas with many. Who else might have been attracted by paper? How could the Church have used paper to Her benefit?

19. Sacrifice is touted as a method of asking for something one wants in this book. What sacrifices have each of the characters made, and for what?

20. Auda's verses portray men of different stations, including those of the Church, as villains and predators. How are these views supported by her own experiences? How much of an influence does Jaime's past have on her?

21. What significance does Auda's gift of a watermark to her father have?

22. When Auda decides to trade her body for the Vicomte's help, whom does she betray the most—the Vicomte, the Vicomtesse, her imprisoned father, Jaime, or herself?

23. Rene appears to have a deep effect on Auda. How do his actions impact her choices later?

24. The death of Martin and Auda's torture can be blamed on many people. How did each character's actions get them to this point? Are any of them truly guilty or truly innocent?

25. How does Auda learn that men and women can be equal? How does she use this philosophy?

26. Both the Archbishop and the Vicomte find themselves doing the unthinkable in favor of a larger good. Does the Inquisitor fit into this category as well? Why or why not?

27. The relationship between Auda and Poncia is close throughout the book. What did each sister expect of the other? How were these expectations met or disregarded?

28. Given Jaime's hatred for the Church and Auda's traumatic experience with Inquisitor, was it a surprise the couple ended up at a monastery? Does this mark a new life and change in attitudes for them?

29. Watermarks, and being marked by water, are discussed through the book. How do these concepts apply to each character?

30. What is the nature of true love? Do any of these characters find it?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Vanitha Sankaran's web site
»	Reviews

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