An Honourable Estate (28 page)

On the third day they reached a roadside inn just before
darkness fell and William reckoned that if they spent the night there and set
off early then they could reach Chorleigh by the following nightfall. 
Dicken was rubbing down the horses with some handfuls of straw and William was
about to go inside to enquire about beds and supper when a figure approached
him out of the shadows.  It was because Calab gave a sharp bark of
recognition rather than his throaty growl that William looked at the man more
closely.

“Ned?” he asked the bearded figure who shuffled into view
wearing a patched and threadbare cloak with hay sticking to it as if he had
been sleeping.

“Aye, my lord.  It’s me.  And I’m glad to see you
looking so well.”

William could see that Ned Kemp was not so fortunate though,
even if he had so far escaped capture by the sheriff.

“I’m pleased to see you with your liberty,” he replied. 
“We heard that two outlaws had been captured and I feared for you.

“Scallard and Tegg were taken, my lord, but I managed to get
away.  Twas a close run thing though.   I evaded the sheriff’s
men and managed to hide away from the dogs in the forest until they called off
their hunt.  But I dare not go home or to Chorleigh.  Edmund Neville
has eyes and ears everywhere, my lord.”

William patted the man on the shoulder in sympathy.  He
was more sorry than he could say about the other two, but he was glad that it
was Ned who had got away.  He didn’t need to ask what had happened to
them.  They would be dead by now, he knew, on one charge or another. 
Tegg’s days had been numbered since he’d killed Henry Bury, but William had
liked the man, and Scallard too.  They had been good, brave men who had
fought hard at Preston and helped him in the forest.

“Come into the inn with us and I will buy you some supper and
a cup of ale.  I’ve been more than amply rewarded by the king,” William
told Ned, seeing that the man was in dire need of a good meal.

“I’m pleased your journey was worthwhile, my lord,” said Ned
as they settled by the warmth of a roaring log fire.  “Where are you
headed now?”  

“We are on our way to the borders.  There is a new
assault on the Scots planned.  But we intend to stop off at Chorleigh
along the way to see how the rebuilding is progressing.”

“I wouldn’t, my lord.  Not if you value your head,” Ned
told him. “Edmund Neville has posted men-at-arms all around.  He says it
is to protect the women against another Scots raid, but the true reason is that
he has vowed to rid the county of every last outlaw.  I daren’t go back
and I know that Harry Palmer has gone to the den in the forest and had to leave
his sister.”

Ned was right, thought William, as he filled his mouth with
bread and stew.  It would be safer to ride straight for Carlisle and sort
out the Scots and the Earl of Lancaster for good so that he could go home with
no fear to claim back his land and his wife.

“Come with us,” he said to Ned.  “You’re nifty with a
sword and it has to be better than playing hide and seek with Neville’s men in
the forest.”

“I have no horse, or armour, my lord,” said Ned, though
William saw from his expression that he yearned to come.  He shook the
purse at his waist with a smile.

“I will supply whatever you need,” he told him.  “I’m sure
we can find a horse for sale somewhere.”

But it turned out that horses were as rare as a four-leafed
clover and Dicken had to give up his mount to Ned and ride the pack-pony
instead after they’d shared its burden amongst them.

At last they arrived at Carlisle and rode up to the castle
where William, having explained his identity several times and waved the letter
with the king’s seal under the curious noses of the guards, was at last allowed
through the gates to see Sir Andrew Harcla. 

Sir Andrew and some other men were studying maps spread out
across a trestle.  He looked up when William was announced and appraised
him for a moment, obviously impressed by the quality of his armour.  Then
he opened the letter and nodded his head as if in concurrence with the words
before rolling it decisively and looked again at William.

“You are welcome,” he said.  “I need loyal men who are
prepared to fight.”  He beckoned to one of his knights.  “Find a
place for this man to pitch his tent,” he said, “and see that he gets something
to eat.”

“Thank you, my lord,” replied William with a courteous
bow.  Although Sir Andrew was in appearance an unprepossessing man, he was
something of a legend for having held Carlisle against the Scots in 1315 and
William was more than happy to serve under
him.            

Mabel
woke as Edmund Neville gently touched her in the early morning gloom of the
shuttered bedchamber.  She turned away from him.   She had begun
to bleed again in the night.  It was a sure indication that she still did
not carry the son that he wanted.  She pushed his hand away and shook her
head.

“It is my time again,” she told him and quickly got up to
dress herself.  She didn’t look back at him.  She knew that his eyes
would be reproachful, as if it were her fault that his seed didn’t quicken in
her womb.

She went into the hall and began to kindle the fire herself
rather than waken the kitchen boys who still slept, sprawled untidily across
their pallets. As she watched the flames take hold she rubbed her aching back
and wondered if she would ever be able to give Edmund the child he
wanted.  He had been kinder to her than she had deserved in the first
weeks of their marriage and now, despite her earlier reluctance, she wanted to
do her duty and be a good wife.

Later, whilst she was supervising the cheese-making in the
dairy, she heard a messenger come and after a while she could no longer contain
her curiosity and went across the yard to the hall where Edmund was reading a
letter with a serious expression.  He looked up at her and she
hesitated.  She and William had always shared everything, but she worried
that Edmund might think it prying if she asked what news had come.  She
waited a moment not knowing what to say, but he spoke first.

“The Scots have broken the negotiated peace and recaptured
Berwick,” he told her, “and laid waste to much of Northumberland, even the port
of Newcastle.  Last month they stayed three days in Ripon and spoiled much
of the countryside around, but thankfully took a thousand marks not to burn the
city.  But they have sacked and plundered and burned Knaresborough and
Skipton and taken cattle and prisoners, both men and women.”  He tossed
the letter angrily onto the table.

“Then the wars with the Scots begin again,” she said,
wondering if he would be called away to fight.

“Did they ever finish?” he asked.  She shook her head,
thinking of what she had been told about the pillaging and burning of
Chorleigh, though thankfully there had been no more raids on Lancaster’s
lands.  “The king is too weak and pays too little attention to affairs
here in the north as he pursues his common pleasures in the southern counties,”
said Edmund.  “If he will not or cannot commit enough resources to beating
the Scots then he should do as the Earl of Lancaster wants and make agreement
with them.  It is not right that people should lose everything, even their
lives, whilst he does nothing.  The life of everyone along the borders has
become untenable and there will be no peace for them, no chance for them to
rebuild their homes and farm their lands, until Edward either defeats the
Scots, of which he is incapable, or recognises Bruce as their king and makes
the best of it.”

Mabel stared at his furious face.  William had always
believed that the Scots should be crushed and taught a lesson they would never
forget.  He had seen the fragile truce as a weakness, forced on the king
by poor advisers such as Lancaster himself.  She was shocked at Edmund’s
contrary opinions and yet, as she considered his words, she could see that his
point of view also had its merit. 

“Why must men fight amongst themselves?” she asked, more of
herself than of him.   Edmund shook his head.

“It does not help that there is so little food because of the
bad harvests and this continuous appalling weather.”  Mabel jumped as the
wind rattled at the shutters and blew one open as if to demonstrate the truth
of his words.  “When men are desperate they will fight amongst themselves
for scraps,” he said as he went to secure it.

“And what will happen now?” she asked.  “Will you go
away to war?”

“I will fight for Lancaster if he sends word that he requires
my service,” Edmund told her.

A few months ago the words would have filled Mabel with
relief.  She would have been pleased to have him removed from her bed,
from her manor and from her life for a short time at least.  But she had
grown used to his company. 

She looked at him as he bent over the table re-reading the
letter.  His dark hair needed cutting.  She went across to him and
hesitantly placed her hand on his arm.  He looked up in surprise at her
gesture.

“What troubles you, my lady?” he asked gently.

“I am afraid for you,” she confessed.  “I have already
lost one husband in battle.  I... I would be sorry to lose another.”

He stared at her and Mabel was suddenly sorry that she had
spoken and turned to leave, but he caught hold of her wrist.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he told her.  She didn’t pull
against his restraint and he drew her closer to him and held her with a strong
arm around her waist so she could not escape.  Mabel breathed
quickly.  It was unusual for him to touch her at all outside the
bedchamber and she was concerned that Edith or one of her daughters would come
in.  “Don’t look so dismayed,” he said as she glanced towards the kitchen
door.  “What are you afraid of?  I am your husband.”

“Yes, my lord.  But it is not seemly,” she said. 
“My daughters...”

“Are busy at their tasks,” he replied as he held her firmly. “I
thought that you only tolerated me,” he said as their eyes held for a
moment.  “Yet now you admit that you would be sorry if I did not return.”

Mabel pressed her hands against the cloth of his grey
tunic.  “I spoke only out of concern for you as my husband,” she told him,
as she tried to push away from him.

“No,” he smiled.  “There was a ring of truth in your
words, my lady, as clear as a church bell.  If I were a betting man I
would take a wager that you were beginning to like me.”

Mabel knew that he spoke the truth.  Lately, no matter
how much she tried to keep her memories of William fresh in her mind, she found
that her previous life was fading and that the only place she could now clearly
see his features were in the echoes of his face when she looked at her
daughters.

“Do you think you will ever come to love me?” Edmund asked
her, quietly.

“Maybe,” she said.  “Given time.”

“Then let us pray that we are given time,” he replied,
releasing her as the kitchen door opened behind them and Edith came in with
fresh logs for the fire. 

It
wasn’t until July of the following year, 1319, that William saw Berwick
again.  He had last been in the town when the king had mustered troops in
readiness for their foray into Scotland before the disastrous rout at Bannockburn. 
Now, with Dicken and Ned beside him, he stared up at the hilltop castle behind
the steep ramparts and stone walls that surrounded the fortified town. 
 An armoured roof had been built at the base of the outer wall and a team
of miners was already busy digging at the foundations in an attempt to bring it
down.  From above, the Scots were trying to prevent the attack by hurling
large stones from a trebuchet onto the protective covering.  They had
already succeeded in exposing some of its timbers and, as William watched, he
saw a crane swing out over the city wall and drop a huge incendiary bale of
wood and tar held together with iron hoops.  The smell spread on the
prevailing wind and William coughed as the stench caught at the back of his
throat.  He pulled the hood of his cloak around to cover his mouth and
nostrils as more and more blazing bales fell to the ground around the terrified
men, who had thrown down their picks and spades and were running for their
lives as the fire took hold.

William looked in the other direction, at the tents of the
English army stretched almost as far as he could see.  There must be
around ten thousand men, he thought, at a quick estimate.  But what use
were they if the walls could not be breached?  Most sieges failed eventually
for lack of food, but the Scots had been holding Berwick for over a year now
with no sign of hardship or surrender and William had to admit to a grudging
admiration.

As he searched for a decent and still vacant spot to set up
camp William kept a weather eye open for any men bearing the three lions of the
Earl of Lancaster.  He doubted that anyone would recognise his face after
all this time but, as an extra precaution, he had exchanged his own surcoat
with its three martlets for the single bird of Sir Andrew Harcla’s
emblem. 

Sir Andrew had told them that Lancaster had declared the
capture of Berwick a national disgrace and eventually the king had agreed to
meet with him the previous August near Leicester, where they had made a show of
reconciliation.  Now Lancaster had accompanied the king to Berwick to try
to end the siege and take the town back into English control, but from what
William had just seen it didn’t look as if it was going to be easy.