An Honourable Estate (3 page)

“I hear the cautious voice of your wife in your faint hearted
reply,” said Adam with a slight tone of rebuke.

“The Lady Mabel speaks with sense, often,” argued
William. 

“Women are good for only one thing – and it is not their
grasp of politics!”

William flung his cup aside and the stool rolled from under
him as he leaned across the table to clutch Adam by his tunic and pull his face
closer.

“You do not demean my wife!” he threatened his friend. 
“Or, by God, I’ll... I’ll...”

“That’s enough!” shouted Harry Duxbury, banging his cup down
hard on the table.  “Sit down and discuss this sensibly – or it stops
here.  How can we fight against injustice when we can only fight amongst
ourselves?”  William looked at the man’s angry face.  He didn’t know
him well, but there was a zeal that burned in his blue eyes that betrayed his
thirst for this rebellion.  He let go of Adam and retrieved the stool as
his friend pulled his clothing straight.

“You are either with us or you are against us,
Bradshaigh.   Choose your side carefully.  But remember that if
you are against us you already know too much.”  William watched as the
blade flashed and saw Adam run a finger along it to test its sharpness. 
“The details can come later.  What I need to know now is whom I can
trust.”   He grasped the knife firmly and without flinching made a
cut across the palm on his own hand until the blood oozed out, black in the
shadowy chamber.  “Will you swear to live or die with me in this rebellion
against Holland and Lancaster?” he challenged, as he turned the knife and held
out the handle first to William and then to Henry.  Henry Lea took it
without hesitation though William saw him wince as he drew it across his own
palm.  Then he offered his hand to Adam who grasped it tight, mingling
their blood.

“Do you swear?” he asked.

“I swear,” he replied. Adam raised his eyebrows,
waiting.  “I swear to live or die with you in this rebellion against
Holland and Lancaster,” he pledged.  Then Harry Duxbury took up the knife,
cut his palm and swore the oath.

“Will?” asked Adam.  “Do you swear?”

William reached out and picked up the knife.  It was
heavy, with a horn handle embellished with scenes that he couldn’t quite make
out in the twilight.  He weighed it in his hand and opened his palm whilst
his companions watched him.  He flexed his fingers a little as the sounds
of laughter drifted up through the floorboards from the hall below.  He
touched the blade to his skin, clamped his teeth and drew it through his flesh,
surprised at the lack of immediate pain.  He looked up to find Adam
grinning at him.  He put his palm to the palm of his friend and then to
Harry’s and Henry Lea’s.  “I swear to live or die with you in this
rebellion against Holland and Lancaster.”

“Good man!”  Adam thumped him roughly on the back. 
There would be blood on his tunic and he would have to explain it to Mab
thought William ruefully as he raised his cup with the others in a toast.

“To the rebellion!” he echoed and drank again, hoping that
his decision was the right one.

“What was that?”  Adam was at the door in a moment and
William followed him in pursuit of the eavesdropper, just in time to see the
man reach the bottom of the stairs.  He had an accomplice waiting with a
horse in the yard and had swung his leg over the saddle before there was any
hope of stopping him.

 “Who?” asked William.

“Radcliffe,” said Adam with a sour face as the others joined
them to watch as the horsemen galloped off into the dark, moonless night, “and
his brother.  I hope they break their bloody necks, riding at that speed through
the forest!”

“How much do you think he heard?” asked Harry.

“Enough to run and think he can take his news to my
brother-in-law, unless we can prevent him.  How many men can you gather?”
he asked them.

Chapter Two

Murder

They called
for their horses, each agreeing to ride to their own villages and gather as
many men as were willing to come.  They were to meet at Bury and then
scour the countryside for the Radcliffes and silence them before they could get
word to Robert Holland.

As he rode back to Haigh, trusting his horse to find the way
through the night, William began a mental inventory of those on whose support
he could rely.  Harry Palmer, his bailiff, Wistan Bennett, Oscar Fletcher
and Dunstan Browne ‒ all men he knew he could count on to fight and to
keep silent. 

They all came from families who had long been loyal to the
Norreys and so to Mab and now to him as her husband.  He remembered how
he’d been concerned when they first arrived at Haigh that the welcome was for
his wife alone and that the villagers might not accept him, but when they had
seen the yield of their crops increase and the sheep thrive they had
acknowledged that he was a good lord.  When he had asked for men to ride
with him to fight the Scots there had been no reluctance to volunteer and
although there had been losses at Bannockburn, including that of young Bryan
Palmer, these men had become his friends as well as his tenants.  He would
trust them with his life, though he hoped he would not have to do so.

William reached Haigh as a sliver of moon crested the
horizon.  He glanced at the manor house door and saw that it was in
darkness; the fires covered, the candles extinguished and everyone in
bed.  He knew that Calab would be curled up by the hearth, warming himself
by the last of the embers and he was tempted to go and call the dog out; he
could be useful.  But he knew if he did, it would wake Mab and she would
not refrain from giving him a lecture on his stupidity.  Was he being
stupid, he wondered.  He hoped not.  But he had sworn a blood oath
and he would not go back on his word.

The cut across his palm was stinging as he took the reins in
one hand and slid down from the saddle to quietly knock on the door of Harry
Palmer’s house.

“Harry?” he called urgently.  “Put on what armour you
have and bring a weapon.  I have need of you!”

At every door William called out his men.  They rose
from their beds, trying not to wake their wives.  There was no reluctance,
but rather a growing excitement that at last they were going to do something to
help themselves rather than starve away as silent victims of this accursed
famine.  Within the hour they were marching quietly out of the village.

They
had ridden, and even walked on foot, for miles.  They had carried torches
and led the horses through the dense forest, never worried for a moment that
their flames might start a fire in the wet undergrowth.  As dawn had
turned the sky above them from black to a dull grey William had called a halt
to the search and, having gathered around him the dozen or so villagers who had
been eager to give him their assistance, he had expressed his profound thanks
and told them to make their way back home.  But unable to give up, despite
his tiredness, he turned his horse for one last look before going to explain to
Mab where he had been all night.

It was his horse that caught the scent and whinnied
softly.  William peered through the trees and recognised Adam Banastre’s
bay stallion, its white forelegs now black with mud.  William gave a long,
low whistle to alert his friend.  He saw Adam turn in his saddle at the
familiar signal and the slow grin that spread over his face reassured him.

“We have him!” said Adam as William drew level. “He was
hiding out at the house of the priest, Roger de Freckleton.  There was a
threat of bloodletting before the priest allowed us through, but he saw reason
when confronted with a sharp dagger to his throat and soon showed us where
Radcliffe was concealed under the eaves.”

“And his brother?” asked William. 

Adam’s face grew serious. “He’s still at large,” he
admitted.  “I have a party of men gone to seek him at his sister’s house
at Bury, whilst I still search here.”

“It isn’t going to be easy to flush him out of this forest,” remarked
William, as the growing daylight revealed the thickly wooded land and tangled
undergrowth that dripped with rain all around them.  I should have brought
the dogs, though we have no scent of the man to track him.”

“And why didn’t you bring your dogs?”

William hesitated, then told his friend the truth. 
“They were in the hall and I did not want to go in and waken my wife.  I
did not want to have to tell her what we were about.”

“Because you feared she would forbid you?  I never took
you for a henpecked husband, Will!”

“No.  It was because I didn’t want to worry her. 
There are, perhaps, some things that it is better she does not know.”

Adam snorted.  “Remember that you have pledged an oath,”
he reminded him.  “Whoever is not with me is against me, and both the
Radcliffes will have learned that lesson before this day is out!”

As he spoke, they heard the soft thudding of hooves on mud
approaching and both men drew their swords as they turned their horses to face
the oncoming rider.

“Hold!” said Adam as the horse became visible.  “He is
my man.”

“Sire!” cried the boy as he rode up, his mount tossing its
head and showering froth from its mouth across his surcoat which bore the arms
of the Banastre family.  “Sire, we have John Radcliffe... but...”

“But what?” demanded Adam as the boy hesitated and glanced at
Sir William and then back to his master.

“They
have killed Henry Bury.”

Adam
swore a curse on their stupidity.  “They were told to shed no blood,” he
muttered.  “How did this come about?”

 The boy shrugged.  “There was a fight,” he said.

“We had better go to see what must be done,” said William
grimly, “before the sheriff’s men come seeking to hang us by the neck for
murder.”

“Aye, you’re right,” agreed Adam.  “This is an outcome
we could have done well without.”

They spurred their tired horses forwards and rode as hastily
as they could, without taking the main road, towards Bury’s manor house to see
for themselves what had happened.

The body of Henry Bury still lay where it had fallen on the
threshold.  It was surrounded by a group of white faced men who stared at
it as if their regret could provoke a resurrection.  They stepped back as
Adam got down from his horse and walked across to them.  William followed
and saw that the man had been run through with a dagger which seemed, by
chance, to have plunged upwards through his ribs and stopped his heart. 

Banastre’s men looked at him apologetically.

“Who did this?” demanded Adam.

“It was an accident,” explained one, whom William recognised
as Stephen Scallard. “Did you kill him?” asked Adam.

Scallard shook his head quickly.  “No, my lord.  It
was William Tegg.  It’s his dagger that’s still in the man.”  He
looked at Adam Banastre as if he expected him to somehow make everything right.

“And where is Tegg now?”

“When he realised what he’d done he took Sir Henry’s horse
and rode off like the devil were after him.”

“It’s Lancaster’s sheriff he needs to fear in this life,
though he may face the devil in the next, and sooner than he thinks if the
King’s Justice lays hands on him,” said Adam.  “For God’s sake take the
dagger out of him and wash it in yon bucket.  Then I’ll lose it in the
forest.  The rest of you head for your homes and make sure your wives will
swear you never left your beds all night.  I’ll clear this up.”

The men needed no persuasion and moments later William and
Adam were left alone with the body.

“What shall we do?” asked William as he looked down at the
contorted face of the murdered man.

“There’s not much we can do, ‘cept pray for his immortal soul. 
Help me get him inside Will,” said Adam as he bent to grasp the corpse under
its arms, “and let us hope that by the time he is discovered we are very far
away.”

“But what of his wife?”

“The Radcliffe sister?  I’ve no idea.  Do you think
she’s still here?”

William glanced around the silent and deserted hall as they
carried the body inside.  “I doubt it,” he said.  “If she had any
sense she would have got out when your men arrived.  But if she’s out
there and she saw what happened we have no time to waste here.  Adam,
let’s just leave him and go,” said William wiping the man’s blood from his
hands onto his tunic as fear rose and impelled him to run.

It
was approaching dawn when Mabel woke.  There was a greyness rather than
blackness in the bedchamber and she was able to make out the shapes of her
sleeping daughters on their pallet beds in the alcove.  Amelia was
whimpering in her sleep and Mabel wondered what troubled her, though as she
stretched a hand across the cold and vacant side of her mattress it was her own
concerns that worried her.  William and she had parted with harsh words
before he rode to Wingates to meet with Adam Banastre and he had not yet come
home.