A King's Betrayal (10 page)

             
‘I have seen the beautiful work you do,’ Beth said and sighed as she carefully changed one foot for the other and began the task of soothing and healing once more.  I wish I might learn to sew but there is no money for thread or fine cloth.’

             
‘I have thread and cloth in my other coffer,’ the old woman said.  ‘You have the healing touch, Beth.  Your mother’s potions did not help the pain and soreness as yours do.  If you will accept no other payment, let me teach you to sew.  Sit with me for an hour and I will show you how ‘tis done; then, when my time comes, you must take my things for yourself.  If I were you I should go away and make a new life for yourself elsewhere.’

             
‘How could I leave Mother?’ Beth asked, but when he had finished her healing she washed her hands and then fetched the piece of plain linen, cutting it into a square as her friend directed.

             
She had begun her lessons that day, hemming and embroidering a kerchief, which she had been told she might keep.  Since then she had gone regularly to the little house at the far end of the village to learn and to talk with Mistress Soames.

             
It was in the hope of making a linen shift for herself that Beth had come this day.  She had made Mistress Soames the lotion for her legs and a mixture for her digestion and she’d been promised another story while she worked on her sewing.

             
‘Mistress Soames has not been well since you last came,’ one of the village women caught Beth’s arm as she passed that summer morning.  ‘Have you heard why the bells are tolling?’

             
‘No, Mistress Grey,’ Beth said.  ‘I fear ‘tis not good news.  Perhaps you should go to the church.  If the priest is ringing the bell he must want to tell you what he has heard.’

             
‘My husband will go with the other men,’ the woman said, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Beth.  ‘When Mistress Soames dies she wants you to have her cottage and all her things.  You should move in with her now and care for her until the end.  Would your mother come here to live?’

             
‘I do not know.  I shall ask her if she will allow me to nurse Mistress Soames.  If she is ill I must hurry for I would help her if I can.’

             
‘She has told me how kind and gentle you are, Beth.’  Mistress Grey frowned.  ‘People do not like or trust your mother.  I say this for your own good.  You could live here amongst us, but Marthe might not be welcome.  I know she means to help us but some whisper against her.'

             
‘I could not leave her, she needs me.’

             
Beth hurried on.  She knew the woman meant well, but Marthe was her mother.  How could she desert her?  Besides, in summer she enjoyed living in the woods.  There was something magical about the scents of the woodland and being close to the birds and small animals that lived there.  In winter when the rain turned the forest floor to mud and the bitter cold ate into your bones, it would be good to have the shelter of a stout cottage, but Marthe would never live in the village.  Beth knew her answer without asking her, but she would ask if the time came just the same.

             
As she entered the cottage an unpleasant sour smell hit her nostrils.  Her patient had been sick and her bowels were loose.  Beth saw her lying on her bed and went swiftly to her side.

             
‘Mistress Soames,’ she said, bending over to touch her face.  ‘What ails you?’

             
‘My bowels have turned to water and there is blood in the flux,’ the old woman said.  ‘I think my end is near and I want you to promise me that you will take my things when the time comes.  You should leave the woods and come here before it is too late.  I fear for you, child, but I know not why.’

             
‘Hush,’ Beth said and stroked her face.  ‘I shall make you warm and dry and then I shall gather the herbs I need to brew a tisane that will ease your guts.’

             
‘You cannot cure what ails me, child.  ‘Tis useless to try.  I know the herbs you would use but I do not believe you can stop this foul disease. Not even the Sisters of Mercy could cure what I have.  It has been eating away at me for a while and I have little time left to me.’

             
‘Let me at least try to help you.’

             
‘I shall not deny you,’ Mistress Soames said and smiled.  ‘You have been a blessing to me since you came into my life.  I wish that I might have had a child such as you.  Marthe does not know how fortunate she is, Beth.’

             
‘She often tells me I was a blessing when I came into her life.’

             
‘A strange thing for a mother to say,’ Mistress Soames coughed and lay back against her pillows.  She caught Beth’s hand, holding it to her cheek for a moment.  ‘Always when you touch me I feel easier.  I think you have some special power that was born in you, Beth.  Thank you for making me comfortable.  Brew your tisane and I shall drink it, but I think it will not cure me.’

             
‘I shall return very soon,’ Beth said.  ‘The herbs do not grow far away.’

             
‘Bless you, child.  Do not forget that everything I have is yours.’

             
‘I shall not forget,’ Beth smiled at her and went out.

             
She walked quickly away from the village in the direction of the castle, which was where the herbs she needed grew in abundance.  There were other places within the woods, but these were closer, though nearer to the lord’s home than she would normally venture.

             
As she bent to pick the precious leaves that she would brew into a tisane, she heard the thunder of horses’ hooves and looking up saw a party of riders on their way to the castle.  They passed her on the road, but yards from where she worked, and she caught sight of the knight’s face.  He was fair, fairer than any man she had seen before in her life.  His hair was covered by a hood of mail but his skin had a golden sheen and for a moment as he happened to glance her way, she saw that his eyes were a dark grey with a hint of silver in their depths.

             
He was not the lord of this manor.  She thought he must have brought news with him – perhaps connected with the news that the priest was even now telling the people of the village.  Beth had seen the men gathering outside the church to listen to his words and wondered what was so important that the priest must announce it this way – and why strangers had come to the castle.

             
The knight had a pennant of white with a black motif.  She was not sure but she thought it bore the sign of a raven – a bird many thought of ill omen. She had seen something at his shoulder, a shadow or dark cloud that seemed to follow him and was shaped like a reaper’s hook.  People were superstitious about such things and lived in dread of the fearful signs and portents that showed themselves as fire in the sky or other miraculous things.  Beth had heard the tale of two dogs once found when a vast rock was split; one died but the Bishop of Winchester fondled the other for some days. In a different quarry a rock was found inside another rock and in the centre of that inner rock was a toad wearing a gold chain.  In the chronicles of Matthew Parish, so Mistress Soames had told her,  there were tales of knights richly clothed coming out of the earth and then disappearing into it again as if by magic.  Strange cloud formations and the odd appearance of four suns in the sky were said to herald either great things or terrible disasters.

             
Was what she had just witnessed a sign that something terrible had occurred?  When she had gathered her herbs she would stop by the church and read the proclamation that had been nailed to the door.  Some of the words might baffle her but if she took her time and read slowly she would understand its meaning.

‘So Henry is ill again, God curse him and all his house,’ William, Lord de Burgh spat on the ground before his keep.  ‘What say his physicians be the cause of this mercy?’

             
‘Have some respect for your King, sir,’ the knight said giving him a hard look.  ‘He hath been ill for several years with a foul disease that some say might be leprosy, though I do not think it.  I believe it to be a malady of the skin that comes and goes but gradually grows worse. The affliction has bothered him for months and his son is all but King, though his father lives.’ 

             
‘Henry deserves to die a cruel death.  He was the usurper – the murderer of Richard, the true King of England.  His illness is a curse from God.’

             
‘’Tis true that Henry Bolingbroke took the crown by force and many learned to regret it bitterly, but he has been a good king in his way and his son is a better man. He will be a just and fair ruler when he comes to the throne – and he has said in private that he will have Richard’s body reburied with honour.  He is a patron of the arts and will rule more wisely than his father I think. Henry took the crown by force and by force has kept it. Despite all the rebellions against him he holds it still. ‘Tis due  in large part to his son that the war with Wales is all but done.  I honour him for what he is, a brave soldier and a fair man.’

             
‘Owain Glyn Dwr is still at large, though none has seen him for months.’  William frowned.  ‘He remains a danger while he lives.’

             
‘I think not.  He is nothing more than a marauder now, able to strike here and there but with no real strength. He remains a legend to his people, but a legend without teeth. I do not think he will cause trouble again, if he even lives.’

‘’Tis a matter of opinion, but I’ll not quarrel with you, D’Avignon. What now for England?’

             
‘I see no reason for anxiety.  Henry’s son has the kingdom in his palm.  I doubt we shall see much unrest when Henry dies, though he may rally again, as he has before,’ Raoul D’Avignon said.  His hood of mail thrown back, he looked a striking man, standing six inches taller than the older knight, with dark blond hair that framed his lean face in a short straight cut.  ‘I have served in the struggle against the Welsh, but I think it will be from France that future threats may come.  Charles of France is mad and though he surely has not long to live we may have war once more before we know it.’

             
‘England lies beneath a shadow,’ de Burgh muttered bleakly. ‘When Henry of Bolingbroke seized the throne and murdered Richard he brought a curse upon us all and there has been naught but turmoil since.  Bloody murder, vengeance and superstition have stalked this land from that day to this.’

             
‘It was the treachery of the Lord Appellants that changed the shape and nature of England for they set loose the dark force that brought malicious greed, murder and bloody revenge in their wake.  The loss of Richard’s throne was a part of all that went before and despite what you claim, much of what happened was his own fault.’

             
‘He but did what he had to do.  Henry Bolingbroke took advantage of the barons’ discontent, though I think that many have wished for Richard back again since.’

             
‘That too is a matter of opinion.  Why did you fight for Henry in Wales if you bear him so much ill will?’

             
‘I fought for my pay.  My father was one of those who rebelled against Bolingbroke when he took the throne.  He was pardoned but fined three hundred pounds.  We could not pay such a sum and had to borrow.’  William scowled at the memory.  ‘It beggared us for years and I had no choice but to make my fortune as a mercenary.  It did not make me love Henry nor can I condone what he has done.  If another claimant seized the throne I would not stand in his way, though I would not rise unless I believed he was like to win.  There has been enough of waste and war.  We need to conserve what we have.’

             
‘I do not deny that this lingers in the minds of men who cannot forgive what happened to Richard 11 or the bloody vengeance that followed the troubles in Wales,’ Raoul agreed but there was nothing in his expression that gave a clue to his true allegiance.  ‘I was bidden to bring you the news and am but a messenger.  If the King dies, you will be expected to attend his funeral when the time comes.’

             
The scowl on de Burgh’s face deepened.  ‘You may do as you please, D’Avignon, but I shall not pay homage in death to a King I did not honour in life.  Besides, he may rally again, as you said.’

             
‘Well, I have brought you the news and must be on my way – but do not make an enemy of the King, my friend.  We fought together against Glyn Dwr and I would not see you fall foul of Henry’s wrath for no good reason.’

             
William looked at him in surprise.  ‘You are leaving?  Will you not stay at least to dine or rest this night beneath my roof?  We have killed a deer and there is some good venison roasting over the spit.’

             
‘I have others to see,’ Raoul hesitated, then, ‘As we rode here I noticed a girl by the wayside.  She was a peasant yet there was something about her – she had hair like spun silk and ‘twas the colour of ripe corn, not red or gold but something between.  Her clothes were poor but her bearing was as proud as a queen’s.’

             
William frowned and then nodded.  ‘I think you speak of the witch’s daughter.  She and her mother live in the woods somewhere at the edge of my demesne.  I have heard of her beauty but cannot say I’ve noticed her of late.  When she was a child I saw her gathering herbs with her mother – the woman makes cures and is rumoured to be a whore, but I know nothing of her.  She hath caused me no trouble and I allow them to live as they please.  I am but recently returned from the war, as you know.  My father was sickly and sent for me, God rest his soul.’

             
‘I heard he died some six months gone,’ Raoul said.  ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

             
‘There was no love lost between us.  He was a brute and the villagers went in terror of him.  The women and children flee from me when they see me, though as yet I’ve done little to cause them grief but they think me like him, and perhaps they are right.’  He frowned.  ‘What of the girl?  Did she offer you some insult?’

             
‘None.  She has done nothing to harm or offend me.  It was simply her looks that caught my notice.  Excuse me, I must leave you.  Consider what I have said, Sir William.’

             
‘Farewell and God speed, sir.’

             
William watched as the knight turned away to mount his horse.  His expression became a scowl as Sir Raoul rode out of the bailey.  They had met when they were both fighting against Glyn Dwr and been comrades, friends of a sort, yet he had never quite trusted the man.  D’Avignon was of mixed blood, part French, and part English, with estates on both sides of the Channel.  No one was certain of his own loyalty, though he appeared to uphold the English King and fought for him in Wales.  William too had fought but for glory and gain, biding his time.  He had no love for the usurper but was not fool enough to show his hand until the moment was right. One day he would with God’s help seek vengeance for Richard, England’s rightful king.  It was a tragedy that Richard had no children to follow him, for there were many who might have risen in support of such a claimant.  Yet there was nothing to be gained from an uprising that failed but disgrace and a terrible death.

             
He frowned as his mind turned to the witch’s daughter.

             
William had lied to D’Avignon when he denied all knowledge of the girl.  She’d been but a child when he left to fight as a mercenary, wanting to prove himself and get away from his father’s dominance, but since his return, he’d noticed her as she came and went about her business.  She visited one particular house in the village more than any other.  He’d asked his steward who lived there and been told it was a woman who had once been renowned for her skill with the needle, but was now sickly.  The witch’s girl was nursing her.

             
William knew that his castle had been neglected in the years of his absence.  His mother had died when he was but a lad, of a broken heart he believed, and his father had contented himself with his leman.  William’s first action on his return was to send the woman packing.  She’d hoped to climb into his bed but he wanted none of her.  His fancy lay in another direction and he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment.  The girl’s mother was undoubtedly a whore but she was fresh and lovely and he was determined to have her.

Raoul looked for the girl he’d noticed earlier as he rode away from de Burgh’s castle.  There was no sign of her and he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment.  Had she still been there at her work he would have stopped to speak to her, but he had no time to search for a girl, however striking she might be.
             

             
Despite what he had said to de Burgh, Raoul knew that there might still be trouble amongst the barons if Henry died.  Too many still recalled that Bolingbroke had taken the throne by force and there were others that might press an equal claim to rule if they chose.  Henry 1V had thrown off many attempts in his lifetime and even now the crown did not rest easy on his head.  Some said that he was a haunted man, cursed because of the evil he had done in murdering his anointed King.  It was rumoured that Henry believed his illness was a curse from God. Yet Richard 11 had died without a son and the claim of Lancaster was as good as any other.  Henry’s son would need to have his wits about him for if he turned his back to deal with the hereditary enemy of France, the barons might stab him between the shoulders.

             
Raoul’s mind turned to his personal quest.  He had a score that must be settled, an old wound that festered inside him and would not let him rest.
             

             
‘God forgive me that I have not yet avenged you, Father,’ he murmured.  ‘I swear that I will bring your murderer to justice.’

             
His enemy had powerful friends.  Only by staying close to the court and watching for his chance might he be able to break down Arnaud’s guard.  The priest was a member of the prince’s household, at times his trusted chaplain and scribe.  Henry believed him to be a pious chaste man.  How little he knew of the serpent he harboured amongst his followers.  Arnaud had broken his vows of chastity, stealing another man’s wife, lying with her and combining with the cheating bitch to murder her husband.

             
She had already paid the price for her betrayal, but Arnaud had thus far escaped justice.  He would not do so forever.  Raoul had laid his plans but the time was not yet right.  For now he must watch and wait and show allegiance to the King and his son.

             
His pace quickened.  Already he had forgotten the girl picking herbs in the meadow and the haunting beauty of her face.