Authors: Linda Sole
‘Yes, of course you can borrow my cart. I shall come with you and help you, Beth. I am not sure you could manage the big coffer alone.’
‘Are you sure you wish to be seen with me after what happened?’
‘John Blacksmith took his family and went that night. He sold what tools he had apart from those he could carry with him and the lord has given permission for another man to live and work the forge.’ Mistress Grey looked pleased with herself. ‘My son Tam was always clever with his hands. As a young lad he used to watch John Blacksmith’s father and he says he shall teach himself what he does not know. It is a fine thing for him and means that he can marry at last.’
‘I am glad Tam is to have the forge. You must be happy for him.’
‘Our cottage is too small for another family. Tam has been waiting until a cottage came empty. He would have liked Mistress Soames’s cottage but the lord forbade it.’ She looked at Beth thoughtfully. ‘Are you sure you do not wish to move there now that Marthe has gone? ‘Tis a good size and the walls are stout. I lit a fire there in the winter to keep it from getting damp.’
‘I shall stay in the woods for now. If your son wishes to take the cottage when I have my things he may.’
‘Tam has the forge, but my eldest daughter and her husband live with me and they have three children under six. I have two at home besides still not earning. If you do not need the cottage I should like to rear a goat or two in the yard at the back.’
‘You may use the yard or the cottage. Why not move in and let your daughter have your house for her children?’
‘I should like a piece of your cheese one day. I remember that you gave me some once when I brought you a mixture for your cough.’
‘Your cures eased my chest. You have helped so many in the village. Most people are willing to make amends, Beth. If you came here to live I think they would not turn their backs on you.’
‘The priest would not be so forgiving.’
‘Father Amos has gone. As yet we have no priest to take his place but we shall say prayers on Sunday, as always, even if we gather outside the church.’
‘If I lived in the village I should be expected to go to church, shouldn’t I?’
‘It would be wise to show respect, Beth, even if you do not believe.’
Beth nodded but said no more. Someone who loved her had given her the cross and chain when she was a child, perhaps to protect her. Since it was a symbol of the Christian religion she must have been admitted to the church then, but she could not remember it. She was not sure how she felt about going to church. Marthe said the priests were worse than other men.
‘They are dirty in mind as well as body and their depravity makes a mockery of their pious ways. They preach to the people and exhort them to lead good lives, but in private they commit every sin known to Man.’
Beth had asked Marthe what the priest had done to her that made her hate and despise them all but she had merely turned her head away, as she always did when she did not wish to answer. The priest had hated her as much as she hated him, and it was he who had been determined to punish her for being a witch.
Perhaps she had been a witch, but Beth did not think Marthe truly evil. She might have done wrong at times, but for the most part she had tried only to help.
Together, Beth and Mistress Grey sorted through the things that Beth wanted for herself. She had taken a few things from the big coffer previously and now she packed into it all the pots and utensils that would be useful at the hut. Between them they dragged the coffer out and tied it on to the handcart, then loaded on the chair, the embroidery frame and a stool, also the smaller coffer.
‘I think this is all I truly need,’ Beth said. ‘The table, Mistress Soames’s clothes and the extra bedding are of no use to me. If you wish for any of these thing you may have them – or give them to your son for his house.’
‘I will leave the table in case you need it one day, but I think Tam and his wife might like some of these blankets. Are you sure you do not need anything else?’
‘Quite sure. I have more than enough for my needs.’
‘But the future – surely you will not stay alone in the woods forever?’
‘I like it there. I cannot live here yet. Perhaps one day I shall seek the company of others but not for a time.’
She could not forget the hostile eyes watching her as Sir William had led her through them the morning she had buried Marthe, or the insults flung at her back. It would take time before she could trust again.
‘Will you still help those who are sick?’
‘With simple cures. I am not like Marthe. I can make only simple cures – but if that is enough then I shall not refuse those that ask.’
‘I shall tell them,’ Mistress Grey said. ‘I will fetch the things I want later. I think some of the clothes might be of use. I could cut them up and make things for the children.’
‘Yes, you could do that.’ Beth smiled. ‘You have been my friend and I am grateful. I will visit you sometimes if I may?’
‘I wish you would live here with us. I do not like to think of you alone in the woods.’
‘I am safe enough. Marthe was safe in the woods.’
‘Yes, that is true enough, though perhaps not for long. Had she not come that day they might have come for her – and in their blood lust they might have taken both of you.’
‘Yes, perhaps. I think Marthe knew it. It was the reason she came here that day, to save me.’
‘You have the lord’s protection now. While he is here at the castle you must be safe.’
‘But if he went away?’ Beth saw the doubt in the other woman’s eyes and felt chilled. ‘I think for the moment I shall stay in the woods.’
It was summer now and the woods were alive with the sound of birds twittering as they flitted from tree to tree, building nests and feeding their young. There was woodcock nesting above the grave where Marthe’s body lay as Beth knelt to place a posy of purple orchids in the small pot she had filled with water earlier.
She missed Marthe more than she would have thought possible for she seldom saw anyone. Since fetching her things from the cottage she had not visited the village and no one had come to her for a cure. Her only visitor had been Mistress Grey, who brought her some meat and a small piece of the delicious creamy cheese she produced from her goats’ milk. She had also brought her a live cockerel, which was something Beth had wanted but not been sure how to obtain.
‘
Your hens will lay now,’ she’d said with a smile and refused to take a penny for her trouble. ‘Tam reckoned he owed his good fortune to you and brought this from the market for you.’
Beth thanked her and gave her some edible fungi she had picked early that morning. Since the improvement in the weather, it was easy to find enough food for herself and now that she had a cockerel, her hens had decided to lay. She had not taken any of their eggs thus far, because she wanted to have chicks to rear. She had found a fallen tree in the wood and, using an axe that she had brought from the cottage, had constructed a pen of sorts where the chickens could run freely and were protected from foxes. She had also cleared a patch where the trees did not overhang so much and planted some seeds that she’d discovered in Mistress Soames’s coffer, which she tended and watered every morning. She was not certain what she was growing but hoped whatever came up might be edible.
Her life was full for when she was not searching for food or caring for her vegetable plot and hens, she worked at her sewing. At first she could only manage plain stitching but then she tried to embroider patterns, copying those she found on pieces of unfinished work in the coffer. She made mistakes often and had to un-pick several stitches, but gradually she was improving, though she was not sure she would ever be able to produce anything as fine as the work in Mistress Soames’s silk gown.
Sometimes she would take the gown out and stroke it, hold it against herself and run her fingers over the soft material. It felt so good close to her skin and she thought it might fit her, perhaps with a little alteration here and there – but of what use was a gown like this when she lived alone in the woods?’
Always when she had finished touching the gown she would take out the child’s dress and compare them. If anything the child’s gown was even finer than the one Mistress Soames had given her.
Beth thought how much she would like to wear the dress – if only she had somewhere to go. It was far too fine for the life she led. She thought a lady might have worn such a fine gown when she dined in the hall at the castle. If Beth went to the castle she could wear the gown.
The thought came to her mind sometimes but she dismissed it. Her life in the woods was hard and sometimes she admitted that she was lonely, but if she put on the gown and went to the castle Sir William would know why she had come – and then she would be his whore.
Beth no longer hated him. He had helped her with Marthe’s body. She could have brought her home on the cart and she could have dug the grave herself, but it would have been much harder. Sir William had said a prayer for Marthe’s soul and Beth would not know what to say.
Every night now she spoke to the mother she could not truly remember. The first time it had been almost a prayer, but now she simply talked to her, telling her about her life and telling her that she loved her. Sometimes she thought she could see the face of the lady who had told her stories, and hear a soft voice, but then she knew it was only the wind sighing in the trees.
Yes, she was lonely but she would not put on her gown and go to the castle yet.
‘I am for Burgundy with a message from the King,’ Raoul said as he supped with William de Burgh that evening. ‘I may not return to England for some months. You knew that Henry has demanded terms to settle the differences between France and England?’
William toyed with the stem of his cup for a moment, then, ‘His demands will be refused for he asks not only for Katherine of France but the throne when Charles dies, besides more lands and territories. Henry’s father has been dead but a few months and already there is certain to be another war, as if we had not suffered enough unrest these past years. I think there will never be true peace until the rightful heir sits on the English throne.’
‘You speak of Mortimer I suppose?’ Raoul frowned. ‘Henry hath treated him kindly enough and the young earl is but a youth. I doubt he will wish to raise his sword against the King.’
‘There is unrest amongst some of the barons who support the House of York.’
‘There is always unrest amongst the barons and petty lords.’
‘True enough. Most of them exist to fight and grow bored when there are no wars.’
‘There will be campaigns enough against the French before long for any man with restless feet. The Dauphin’s faction will not accept Henry’s terms even if his father does and there will be another war before this dispute is ended. The barons will content themselves with rich prizes taken in battle. I wonder that you do not choose to offer your services?’
‘I have received various offers and I shall offer my sword where it is needed. My stewards have everything under control and there is little for me here now.’
‘You sound like a man disappointed in love?’
William gave a curt shake of the head. ‘I thought you settled at court?’
‘My work there is done. I shall offer my sword to Burgundy for the moment, if he will have it.’
‘Where your true allegiance has lain all along perhaps? Burgundy plays a waiting game. Mayhap he covets a crown for himself?’
Raoul frowned. ‘I can read no man’s mind. The Duke of Burgundy was a friend to mine – and I owe him a debt.’ He took a last sip of wine and touched a napkin to his lips. ‘Now, my friend, I thank you for my supper – and must take my leave of you.’
‘You will not rest here this night? It will soon be dark even though the nights are at their longest.’
‘I do not fear the dark,’ Raoul said and stood up. ‘I shall sleep beneath the stars for I travel alone and shall not meet the men I have mustered until the morning. My trusted squire Stefan is with them and we are pledged to meet in Winchester.’
‘The shortest route lies past my woods. Follow the path the villagers take to market and you should not miss the highroad.’ The two men clasped hands. Sir William accompanied his guest out to the bailey, where grooms were sent scurrying to saddle his horse.
‘Thank you for your hospitality. If you wish for employment with Burgundy tell him I recommended you.’
‘I shall consider my options.’ Sir William inclined his head. ‘May God guide and protect you, sir.’
‘And you.’
Raoul mounted up and rode away. It was still light and would be so for an hour or so yet. Long enough for him to find a secluded place to sleep where he would not be overheard if he should shout and scream as he slept.
Until the nightmares ceased to haunt him it was unwise to lodge beneath another’s roof, where he might be heard. Raoul did not fear battle, but the dreams that came to him made him sweat and start up in terror. He had murder on his conscience – the murder of a priest and a woman who had betrayed her husband.
He recalled the priest’s terrified look as he begged for his life on his knees.
‘I swear to you I did not corrupt the lady,’ he said over and over. ‘It was she that came to me and asked for my help. She told me that your father was a cruel evil man who hurt her; she swore that he was depraved and given to acts of Satanism and sodomy.’
‘Liar…she lied. You besmirch my father’s memory with your filthy lies. He was a good gentle, generous, man and truly loved her. She was a bitch on heat that lay with any man who pleased her.’ Raoul’s mouth hardened. ‘Confess your sin now unless you wish to go to Your Maker in sin.’
‘I confess that I lay with her,’ the priest said and tears ran down his pale cheeks. ‘I ask your pardon for my sin, D’Avignon – but I swear that I had no hand in your father’s murder. It was all her doing – your father’s wife.’
Raoul looked at him with hatred. ‘I almost believe you. She laughed when I confronted her. She gloried in the acts of wickedness she had performed with you and called you the Devil’s disciple. She said that all men desired her and that she could bend them to her will – that you murdered my father and your prize was to lie with her.’
‘She lied. I beg you to believe me. I know nothing of your father’s murder. Ask her again. Force her to tell you the truth. I lay with her because she enticed me and made me break my vows of chastity. I have worn a hair shirt and chastised myself every day for breaking that vow. As God is my judge, I am innocent of all else.’
‘I would ask her but she cannot answer. She is dead these many months past.’
‘Dead…’ If possible the man’s complexion turned paler, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. ‘How…you killed her?’
‘I killed the bitch as she laughed and taunted me,’ Raoul said coldly. ‘She thought she could bind me with her spells. She thought she would twist me in the coils of her lustrous hair and bewitch me with her scent – but I killed her, as I am going to kill you.’
‘No. I beg you…’ Arnaud fell to his knees, trembling and wringing his hands. ‘I know a secret – a secret that could bring you riches and power. ‘Spare my life and I shall tell you.’
‘Speak then,’ Raoul said and listened as a tale of such evil poured from the priest’s lips that his stomach turned. ‘How do I know that you speak truly, viper?’
‘I swear it on the Body of Christ and if I lie may I know the torments of Hell. It was I who told the old King Henry of the child’s existence. Before he died, John Fletcher told me that he was ordered to take her from her mother and keep her incarcerated until she died but…she wandered off while the men were raping a maidservant and he did not know whether she lived or died.’
‘Then it was you that betrayed the child and caused her suffering. For that you deserve to burn in Hell.’
Taking his sword in his right hand, Raoul thrust into the priest’s soft belly, twisting the blade so that it ripped through him, before drawing it back. The priest clutched at himself as his guts spilled out and the blood trickled through his fingers. As his life drained out of him, his eyes bulging in disbelief, he spoke words that Raoul would never forget.
‘I swear on my soul that I am innocent of the crime of murder. You have murdered a man of God and may your sin lay heavy on your conscience. You are cursed…cursed…’
Shaking off the memory, Raoul turned his horse into the woods. He was a fool to let the lying knave’s words bother him. She had told him it all, laughing at him as she offered her naked body to him, her eyes bright with mockery.
‘You have always wanted me, Raoul,’ she taunted, her lips soft and moist and red, a very Jezebel. ‘Admit that you lusted after me and envied your father. You thought him too old for such a bride and wanted me yourself. Well, he is dead. I bribed Arnaud to kill him with poisons too subtle to detect. His prize was to lie with me once. Now that I am free and rich I can take as many lovers as I want.’
She was triumphant, so sure of her power to bewitch. Raoul had known that his body burned for hers even as he took her by the throat. She had laughed up at him, believing that he would kiss her but his fingers tightened about her white neck and then, with one twist of his powerful hands, he had snapped her bones. The shock in her eyes in that second before she died had made him smile, but then, as she went limp in his arms a wave of terrible grief and despair had swept over him.
He lay her down on her bed, arranging her limbs, her hands crossed over her breasts, and he had lain beside her for most of the night, riding away only as the first rays of dawn crept across the sky. He hardly knew what he did but as the days passed his resolve had hardened. The bitch had paid the price for her wickedness, as she deserved.
‘You were beautiful, Angeline,’ he murmured, ‘but your soul was blacker than night.’
Sometimes he was haunted by the memory of that night, but his current dreams concerned the priest, whose body he had left where it lay in deep woods some miles from the retreat to which they had been heading. It was unlikely to be found before decay set in and little would be left after the foxes and other beasts of the forest had eaten their fill. He had returned to court reporting that the priest had reached his destination safely and been believed. Raoul did not fear to be arrested and tried for murder; his crimes were secret, but could not be hid from God’s eyes. Despite his rage and his crimes, he feared God. His soul might burn in Hell for what he had done, but at least he had avenged his father.
Had he wronged the priest? If his only crime was that of breaking his vow of chastity he had not deserved such a violent death, though by tattling of the lady Beatrice’s secret he had caused the death of a child. Raoul would never be certain whether or not he had killed an innocent man, but sometimes in his dreams he believed that he was truly cursed.
Suddenly, he heard a voice singing nearby. The tone was high and clear and beautiful. He reined in his horse and dismounted, wondering where the sound had come from. It seemed to be beyond that stand of willows and, now that he listened, he could hear the sounds of water splashing and a woman’s laugh. He followed the sounds and then stood absolutely still, watching as she played in the pool, which filtered from the stream and gathered into a basin of rock.
She was naked, though he could see only the top half of her body: her full breasts, flat naval and shapely arms. Her hair was wet and looked dark red in the moonlight, though as he looked harder and recognised her, he knew in sunlight it was lighter. She was the peasant girl he had seen picking herbs near de Burgh’s castle – the girl he had thought too fine and lovely to be of base birth.
Seized by an urgent need, Raoul stripped off his garments and walked towards the pool. He had entered the water and was moving towards her before she noticed him. For a moment she stilled, a look of fright in her eyes. He smiled at her, wanting to reassure her. He remembered a time when he was young and had bathed with his father, and his instincts led him to make little splashing motions at her. The water sprayed over her. She hesitated, then laughed and splashed him back. Raoul moved closer and began splashing for all he was worth. She retaliated; laughing and shrieking as he suddenly pounced on her and pulled her down with him under the water. They resurfaced in seconds, spluttering and laughing. He reached out and touched the end of her nose, then took a strand of her hair and coiled it around his fingers.
‘You are beautiful: a water goddess, a very spirit of the night. I have never seen a woman as lovely.’
‘You are beautiful too,’ she said and reached out tentatively to stroke one finger over his mouth. He caught her finger, nipping it gently between his white teeth. She laughed and made no attempt to move away as he stroked her cheek, then trailed his hand down her slender throat to her breast. His fingers splayed, caressing and cupping her fullness, teasing the nipple with his thumb. She moaned softly, her body arching as if she relished his touch and her lips parted, ready for his kiss. Raoul caught her to him, kissing her softly with tenderness that gradually took fire and became a consuming flame.
Her moans of pleasure made him harden with a fierce need and he lifted her from the water. Her legs went round him as he bore her to the bank and lay her down on the clothes he had discarded in a heap. She was even more beautiful now that he could see all of her and her skin was as soft as silk. He lay with her, beside her, his hands caressing the arch of her back, cupping her small buttocks and squeezing them. He stroked her thighs, found his way between them and gently caressed with one finger. She stiffened a little but then relaxed and let him have his way.