An Honourable Estate (23 page)

William
found a quiet place inside the church, sat down on the cold stone step and lit
a candle which he placed beside him.  Gently, he unrolled the short
letter.  It was what the Scot had said: a letter that would give Thomas,
Earl of Lancaster, and up to thirty knights permission to ride into Scotland to
meet with Robert Bruce.  William re-rolled the parchment with a wry smile
and stowed it back in his own clothing.  This was the evidence he needed
to persuade the king to raise an army against his traitorous cousin.

He went to seek out Harry Palmer and found him sitting around
a fire with his sister, the Scot and young Dicken where the outline of Martha’s
new house was gradually taking shape.

“How would you like to go to seek out the king with proof
that Lancaster is a traitor,” he whispered in Harry’s ear with a grin,
expecting him to be brimming with similar enthusiasm.  He was puzzled and
disappointed as he saw the frown flicker across his face.

“I cannot leave my sister alone with...” he nodded to where
Martha and the Scot were in deep conversation.  “Besides the other women
need a man to protect them now that Tegg and Scallard have gone – and at least
I’m near my own family at Haigh.  I hope to get a message to them
soon.”  He looked across at William with a worried expression.  “I’m
sorry, my lord.  I will go with you if you command me,” he added,
dutifully.

“No,” said William after a moment.  “I am no longer your
lord to command you and even if I was I would not press you.  I should not
have suggested it.  Of course you must stay here,” he said, patting
Harry’s shoulder reassuringly.  “I will go alone,” he said and then he
noticed Dicken watching them and listening.  “Unless you would like to be
my squire?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  “It will be hard ‒ but
I vow not to beat you.”

“And we’d really go to see the king?” asked the boy in
wide-eyed awe.

“We would indeed.”

“He’ll need a horse,” said Harry, ever practical.  “And
it’s a pity we threw off our armour as we fled the field at Preston.  It
would have been useful to you now.”

“We’ll manage well enough,” said William.  “There’s the
mail and the cloaks we took from the sheriff’s men and if I ride Hengist the
boy can have one of their horses.  The other I will leave you, for we’ll
have no use for a baggage animal, and if you can condition it to the plough it
may prove its worth here.”

Early
the next morning, William settled himself into the familiar saddle astride his
stallion and picked up the reins.  He leant forward to pat the muscular
neck and watched the animal’s furry ears twist this way and that, eager to
please his master but excited at the prospect of an adventure.  Beside him
Dicken was seated on a slightly calmer bay and William was pleased to see that
the boy looked an assured and competent horseman.

“Take care of yourself and your sister,” said William to
Harry.  “And watch that Scot.  Do not trust him too far.  And if
you can,” he added, circling the impatient horse around in a tight circle, “try
to let Mab know that I am alive and beg her not to marry some welsh knight
whilst I am gone.”

He looked around the village that was beginning to grow again
from the ashes and cursed every Scotsman to hell.  Then he raised a hand
in farewell to the assembled villagers as he winked at Dicken.  “Ready?”
he asked.

“I am, my lord!” replied the boy.

“Then let us away,” said William.  “The king awaits us
and the fate of Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, will be sealed.”

Although there had been a week or so of spring sunshine that
had filled them with the hope that this year the crops would grow and the
animals would thrive, they had only been riding south for a couple of hours
when the clouds began to veil the face of a weak sun and before long they were
being soaked by the overfamiliar drizzle.  Calab ran ahead of them,
sniffing at every tree root along the road.  His grey fur was saturated
and clung closely to his thin body showing that he was not such a huge hound
after all, but the horses didn’t seem to mind the rain and when William saw the
smile on Dicken’s face he realised that the boy couldn’t have been happier
despite the weather.

“How long will it take us?” he asked as they splashed through
the puddles side by side.

“Around five days to a week.  It depends on the weather
and how quickly we ride, though I do not plan a leisurely excursion.  Do
you think you can keep up?” asked William as he pushed Hengist to a lengthening
canter.  Looking back he was pleased to see Dicken kick the bay to a
similar pace.  Although it seemed lazy, Dicken was not allowing it to take
advantage of him, thought William, as he watched the boy’s face become serious
as he settled to the horse’s stride.  He was a good boy and William was
glad that he had brought him.

Calab loped ahead of them, turning his head now and then to
make sure that they were still following and William felt confident that they
would make Langley before too many days had passed.  It was the favourite
palace of the king and queen and he hoped that they would be there.  The
thought of meeting the king lifted his spirits beyond the gloomy weather and
for a while he felt happy.  But, as William reminded himself that evening,
happiness was often a fleeting and fickle emotion and more often than not there
was some misfortune awaiting in the none too distant future to even out the
balance.

Towards dusk on the second day they reached an inn far enough
to the south for William to decide that the risk of being recognised was small. 
The temptation of a hot meal, water to wash and a decent bed after all the
months living rough was too much to resist.  He and Dicken saw the horses
stabled behind the Rising Sun and were sitting warming themselves by the
blazing fire, eating broth with herb dumplings from huge wooden bowls, when
some other travellers came in and began to talk.

“We saw two outlaws captured today,” said one
conversationally as he spooned the hot broth into his mouth by the light of the
guttering tallow candles.

“Near here?” asked William, trying to sound a little
indifferent as he poured himself another cup of ale from the pitcher on the
scrubbed table.

“To the north.  They put up a fierce fight.  One
got away.”

“You can’t help but feel some sympathy for them,” remarked
his companion.  “With so many going hungry and so much venison roaming the
forest you can hardly blame a man for helping himself.”

“Aye, but the new sheriff of Lancashire, Edmund Neville, has
vowed to purge the forest of lawlessness.  The man is making it his
mission.”

“The Earl of Lancaster has chosen a wily one there,” agreed
his companion.  “He’s not like Robert Holland who barely shows his face on
his lands from one year end to the next.  Neville means to do business.”

“Did you hear what the outlaws did to Sir Peter Lymesey, the
new lord of Haigh?” asked one, passing the bread basket to William.

“I heard he’d taken a tumble whilst out hunting,” said
William with a warning hand to Dicken’s knee beneath the table.

“Tumble?” laughed the man.  “He took a beating and was
lucky to live from what I hear.  They say he will return to his lands in
the south, not being tough enough to survive our harsh northern ways!” 
Both men laughed and William joined them but his humour was feigned and he
wanted to know more about the men who had been captured, fearing for Stephen
Scallard and William Tegg and Ned Kemp.

“And these two who were caught?” he asked, trying to sound
nonchalant.  “Were they the perpetrators of the crime?”

“I dare say they’ll hang for it whether they were or
not.  Sir Edmund Neville will be keen to prove himself,” replied the man
as he dipped his bread into the remains of his meal to wipe up every last drop.

“But still, I felt sorry to see them taken,” added his
companion, “especially when they fought so well.”

The men chatted on for a while until William bade them
goodnight and he and Dicken climbed the steep wooden stairs from the courtyard
to their room.

“Do you think the captured men were your friends?” asked
Dicken when they were alone.

“There are many outlaws in the forest,” replied William. “I
wouldn’t worry.  Get yourself to bed.  We have another long ride
tomorrow.”  But, as William lay and listened to the steady breathing of
the sleeping boy beside him, he couldn’t dismiss the feeling of disquiet that
made him suspect that two of the three men he had last seen the day before at
Chorleigh were now in the hands of the sheriff.

At
last they approached Langley and followed the course of the river Gade, past
the two small islands with their mills, which were slapping idly at the water,
and on through the parkland where William caught sight of a deer and was
tempted to shoot it for their supper, but thought that it would be an
inauspicious beginning if he were to be dragged before the king for poaching.

As they rode up towards the high flint walls that surrounded
the palace and the priory church, the houses lining the road became larger and
their owners looked a little more affluent, though none of the villagers who
were farming their strips of land and tending their thin animals paid them much
attention.  William reined in Hengist and stared through the steady rain
at the array of buildings partly visible in the distance through the open
gateway.  Some looked newly built and it seemed that there had been a
recent transformation of what had been an impressive manor house into a lavish
palace.

“I’ve never been inside a real palace before,” said Dicken
beside him.  The boy’s eyes were shining beneath the dripping fringe of his
wet hair and William hoped that he would not be disappointed.  Calling
Calab to his side, he touched his heels to the stallion’s flanks and they
trotted forward towards the causeway that spanned the moat and led to the
gatehouse where the portcullis was raised.  William slowed the horse to a
steady walk as two men-at-arms with pikes came forward to bar his way.

“State your business!” said one.  William looked down at
the man whose royal surcoat was stuck fast to his chain shirt by the
rain.  Water ran from his helmet onto his neck and he looked surly, cold
and bored.

“I am Sir William Bradshaigh.  I seek an audience with
the king.”

The guard looked him suspiciously for a moment then waved
them through into the Court Wick.  William looked around the crowded
courtyard where servants and villeins were busy with their tasks.  There
was a second gateway which was more closely guarded, and here he stated his
business again before he and Dicken were allowed through to the Great
Court.  It was surrounded by the usual  range of buildings −
stables, a well house, cellars and barns; and from a building on the far side
of the court came the appetising smell of roasting goose, which was making
Calab sniff the air in appreciation.

“Wait in there,” said a man, indicating the wide door to the
stables. “I will send your name to the chamberlain.”

William slid down from Hengist’s back and, telling Dicken to
follow him, he led the way out of the persistent rain.  Several grooms
looked up as they came in and one showed them a couple of empty stalls where
they could tether and unsaddle the tired mounts.  William took some silver
coins from the purse at his waist and exchanged them with a groom for some
handfuls of hay to feed the horses and some straw to bed them and to dry them
off so they wouldn’t catch a chill.

He took off his cloak and spread it over a wooden partition
to dry, telling Dicken to do the same.  As they worked, and the pale faced
boy gazed curiously around, William realised that it was a long time since they
had eaten and that if there was food to be had here it was a good opportunity
to fill their bellies.  He considered following the aroma of the roasting
meat across to the kitchen to see what he could beg, buy or charm from the
cooks, but he was reluctant to disappear until he was sure that someone had
sent his name to the king and secured him an audience.

He was mentally debating what to do when a man in the king’s
livery came to the door.

“Are you Sir William Bradshaigh?” he asked.  William
nodded.  “I have been sent by the chamberlain to ask your business.”

“My business is with the king,” said William.

The man rolled his eyes and shook his head
dismissively.  “We have a hundred people come every week saying they have
business with the king.  We cannot possibly grant them all an audience or
His Grace would be overwhelmed.  Tell me why you need to see the king and
I will pass your request to the chamberlain.”

“My business with the king is as private as it is vital!”
William told him angrily, whilst trying to keep his temper in check.

“If you will not tell me why you need to see the king then
your request cannot be considered and I must ask you to leave.”

William clenched and unclenched his fists.  He had
thought that riding south without being apprehended would be the biggest
challenge, but now he saw that had been the easy part.  It had never
occurred to him that he would not be ushered straight into the king’s presence
and, not for the first time, he wished that Adam Banastre, with his charmed tongue,
were still alive and in his company.