An Honourable Estate (11 page)

“We may have to offer our guest a bed for the night,” she
said, trying to keep her tone conversational.  “I wonder if I should ask Mistress
Palmer if you could sleep in her house.”

“But there is plenty of room in the hall,” said Bella,
looking alarmed at the suggestion of being parted from her mother.

“I think sleeping at my house sounds a very good idea,” said
Edith, perceptively coming to Mabel’s assistance.  “Sir Peter has brought
many retainers who will need somewhere to bed down and, who knows, they may all
snore.”

“Why can’t they sleep in the barn?” argued Bella.  “I
don’t want to sleep at the Palmer’s house.”

“I think you should,” Mabel told her firmly.  “I will go
and speak to your mother, Edith, and arrange it.  No more argument,” she
said sharply to Bella and guilt stung at her as she saw the little girl’s eyes
fill with tears.  She knew that neither of her daughters was happy to be
out of her company since William had gone and she knew that Bella thought her
cruel and unreasonable on this occasion, but she hoped that she would forgive
her without ever discovering the real reason she did not want them in Haigh
Hall.

Chapter Six

The Outlaw

William
opened his eyes to see a faint light broaching the horizon and as he watched
through the entrance to the small den, he saw the stars fading and knew that it
was time to face another day of hardship and banishment.

Outside he could see Harry Palmer crouched down and knew that
he was coaxing a small fire into life within the circle of stones that served
as their hearth.  Above the fire, on a framework of sturdy branches that
were scorched but too thick to burn easily, hung a pot that they had found and
William hoped that they would be able to catch something to cook in it later
that day.  Despite the famine in the villages the forest teemed with life
and the traps they set more often than not provided a hare or some other small
mammal for their dinner.

William pushed back the flimsy warmth of the blanket and
stood up.  The straw-filled sack that was his mattress looked damp in the
chilly morning air and he wondered if the sun would shine, and if they would be
able to hang their bedding over the bushes to dry out a little. 

He shook his boots to remove any insects that were lurking
there and pulled them onto his bare feet before pulling on his over-tunic,
stolen from a bush outside some village.  He ran his fingers through his
tangled hair in a token attempt at remaining civilised and went out, stretching
and scratching and yawning, to face what the coming day would bring.

At least he was not alone, he thought, as he watched Harry
cup his hands around a tiny flicker of flame and gently blow it.  The
tinder that they had managed to keep dry in a box took hold and soon there was
enough of a blaze for them to rub some feeling back into their hands and
fingers.

“Is there anything to eat?” he asked as he watched his friend
pour stream water into the pot to heat.  At first William had refused to
drink the water from the stream, saying it would kill them both as surely as
the Earl of Lancaster’s axe should they be caught, but eventually thirst had
overcome his misgivings and surprisingly they had both survived so far, though
they had discovered that if the water was first boiled and then left to cool a
little it not only provided some comfort but was less likely to send them
seeking seclusion in the forest to spew and purge what little food they had
found.

“I told you last night that you would regret it this morning
if you ate all that was left of the stew,” remarked Harry, and William sighed
as he recalled the conversation.  “I’ll go and check the traps in a
while,” he continued.  “It looks as though it might be a dry day.”

William sat down beside the fire on a stone he had discovered
and dragged back to their den.  It was smooth and had a small indentation
that seemed to fit him snugly and, wrapped in a cloth and heated on the embers
of the fire, it also provided him with something warm to take to his bed,
though it was a poor substitute for his wife.  He watched as steam began
to gently rise from the water.  Harry threw in a few dried mint leaves for
flavour.  It was amazing, thought William, how much they had learnt about
survival over the harsh winter months.

At last Harry poured the brew into the rough cups and handed
one to him.  He warmed his hands around it and slowly sipped the contents,
feeling the liquid trickle down his gullet and the warmth spread across his
chest and into his stomach.   He watched his friend through a haze of
steam and smoke.  The scar on Harry’s cheek had healed but was still a
vivid red.  It made him look fierce, thought William, though he doubted
his wife would be impressed by it when she saw him; perhaps it would eventually
fade.  It was a pity it hadn’t been a little lower or his growth of
greying beard would have covered it.

Every day he thanked God that Harry had helped him from the
field of battle that day at Preston.  As he had lain there, winded and
confused, it would have been a miracle if he had not been run through with a
sword or impaled on a lance if Harry had not seen him and pulled him to his
feet and taken him into the cover of the surrounding woodland.  For that,
he would always owe this man a debt that was too huge to be repaid.  He
owed Harry Palmer his life.

After Harry had dragged him into the forest and concealed
them both in some undergrowth they had waited, straining to hear what was going
on around them until it seemed safe enough to come out.  Slowly William’s
breath had returned, though his back and chest had been sore and he’d been glad
when Harry suggested that they take off their chainmail armour and dump it in a
ditch so that they were less likely to be seen.  They had both been afraid
that Neville would send dogs to seek them out, but as it had darkened in the
late afternoon the men had withdrawn and they had hoped that the sheriff had
taken enough prisoners to satisfy him.

Once silence had fallen, apart from two owls disputing their
territory and sending their ghoulish cries across the forest, William and Harry
had crept from their hiding place and, tripping and stumbling over tree roots,
and fending off branches that lashed unseen at their faces, they had made their
way cautiously back to the battle site.  The iron rich stench of blood
pervaded the night air and as a moon rose beyond the horizon William had seen
the mutilated corpses of his and Adam’s men littering the riverbank.  He’d
bent to look at the nearest one, a body he had almost fallen over.  It was
cold and the face was unrecognisable.

“We must take them to the church.  Which is the
nearest?” he’d asked.

“No,” Harry had argued.  “We cannot do that, unless we
want to give ourselves willingly into the captivity of Lancaster’s
sheriff!”  William had stood up and looked around him.  The moon had
been reflected in the water of the Ribble; an undulating silvery pathway; its
beauty at odds with the horror that had lain around him.  He had fought in
many battles on the Scottish campaign but even there both sides had been given
the opportunity to retrieve and bury their dead.  “Neville will see them
buried, I’m sure,” Harry had said.  “There is nothing we can do,
except...”

“Except what?

“For our own survival I think we should salvage what we can
whilst we have the opportunity.”

“Yes,” William had agreed, wondering if this was what men
meant when they spoke of being in shock.  It was usually him who led the
men, who made the decisions, who told them what to do, what to think.  Yet
here he was, standing as though half dead himself and relying on a vassal to
take the lead.  “Yes,” he’d said again more decisively. “The moonlight is
brighter now and there may be things we can use, though I fear my horse is long
gone,” he’d said, looking southwards and wondering if Hengist would find his
way back to Haigh.  He’d worried about what the animal’s return might mean
to Mab.  He’d wished that he could have sent a message to her, to let her know
that he was alive, but he knew that Haigh was the first place the sheriff would
search for him, and if Mab could truthfully say that she had heard nothing from
him and did not know where he was, then it would be easier for her to convince
Neville that she genuinely had no knowledge of his whereabouts.

They had stepped over the bodies, retrieving what few weapons
were left: some longbows, arrows, a few knives.  They had found flints and
some pots and utensils from the site where they had camped the previous night,
some blankets and a few provisions that they had worked all night to store and
conceal in the forest until they could find a safer place to keep them.

“We have enough for a few days.  That should see us
through,” Harry had said as dawn came, and filthy and exhausted they had
settled down once more to await what daylight would bring, wanting to sleep but
too afraid, reassured by the silence but dreading that at any moment they would
hear horses and hounds coming to hunt them down.

Towards midday they had heard a twig snap and immediately
they were both alert.  William had drawn his sword and Harry reached for a
longbow and an arrow.  They hadn’t spoken but almost held their breath as
they waited, ears straining in the direction of the sound.  Footsteps had
approached and then another twig had broken nearby and a voice shushed someone
as the steps paused.  William had slowly straightened his legs to see
through the almost bare branches who was coming.  He’d exhaled with a sigh
of relief and his grip on his sword had slackened as he’d recognised Adam and
Henry Lea.

“Will!  I’m glad to see you!” Adam had exclaimed. 
“I saw you flung from your horse and were sure you must have perished.”

“No.  It will take more than that to be rid of me,” he’d
grinned at his friend, grasping his hand and then that of Lea.  “I’m glad
to see you both alive.  Though yesterday was not a good one; many are
dead.”  He’d waved a hand towards the field and Adam’s face became
serious.

“I have seen,” he’d said grimly.  “We will make
Lancaster pay for this slaughter.”

William had stared at him.  “You can’t mean to go
on.  We are defeated.”

“I will never admit defeat,” he’d replied.  “Henry and I
spoke of this last night and we are agreed.  We will make our way to the
house of de Eurfurlong at Charnock Richard.  He will support us and we
will raise more men to our cause.  Will you come?”

“No,” William had replied.  “I think it may be safer to
lay low here for a while, until we can be sure of what Lancaster and his
sheriff mean to do next.”  At his refusal Adam had silently held out his
hand, palm up and grasped Henry Lea’s hand to show his palm as well with the
livid red line cutting across it.  “I will follow you in a few days,”
William had told them, relenting in the face of their combined abhorrence at
his breach of their oath.  “It will be safer if we do not travel together
anyway.”

Satisfied that he was still loyal to their cause Adam had
shared a meal with them in the small clearing near the river where they had set
up camp.  Then he and Henry Lea had left.  It was the last time
William had seen them. 

He sat now and traced the line that scored his own palm and
wondered if he too would have been caught and executed if he had gone with them
to the house of the man they thought was their friend, but who had betrayed
them.  He had heard from a pedlar he’d met on the road of the deaths of
his two friends at Martinmas.  It was a hard lesson, thought William, to
realise that you could trust no one and he wondered how much money it would
take for Harry Palmer to be tempted to hand him over to the sheriff.

“You look worried this morning.  Does something ail
you?” asked Harry.  William looked up to find his friend appraising him
with a concerned expression.

“I was thinking of Adam Banastre,” he replied, “and wondering
why I ever listened to him.  Mab always said he was trouble.  I ought
to have heeded her.”

“Aye.  Lady Mabel is a wise woman.  I worry about
my wife and daughter, but the thought that she’s at Haigh to see them right is a
comfort.”

“Yes.”  William stood up and prowled restlessly around
their small campsite.  “I worry too,” he admitted.  “What was that?”
he said suddenly as he caught sight of a movement through the trees. 

“Dinner maybe?” said Harry, reaching inside the den for his
longbow as his stomach growled audibly in anticipation of food.

William saw something again and reached for the dagger
sheathed at his hip as he moved to take cover, glancing behind him to see if
the route to the east, his best way of escape was clear, or if they had been
fooled in their laxity by an effort to surround them and flush them out. 
He was fairly sure now that the movement he had seen was a man, crouching as he
moved stealthily through the trees.

William saw Harry circle around behind him and silently
indicate that there were at least two men.  He listened as they closed in
but decided that there were no others and that these two could just be
opportunist thieves who had been attracted by the smoke from the fire. 
Then with a sudden thwack Harry released an arrow and as it juddered into the
trunk of a tree one of the men leapt aside with an exclamation of alarm and
William recognised him as Will Tegg.