A King's Betrayal (14 page)

Nineteen

William scowled over the letter that awaited him on his return home that morning.  He was summoned to attend King Henry V in London.  The letter had come from Sir Raoul D’Avignon, couched in terms of friendship and yet with an underlying hint of command.  Unless he obeyed the summons he would not be seen as a friend of the King. His absence from both the funeral of the late King and King Henry V’s coronation in April had been noted and an explanation was required.

             
William swore and crumpled the parchment in his hand.  Why could he not be left in peace to go his own way?  It was inconvenient to make the journey to London when there was business at home that needed his attention.  He refused to be kept dangling at court or to join in the jostling for power that would go on as barons and nobles sought to find favour with the new King. 

William owed no allegiance to the House of Lancaster.  Richard’s will had named Edmund of Langley as his successor and then Edward, Duke of Aumale, favouring the house of York, as William himself did.  The ruling council had rejected Richard’s will in favour of the usurper Henry Bolingbroke but the decision had not sat well with those who had remained loyal to Richard.  William’s father had suffered for his loyalty and his son had born the brunt of his disgrace.  He would support a rising against the house of Lancaster if it seemed likely to succeed. However, he believed that for the moment the mood was not right for an uprising against the throne.  Some might voice their discontent and jostle for the power or profit to be had from an uneasy situation but few had the taste for outright civil war.  The long struggle with Wales had emptied coffers and taken too many lives. 

             
Tossing the letter to one side in disgust, William looked out of the window at the river that became a stream as it wound its way through the village and disappeared into the woods, breaking off into little tributaries before it became one again somewhere beyond his lands.  He believed it entered a pool somewhere deep within the wood but had never yet seen the secret place, which was rumoured to have magical powers.  As a child his nurse had told him of the pool and of the witch that had drowned there.  Her spirit was said to haunt the pool and to lure unwary travellers to their deaths.

             
‘Nonsense,’ he muttered to himself.  ‘I don’t believe in witches – and she certainly isn’t one, though her mother may be.’

             
A frown creased his brow as he thought of her, the lady of the woods as he had named her.  Beth was too fine and beautiful to be cast of rough clay.  He had tried to discover more of her mother and how they had come to live in his woods but no one knew much.

             
‘The woman Marthe is a witch,’ the priest had told him.  ‘She should be taken and punished, Sir William.  I have heard that she is a wicked lewd woman and lies with men who pay her.’ 

             
‘How would you have me punish her?  What is her crime?  Is she guilty only of being a whore – or is there more?’

             
‘She practices the dark arts.  I have been told that she worships the devil and consorts with him naked in the wood.’

             
William had been hard put to it to hide his smile.  He thought the priest was obsessed with carnal sin more than a man of his calling should be.  Perhaps the woman had refused to take his coin and he wanted to vent his spite on her.  He could not dismiss the man’s warning as nonsense, because to do so might bring accusations that he was lax in his duties as the lord of the manor.  Some of these priests were as venomous as snakes and it was best to humour them.  He might deny the existence of witches but he feared God and was as superstitious as most men of his time. It was in truth an age of superstition when men thought of death as sudden and violent and many looked upon that sad figure upon the Cross as something to fear rather than with awe and love.  William was no different from his fellows and yet a part of him felt pity for the poor wretches accused of witchcraft and put to death for their sins.

             
William’s mind turned to his lady of the woods.  He wanted Beth, wanted to kiss her and touch her soft skin, to lie with her and have her in his bed when he woke in the morning.  She did not smell as other women did, a soft light perfume hanging about her, wafting towards him as she moved.  He’d smelled it that day he’d caught her stealing the rabbit in the woods.  A smile touched his mouth as he remembered how proud she looked.  Where had she come from?  He was sure she did not belong with the woman she called mother.  He’d seen Marthe once as he was out riding.  She was gathering sticks for her fire.  There was nothing fine about her – but Beth was different, unlike any woman he’d ever known.  Her hair, eyes and skin were lovely; her bearing was regal.  She might even be the daughter of a king for her pride was high.

             
She haunted his dreams and lingered in his thoughts even when he did not see her for days.  In truth he was sick with longing for her.  Why did he not just sweep her up on his horse, and carry her off to the castle?  She belonged to him because she lived in his woods and his feudal rights entitled him to command her.  His conscience reminded him that there were limits to what he could in law demand of her.  Fool, why should he care whether he had the right to bring her here against her will?  Few men in his place would allow her to dictate.  He had the power.  He should take what he wanted and then perhaps he could sleep at night.

             
Perhaps the priest was right.  If both the women worshipped the devil it would explain why the girl bewitched him.  Yet he knew that what he felt was a man’s healthy lust for a beautiful girl: no witchery other than an age old magic that lay between a woman’s legs.

             
Turning away, his gaze fell on the crumpled parchment and he scowled once more.  He had been called upon to show loyalty and if he ignored the summons might be thrown into prison on some trumped up charge.  Henry 1V had dealt summarily with his enemies and his son might not prove much better, despite his reputation for being a fair and just Christian prince and a brilliant soldier.  History might say otherwise but in William’s opinion the Lancastrian upstart had no right to the throne.

             
Perhaps for the moment he should follow D’Avignon’s advice.  Not for the first time he wondered what game the other man played.

             
William shrugged.  It was none of his affair.  D’Avignon had never harmed him and he would not intrude into things that did not concern him.  Remembering that the man had noticed Beth and seen her quality at first glance, he returned to his more pressing problem.

             
How could he bring her to an understanding that her future lay with him?  He had offered her gifts, forgiven her thieving when he might have punished – what more could he do that would bring her to his bed?

             
She had told him that her patient might die very soon.  He knew that Mistress Soames had promised all she possessed to the girl who had nursed her so kindly for he had received notice from the sick woman herself.  If he upheld her claim Beth would have the cottage to live in and that must be an improvement on the hut in the woods, also the woman’s goods, whatever they might be.  As overlord of the land the village stood on belonged to him and he could if he wished seize part of anything of value, payment for being allowed to live on his land and forage in his woods, as his father had done more than once in the past.  A son must pay a tax to his lord if he wished to inherit his father’s land and it was in William’s gift; he could withhold as easily as grant the ancient right if he chose.  Once the peasants had been little more than serfs, working for their lord two or three days a week in return for the small strips of land and their cottages, but time and the decimation of the population from plague in the previous century had brought changes. Most of his tenants now paid his steward in coin for their rents and received wages for their work, though some still clung to the old ways.  Mistress Soames owned her cottage having bought it from his father when she first came to the village, but Beth could not know.  None knew of it for the old lord had not wished to start a precedent. Knowing that the woman had no children he had perhaps intended to take it back when she died.

William wanted nothing the woman had in her coffers nor yet the hens that scratched in her back yard, but Beth did not need to know that at the start.  If he claimed them but offered them back, she might be willing to pay his price.

             
He smiled as he contemplated her gratitude if he waived his rights as her overlord for a kiss and perhaps something more.  The thought of that warm place between her thighs where she claimed no man had been made him hard and urgent with need.  God take the sick woman and give her rest – and then perhaps William might find the peace he needed in the arms of his sweet lady of the woods.

Marthe was staring into the fire that Beth had lit, muttering and grumbling to herself, seeming hardly aware that her daughter had pushed a cup of warming soup into her hands.  It smelled delicious for it contained the slowly simmered entrails of a pig that Beth had bartered for in the village, but for once Marthe was unaware of the hunger that lived within her, gnawing ceaselessly at her guts.  She had been lost for hours now, ignoring Beth’s inquiries about her health, her words hardly distinguishable.

             
‘It is coming soon now.  I see the darkness.  It is almost upon me.’

             
‘What is coming soon, Mother?’  Beth knelt at her side, touching her arm so that she turned her head and looked at her.  ‘Why are you so distressed?  Are you ill?  Do you want me to prepare a cure for what ails you?’

             
‘I am not ill but I know the time is coming.’  Marthe stared at her and her hand trembled.  ‘I wronged you, Beth.  You were not mine.  I should have given you to the lord that searched for you but I had lost my child and so I took you. God always punishes those who sin and I have done wicked things.  My time is coming.  It will be soon now.’

             
‘What do you mean, Mother?  How could I not be yours?  You are my mother.’

             
‘No.  I found you and brought you here.  You belong to another…’ Marthe gave a cry of distress as they heard a knock at the door.  ‘God will have vengeance.  They come for me…it is time.’

             
Someone was outside the cottage.  Beth wished whoever it was had not come.  Her mother was speaking so strangely and she needed to ask her more questions while she would answer.  However, she got up and went to the door and saw that it was Mistress Grey.

             
‘Forgive me for coming,’ she said.  ‘Mistress Soames died last night.  I have been told you must come to the village now.  There is some dispute about her things – if you want them you must come now.’

             
‘I cannot come just yet.  My mother is not well.’

             
Marthe looked up from her seat by the fire.  ‘Go with her, Beth.  Those things were promised to you and are yours by right.  You may need them.  I am not ill.  Go now before ‘tis too late.’

             
‘Are you sure you can manage?’

             
‘Do you think I’m a fool?’ her mother grumbled.  She seemed to have shaken off her mood and was herself again.  ‘When have I ever needed you?  Go on, get out of my sight.  I shall answer no more questions.  Go or I’ll take a stick to you.’

             
‘I’ll come with you now,’ Beth said, giving Marthe an anxious look as she reached for her shawl and then left with the village woman.  ‘What is the dispute?  I do not understand.  Mistress Soames said that she would make sure her things were mine under the law.  How can someone dispute her dying wish that her things are mine?’

             
‘In truth I do not know,’ Mistress Grey said and looked anxious.  ‘Forgive me, but I have been forbidden to say more.  If you need a cart to bring your things here I will lend you my hand cart, but the cottage should be yours – though he says ‘tis his by right.’

             
‘Who claims the cottage?’

             
Beth looked at her but she shook her head.  It was obvious that Mistress Grey was concerned and in some distress for she had hurried on her way here and was breathing hard.  Mistress Soames’s cottage was one of the best in the village with a good size plot at the back.  She had once kept both a pig and a goat there, though of late she had not bothered with more than a few hens.

             
The hens would be very welcome, Beth thought.  If she could make a pen for them in the woods they might lay eggs for her and provide a source of food when she was unable to trap rabbits or find a hedgehog.  Marthe cooked the prickly creatures in her oven beneath the soil and the meat was tender, almost like chicken.  Beth had seldom tasted chicken and she thought that if any of the hens did not lay well they would make a tasty addition to their stew.  Her thoughts were running ahead of her, because she might not be able to claim any of the goods that had been promised her.

             
She tried to think who might have a better claim.  Had Mistress Soames owed money to someone – or perhaps she had a son who had returned to claim his inheritance?  Beth had never heard her speak of a son or any relative who might object to Beth inheriting the goods, so who could it be?  It was a mystery and Beth had a feeling of unease.  Something was wrong but she did not know what it might be.

             
‘Go on alone now, Beth,’ Mistress Grey said as they came to her house.  ‘He is waiting for you in the cottage.  I have told him that there are witnesses to Mistress Soames’s wishes but he says there must be a written will to make it legal.’

             
‘I shall tell you what happens,’ Beth said.  ‘Thank you for fetching me.  I was meant to have her things – but if someone has more right I must let him take what is his.’

             
She thought that she would not have come if her mother had not been so cross.  She had nursed Mistress Soames because she liked her without thought of reward but of course Marthe was right.  She must lay her claim if she could.  Mistress Soames had wanted her to have her things but if there should be another claimant perhaps Beth had no right to them.

             
As they reached through the village she saw the thatcher at work weaving sedge along the ridge of roof covered with tight bundles of dried straw.  The cobbler was sitting outside his cottage, making a pair of boots and one of the children was taking her family’s pig for a walk, holding tightly to the rope by which she led the slightly reluctant beast.

             
Pausing outside her friend’s cottage, Beth took a deep breath and then went in, her eyes going to where Mistress Soames had lain.  Her bed was empty, which meant her body had been taken to the burial ground, but nothing else had been touched.  Beth was sorry they had taken her friend away so soon for she would have liked to do the things that were necessary for her.  Hearing a sound behind her, she whirled round and saw the man watching her.

             
‘You?’ she said, disbelieving as she saw the lord of the manor.  He was staring at her in an odd manner, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.  ‘I do not understand – why should you be here?’

             
‘Mistress Soames should have given me notice of her intentions.  The village belongs to me – and if there is no immediate family her goods come to me under the law.’

             
‘But she intended them for me.  She told me that she had done all that was necessary.’  Beth’s gaze narrowed and she felt a spasm of fear in her stomach.  ‘I think you are not telling me the truth.  Perhaps the cottage is yours, for it is on your land - but why should her things belong to you?’

             
‘Because I am the lord here and what I say is law.  You may have the things only if I allow it.  They are mine but I might give them to you.’

             
‘What do you want of me?’ she asked, suspicious and wary.  There was a gleam in his eyes that made her uneasy.  Her breath caught as he moved towards her, his heavy frame powerful as he towered above her.

             
‘This is what I want, Beth.’

             
He seized her about the waist, pulling her close.  His head bent and then his mouth took hers in a kiss that was so demanding and hungry that it frightened her.  She pushed her hands against his chest, trying to fend him off but he held her close and she felt the hard bulge in his groin pressing into her.  Fear raced through her and she struggled to free herself but he only laughed and kissed her again. She caught the smell of strong wine on his breath and thought he had been drinking.

             
‘Why do you struggle?’ he asked, his breath tickling her neck as he burrowed against her, seeming to inhale her scent.  ‘You smell of flowers.  No other woman smells as you do.  Can you feel my need, Beth.  Will you not ease it for me?  You may have everything Mistress Soames left you and I shall give you so much more if you come to the castle.  You will never have to forage for your food or go hungry again.’

             
‘No, I shall not come,’ Beth said, angered because she was sure he had lied to her, tricked her into meeting him here. He was the lord of the manor and had so much.  Why should he take what was hers?  ‘Mistress Soames’s things are mine and you tried to cheat me – you are wicked, as everyone says, and I shall not lie with you.’

             
‘Will you not?’  He looked down at her and the smile had gone from his eyes.  Now he was angry and his expression was ugly, threatening.  ‘You dare to defy me because I have been lenient, but my patience is at an end.  I want you and I shall have you.’

             
Beth screamed but the sound was lost beneath his mouth as he took hers in a bruising kiss that demanded and punished.  She struggled, trying to break from him but he had her fast and his strength was far beyond hers.  In another moment she found herself lying on the floor and he was on her, his hand pulling up the skirt of her tunic, moving between her thighs.  Twisting and turning, she tried to throw him off as she felt something warm against her flesh; it seemed to burn her with its heat and then he was thrusting at her, seeking out that private place.  His fingers sought her warmth and he thrust  two inside, pushing up into her.

             
‘Come wet for me,’ he pleaded against her ear.  ‘I would not hurt you but I must have you, Beth.  You haunt my dreams and give me no peace.’

             
‘I beg you not to do this,’ Beth said and tears were on her cheeks.  She understood now what Mistress Soames had told her, but there was no love or sweetness in what this man was doing to her.  ‘Please, Sir William, let me go.’

             
‘I cannot for my life,’ he muttered and then she felt something pushing against her opening.  It was hot and hard, thick and long, as he lifted himself and thrust up into her.  She struggled but his weight held her and she knew that it was no use.  As she let go and let him have his way he gave a grunt of satisfaction and thrust harder.  ‘You will learn and it will only hurt a little this time.’

             
Beth hardly heard him.  He was hurting her but she could bear the pain.  Her mind was filled with pictures…men riding towards her, one man catching her up on his horse before him.  She had cried and wept for her mother but the man had carried her away from the castle.  It was a long time before the horse stopped and she had almost lost her senses as he lay her down beneath the spreading branches of a tree.  It was the sound of a woman’s screams that had jerked her from the daze into which she had fallen.  She had got to her feet and looked towards the sound of screaming and seen…she had not known then what she witnessed before she wandered into the woods but it had terrified her.  After that there had been only darkness until one day she had become aware of Marthe and eaten the food she had given her.

             
‘
That is better, child.  You have been ill but you are well now.  I am your mother and I have cared for you.  I made you well again
.’

             
‘
Yes, Mother.  Thank you for the food
.’

             
Tears were rolling down her cheeks.  The memory had lain forgotten somewhere in her mind.  She had been too innocent then to understand what had happened to the woman in the clearing, but now she felt her pain as the man grunted and lay still before rolling to one side.  He lay beside her in silence for a moment, before turning his head to look at her.

             
‘You were virgin.  I hurt you.  I would not have hurt you had you let me have my way, Beth.  All I wanted was to love you and care for you.’

             
‘If you cared for me you would not have forced me.’

             
‘I thought you would yield,’ he said, sounding so abject that she turned her head to look at him.

             
‘You forced me.  I shall never yield to you.’

             
‘You haunt my dreams.  I cannot sleep for thinking of you.  Forgive me.  I am sorry if I hurt you.’

             
He clambered to his feet, offering her his hand.  She hesitated, then rose without his assistance, turning her head away from his passionate gaze.  Why must he look at her as though he would like to throw her down and do it again?

             
‘Will you hate me now?’

             
‘I feel nothing for you.’

             
‘Nothing?’  He was silent then, ‘I think I would rather you hated me.  I hate myself.’

             
‘Perhaps I shall hate you when I can feel again.’

             
‘You will never come to me now.’  He took her by the tops of her arms, his strong fingers bruising the tender flesh.  ‘If there is a child you must tell me.’  She shook her head.  ‘Listen to me.  I shall help you.  For now, the cottage is yours – everything is yours.  It always was.  I would not have stolen your things.’