A King's Betrayal (26 page)

             
Beth held the babe to her breast, laughing as Katharine’s mouth latched on to her at once.  The sensation of being sucked was very strange but pleasant.  She stroked her daughter’s head, wondering at the pale soft hair.  She had thought the babe’s hair would be dark blond like the knight who had fathered her,  or gold like her own, but at the moment it was pale, like the silver of moonlight.

             
‘What colour are her eyes?’

             
‘Blue.  She is beautiful, Beth.’

             
‘Her hair is silver.  I thought she would be dark blond like her father.’

             
‘The colour of her hair may change as she grows older – but your own is like ripe corn.’  Isolde hesitated, then, ‘Have you clothes for her?’

             
‘I have made her a gown.  A friend gave me some linen and other materials once.  I have cloths to bind her too.  They are in the hut where I live.  I shall dress her when I take her home.’

             
Katharine had ceased to suckle.  She burped and then nestled content against her mother’s breast.  Isolde took her and lay her down in her makeshift cradle.  Then she brought Beth a cup of soup that smelled and tasted delicious.  She drank it all and gave the cup back.

             
‘Why are you so kind?’

             
‘It is my calling.’  Isolde brought a cup of some liquid that smelled fragrant.  ‘Drink this too.  It will give you strength.’

             
‘Thank you.’ She drank it down.  ‘I know the herb but there was something more.’

             
‘It is a healing potion the Sisters of  Mercy give to new mothers.  It restores the blood they have lost and gives them strength.’

             
‘I should go back to the hut.  I was trying to reach the village but it was too late and I think I might have died had you not come.’

             
‘I was sent,’ Isolde said.  ‘It was God’s will that I should be here when I was needed.  Can you walk if I carry Katharine?’ Isolde smiled.  ‘I have always had the Sight.  When I was just a child people called me a witch and feared me, but then I became a nun and now they hardly notice me.  I wear God’s mantle.  It is the only way for those of us who wish to heal the sick.’

             
‘It was God’s will that brought you here and I must thank you – and your god.  I have rested and your cures have helped me.’

             
‘The Sisters taught me all I know.  ‘Tis but simple cures that have been handed down by our mothers and grandmothers.’

             
‘I have heard of the Sisters of Mercy.  I believe they are nuns, good women who serve God and devote themselves to the sick.  Mistress Soames told me she was once one of them – but I know not where they live or who they truly are.’

             
‘We are just women who devote our lives to helping others,’ Isolde said.  ‘Even though we are devout, some folk still think we are witches and that we use the black arts but it is not true.  All we wish is to help those who need us, and to protect our sisters under Christ.  I have heard that some use the dark arts but not in the order I serve.’

             
Beth nodded.  She pushed herself up against the tree, then rose to her feet.  For a moment she felt weak and her head swam but then, after a few seconds, she began to feel better.  She was aware now that the wood was alive with the sound of birdsong and, as the wind rustled through the trees, it seemed that they sung a melody of love and peace.  Beth looked at the young woman who had helped her.  It was Isolde who had brought light from the darkness that had surrounded her, reminding her of all the things she loved here in the woods.

             
‘I shall always be grateful to you.’

             
‘There is no need for gratitude.  It was meant to be.’

             
Beth watched as the woman picked up Katharine and waited expectantly.  She led the way back through the wood to her hut, walking slowly.  Her strength was returning but she knew that she would have found the trip exhausting had Isolde not walked beside her.

             
‘So this is where you live,’ Isolde said, looking about her.  ‘How long have you been here?’

             
‘Marthe brought me here when I was a small child.  She was once one of you I think  but she said that she was thrown out of the sisterhood for some wrongdoing.  I do not know why but she lived in fear of discovery.’

             
‘What happened to her?’

             
‘The villagers thought she was a witch; they put her to the test and then hung her.  I buried her beneath the oak over there.’

             
‘And you have lived here alone since?’

             
Beth nodded.  ‘There is a cottage in the village that was given to me but the priest preaches against witchcraft and I do not think I should  be welcome there, for they may think that I too am a witch.’

             
‘Was your mother a witch?’

             
‘Marthe was not my mother.  She brought me up as her child – but before she died she said that I was not her child.  She found me wandering and took me.  I do not know who my mother was, but I think I lived in a castle.’

             
Beth took her daughter and placed her in the cradle that she had prepared for her.  It was a large basket of rushes and lined with cloth and linen that Mistress Soames had bequeathed her.  She smiled down at her child, a rush of gratitude filling her as she turned to Isolde.

             
‘I must give you something.’

             
‘I need nothing for what little I did.’

             
‘No, you must have something.’

             
Beth thought of what she might spare.  There was her silken dress but like Beth Isolde would have little use for such a gown.  The cross she wore about her neck was too precious for it seemed to bring her mother to her - but the chain was too small for her.  She delved into her coffer and brought it out, handing it to Isolde.

             
‘This was mine when I was a child.  I had a gold cross, which I wear on a ribbon beneath my gown and a silk dress.  I shall keep the dress for Katharine, but I want you to have this.’

             
‘This should belong to your daughter.’

             
‘I want you to have it.  She will have the dress – and one day the cross.’

             
‘May I see the gown you had as a child, when you lived at the castle – and the cross?’

             
‘Yes, if you wish.’  Beth opened the coffer and took the gown out to show her; the silk was as perfect as it had been the day she first saw it.    Then she pulled the cross from beneath her gown and let Isolde look at it.  ‘It is very fine – do you not think so?  I remember a lady I believe was my mother but I cannot recall her name.  She must have loved me to give me such fine things.  Do you not think so?’

             
‘Yes, I believe she must.’  Isolde frowned.  ‘I shall take your chain, Beth, and one day I will bring it back to you.  When that day comes I may have important news.’

             
Beth let the chain slip into her hand.  ‘What news?  Do you know who my mother was – where I came from?’

             
‘I cannot know for sure, but I heard a story once…’ She shook her head as she saw the eagerness in Beth’s eyes.  ‘Ah no, I would not raise false hopes.  It was just something I heard from a travelling pilgrim that made me wonder.  Will you be here if I return in a year or less?’

             
‘If I am not here I shall leave a message for you in the hut,’ Beth said.  ‘I know my letters and I can write.  I will tell you where I have gone.  It may be to the lord’s castle – Sir William de Burgh.  I am determined that my child shall not live here and starve through the winter, as I have.  I must find a new life for us both.’

             
‘Stay close if you can.  I would find you when I have news.’

             
‘Will you not tell me what is in your mind?’

             
‘I may be wrong.  Surely my voice would have told me if there were more – and yet I have a feeling that this was meant.’  Isolde seemed to speak to herself as she glanced round once more.  ‘This is not fitting for you or the child, but be careful where you trust.  I shall come again one day.’

             
‘Where are you going?  Will you not stay with me a little longer?’

             
‘I must leave you now.  I have played my part and I must return to my sisters – but I shall not forget you, lady of the woods.  I shall try to discover what I may and then, when I know for certain, I shall come again – or someone will come in my place.  Yes, there are others who would wish to come here if my suspicion is true.  Do not fear that I will harm you.  I am your true friend, Beth – and if you or the child should ever need me, call to me and I shall hear you.’

             
‘How?  I do not understand you.’

             
Isolde smiled.  ‘If it is written we shall meet again.  Take care in all you do, Beth.  You have a beautiful child and I believe there may be great happiness in the future for both you and the babe.’

             
As Beth watched she opened the door and went out, closing it carefully behind her.  Beth felt a pang of loss.  Isolde had shown her more kindness than she had known for most of her life.  She wished the woman might have stayed with her a little longer, but she would not let herself regret anything.  Kneeling down by the rush basket, she looked at her child and smiled.  Katharine was all she needed to make her happy.

             
She had long since ceased to look for the knight who had lain with her near the pool.  He would never return to her – why should he?  Their loving had seemed magical, sweet and special, but no doubt to him she was just a whore.  He had taken what he wanted and gone, leaving her to face the hardship of bearing a child alone in these woods.

             
‘Yet he gave me you,’ Beth said and bent down to kiss her child’s face.  ‘I am no longer alone.  I have you and I shall do whatever I need to do to make you safe.’

Thirty Five

‘Will you be with us?’ Hugh de Bracie asked.  He frowned, as the other man was silent, thoughtful.  ‘You have always said that you have no love for the House of Lancaster.  If we are to have Richard’s rightful heir on the throne the time is surely now whilst Henry is preoccupied with his campaign in France.’

             
The two men sat in an ill-lit corner of an inn by the waterfront.  It was night and outside the waters of the Thames were black and silent, the traffic of the day done as darkness fell.  The hostelry had been chosen for its isolation and because the landlord was to be trusted and would make sure they were not overheard.

             
‘Why are you involved in this affair?’ Sir William was wary as his fingers played with the horn cup that held his ale.  ‘I know you were for King Richard in the old days but you went over to the usurper soon after he left Conway and was imprisoned.’

             
‘The cause was lost then, and most of the barons were for Henry Bolingbroke but things are different now,’ Sir Hugh replied.  ‘Roger Mortimer is dead but Edmund, the young Earl of March, is alive and has his freedom.  Many of the barons regret that the House of Lancaster still rules and will flock to us once Henry is dead.  We have Earl Richard of Cambridge, Scrope and Lord Grey on board and I believe we may be successful this time. Henry is determined to reopen the war with France and most of us are weary of such strife.  We would have peace – a young King who listens to his advisers and contents himself with the pleasures of court rather than seeking glory in battle.’

             
‘You mean a puppet his council can control.’

             
What is wrong with that?  It might be better for England rather than an ambitious king who thinks only of glory for himself.’

             
‘What of Mortimer himself?  Has he pledged his support for the uprising?’

             
‘He is being informed and will no doubt accept his destiny.  Why should he not?  The crown was left to the Mortimers in Richard’s will, for they were the closest to him in spirit and family.’

             
‘It is a pity that Richard had no children of his own.  Had there been a child I think most of England would rise for him.’

             
‘Well, it would not have been Richard’s wish and though a daughter could be Queen it is unlikely men would rise for her – of course she might have wed one of the Mortimers and made the succession that much stronger.’

             
‘What do you mean?’  William stared at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion.  ‘I do not follow you.  Anne of Bohemia gave Richard no children…were there bastards? Richard did not legitimise them in a will?’

             
Sir Hugh hesitated, then inclined his head, an odd expression in his eyes.  ‘He may have come close to it. I dare say it does not matter now if I speak.  My sister Beatrice was Richard’s mistress after his first wife died.  She gave him a daughter and there was a stillborn son.’

             
‘Good grief!’  William was stunned.  ‘Where is the girl?  If her birth could be proven an alliance between her and one of Richard’s heirs might secure the throne.’

             
‘Elspeth was stolen from her mother soon after Richard was murdered.  Beatrice and her husband believed that she was taken to stop a rising in her name – or some such alliance as you suggest.’

             
‘Are you saying that the usurper had her murdered?’

             
‘I cannot say for we have never known what happened to her after she was stolen.  The rogues that snatched her allowed her to wander off while they raped a serving woman.  Lord Tomas offered a reward for information but none was forthcoming.  They accepted that she was dead but of late…’ Sir Hugh shook his head.  ‘My sister has some idea that she lives and her husband has begun the search again, though I think it unlikely she will be found after all this time.’

             
‘How old was she when she was snatched?’

             
‘Not quite five years.  Elspeth was a beautiful bright intelligent girl.  She looked like my sister but had something of her father about her.’

             
‘So she would be almost twenty now…’

             
‘Aye, if she lived.  For myself I doubt it.  I think she died when she was a child.  Surely someone would have come forward when Tomas offered a reward for information if she had lived.’

             
‘I dare say you are right,’ William replied.  ‘It cannot matter for the earl is England’s rightful King.’

             
‘Then are you with us?’

             
‘Had you asked me sooner I might have joined you,’ William said.  ‘Gloucester offered me a place with his men for the coming invasion of France. I took his gold and cannot therefore renege on my bargain.  I wish you well in the venture.  Had you assured me that Mortimer was ready to become King I might have joined you, but a knight must keep his vow of allegiance.  Perhaps when the fight with France is done…’

             
‘It will be too late then.’  Sir Hugh frowned.  ‘You disappoint me.  I had thought you would be with us.’

             
‘I am not against you.  No word of this shall leave my lips.  You have my promise of that, sir.’

             
‘And what I told you in confidence?’

             
‘Shall remain so.  Since the child was lost it can hardly matter, as you said.’

             
‘When do you join Gloucester?’

             
‘The invasion is planned for next month I believe.’

             
‘Then I wish you good fortune.’

             
‘I am sorry to disappoint you.’  William offered his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Sir Hugh took it.  ‘Should your plan succeed – and I shall pray for it – I shall of course support you.’

             
‘We may need your prayers, though I think Henry suspects nothing and that is half the battle.  Once he is dead, Mortimer is certain to be the people’s choice.’  Sir Hugh nodded.  ‘Where do you go now?’

             
‘I was on my way home when I received your message.  The war with France is likely to be bloody.  A man must put his house in order.’

             
‘If our plans succeed you may find that yours will change,’ Sir Hugh said.  ‘I think we shall meet again soon, Sir William.’

             
‘Perhaps, if God wills it.’

             
William nodded his head and took his leave.  Already he was thinking of his home and what he meant to do there – of Beth.  He had not seen her since Marthe’s death.  How did she fare alone in the woods?

It was hot even in the woods.  Beth had taken her child to the pool so that she could bathe her daughter and refresh herself.  This was the best time of the year, because there were plenty of young rabbits to be taken and roots to make a good nourishing broth for the pot.  As she approached the hut where she still lived with her babe, she saw that a horse had been tied to the branch of a tree close by and a tingle went down her spine.  For one joyful moment she thought it might be her Knight of the Raven, but then she saw him leave her hut and knew him.

             
Some protective instinct made her place the child on the ground out of his sight, wrapping her about with the soft shawl in which she usually carried Katharine slung across her body.  She did not think Sir William would harm her, but it was best to keep her secret for the moment.

             
‘Why did you enter my hut?’ she asked, a little angry that he should do so in her absence.  ‘I have nothing to steal.’

             
‘I would not steal from you, Beth.  I wanted to give you a present in case.  ‘Tis just a few coins…I wanted to make sure you were not starving or in need.’

             
‘You need not have troubled yourself, my lord.’

             
‘I have told you before.  My name is Sir William – William to you, if you will have it so.’

             
‘I think of you as the lord, everyone does.  You are powerful and we all bow our heads to you.’

             
William laughed.  ‘You would not think me powerful if you knew anything of the world outside this wood, Beth.  I am a mere knight and of little consequence.  I am not even rich.  I have sold my services to the Duke of Gloucester for money – money that will ensure my estate does not founder immediately should I not return from the war and my cousins inherit.’

             
‘You are to fight the French?’

             
‘What do you know of the war?’  He looked amused.  ‘I thought you lived alone here?’

             
‘Most of the time I am alone,’ Beth said.  ‘Sometimes Mistress Grey visits me – and if I have a little money I visit the fair or a market.  I have heard people say that the King is set on war with France once more.’

             
‘Where does your money come from?’

             
‘I have sold things that belonged to Marthe.  She has no use for them and I must have food for…’ Beth broke off, because she did not wish to tell him of the child.  She had thought she might leave the babe with Mistress Grey if she went to him at the castle, but he was going to war.  She might never see him again.  ‘Why does the King want to make war against the French?  What have the people done to anger him?’

             
‘It is a question of ancient rights and who should rule France.  Henry believes that the throne belongs to England and therefore to him.’

             
‘It is hard for the people to be always at war.  Mistress Grey told me that some of the young men from villages close by were rounded up by their lords and made to fight in the last wars.  Will you take the young men of our village with you?’

             
‘Are you concerned for your sweetheart, Beth?’

             
She caught the note of jealousy in his voice and shook her head.  ‘You should know that I have no sweetheart in the village.  They think I am the daughter of a witch and may practice the dark arts myself.’

             
‘Do you?’

             
‘No.  I told you, Marthe was not my mother.  She let me believe it but it was not so.  I know how to make simple cures but I have no magic.’

             
‘Who was your mother?’  William frowned, remembering something Sir Hugh had said to him recently.  ‘Did you tell me that Marthe found you wandering in a wood?’

             
‘She said something of the kind once, but I do not know the truth.  When I was little she said that men were searching for us and would kill us if they found us.’

             
‘Why would someone want to kill you?’

             
‘I do not know.’

             
‘Have you no memory of what your life was before you came here?’

             
For a moment she was tempted to tell him of the castle and the man with a gentle smile, who sometimes wore a gold band about his forehead, but she held her tongue.  Sir William had been kind to her the day that they buried Marthe, but she could not forget what he had done to her in Mistress Soames’s cottage. Yet he would not believe her if she told him that she might be the daughter of a lady who lived in a castle much like his own.

             
‘No, Sir William.  None that I recall.’

             
‘Well, I dare say it does not matter.’  He moved towards her.  Beth took a step backwards and he halted.  ‘Do not be afraid of me.  I shall not harm you.  I am sorry for what happened that day, Beth.  If I could I would go back and change what happened, but I cannot.’

             
‘It is forgotten.  You were my friend the day they killed Marthe.’

             
‘I would be your friend again if you would let me.’  He hesitated, then, ‘If I return – will you come to me at the castle?’

             
‘Perhaps.  I am not sure that I can trust you.  What will happen to me when you tire of me?’

             
William smiled.  ‘It would never happen, Beth.  You are always with me, in my thoughts and my heart, whatever I do.  Think about it please.’

             
‘Very well, I shall consider my answer.’

             
‘You will find a purse of coins in your hut.  Use them to live while I am gone – and take your cottage.  It is yours and I should feel happier if you lived in the village.’