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 entire excerpt...

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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