An Honourable Estate (31 page)

A small group of monks came forward to claim the body and
William was glad to see they were given permission to take it; not for the Earl
of Lancaster the final indignity of having his body abandoned at the roadside
for the crows as he had done with Piers Gaveston.

Partly from a grudging respect at his good death and partly
to reassure himself that Lancaster really was dead William took Dicken to the
abbey.  The earl’s remains were laid in a coffin to the right of the
altar.  In place of his head the monks had put a roughly hewn stone and
Lancaster’s bloodied head, with the eyes still closed in his silent prayer, was
laid between his thighs.

As William knelt to say a prayer of his own, he wished only
that he could shield Dicken’s ears from the shrieks and howls of the
half-hanged men whose bowels were being drawn from their bodies and burned on
stench laden fires.

“What will we do now?” whispered Dicken as the stone lid
grated into place over the remains of the earl.

“Now, we will go home,” replied William.

Before
they were allowed to leave every man had to swear his loyalty to the king and
the following morning William, Ned and Dicken stood in a long queue that
trailed from the great hall, down the steps and across the expanse of the
courtyard.  It was still cold even though the high walls were protecting
them from the worst of the March wind and as they shuffled up the steps, one at
a time, William wished that they could at least reach the ante-chamber where
there would be some shelter.

As he glanced up to see how close they were to the top, armed
men of the king’s household appeared and began to shout at everyone to stand
aside.  William recognised Robert Holland being escorted from the
hall.  His usually assured face was bewildered and he kept his eyes
downcast as he was hurried past them down the steps and across to the tower
where those fortunate enough to escape the sentence of death were being
held.  William saw that Sir Andrew Harcla was directing the soldiers and
he remembered his own words to him that Holland was not to be trusted.  It
looked as if he was to be a prisoner despite his attempt to swap sides so late
in the day, thought William, with a feeling of satisfaction.

At last they reached the hall and knelt before the king and
took the oath of loyalty.  William was rising to his feet to be hurried
out, so that the next knight could kneel in his place when he saw the king hold
up his hand.

“I know you,” said Edward.

“Sire, I am Sir William Bradshaigh.  I came to you at
Langley with proof of Lancaster’s treason,” he reminded him.

“Bradshaigh.  You said you were an outlaw,” replied the
king.

“I was, sire.”

“You were mistaken.  On enquiry I found that I had
already granted you a pardon at the request of your wife, who presumed you were
dead.”

“Dead?” repeated William in bewilderment.  Did Mab
really believe that he was dead? 

He bowed before backing out from the royal presence and then
he ran down the steps as fast as he could.

 “Saddle the horses!” he called over his shoulder to
Dicken.  “We have to get back to Haigh!”

“It’s
refreshing to see a happy face this day,” remarked a dark haired knight sourly
as he watched William tighten the girth of Hengist’s saddle. 

“I ride home to claim my lands and my wife, after many
years,” William told him with a grin.  “But you do not look so pleased my
friend.  I take it you were on Lancaster’s side.”

“I was.  I am no more,” he added, as he checked the
bridle of his own black stallion.  “I rode with Robert Holland and pledged
myself to the king before Boroughbridge.  But it is my task to take the
news of the earl’s death to Lancaster and I’m not sure the townsfolk there will
be as pleased as some I’ve seen this day.”

“And may take out their displeasure on the messenger
perhaps?” asked William as he paused to look at the man.

“I have men enough for protection,” he replied.  “I’ll
just be glad when it is done and I can ride home.”

“You have a wife?”

“I have a beautiful wife who waits anxiously for my safe
return,” he replied.

“God speed then,” said William.  “For my wife is
beautiful too and I will not waste another minute that could be carrying me
closer to her arms – and her bed!”

 The dark haired man laughed.

“Then God speed you as well,” he replied, though as William
whistled to Calab to come he saw the man look puzzled at the sight of the
elderly dog.

Chapter Thirteen

The Supplicant

When
she woke, Mabel knew that it was a special day, but in her sleepiness it was a
moment before she remembered that it was her birthday.  As she yawned and
stretched across the cold parts of the solitary bed, her thoughts strayed not
to Edmund, but to William.  She thought about her twenty-first birthday,
the day they had come home to Haigh.  It was the day she had begun the
tradition of handing out alms to the poorest people from the surrounding
district.

As she lay and listened to the early morning birdsong from
the trees, she recalled that William had never forbidden her to give out
alms.  In a time when even Robert Holland’s servants had begun to eat the
trencher bread themselves rather than share it with the starving villagers at
the gate, William had never once told her that others must go hungry on this
day because they had so little themselves.

The first year that she had been married to Edmund he had
grudgingly agreed to her upholding the tradition, though he had kept a strict
watch on what was given away, unlike William who had always left it to her to
decide how much or how little she thought they could spare.  And she had
always given more than she should, she remembered, though he had never
complained or looked at her reproachfully.

She sighed.  She still missed him.  There was a
part of her that would never feel whole without him.  No matter how much
she had grown to love Edmund it would never be the same as the love she had
felt, the love she still felt, for William Bradshaw. 

She smiled at his insistence on being known as Bradshaigh to
reflect his ownership of the lands that she had brought to the marriage. 
She thought about how much he had loved Bella and Amelia and even though she
knew he had craved a son he had never been bitter or uttered a word of disappointment
as first one daughter and then another had been born.  And she thought
about the way he would have scooped her into his arms if he had been here on
this, her birthday morning, and insisted that he would give her the best gift
she could ever want before she even managed to stumble from their bed.

Trying to push the memories to the dark part of her mind
where she usually kept them hidden, she was glad that Edmund was not there to
see her smile or hear her sigh.  Although he was unerringly kind, she knew
that he disliked to be compared with William − and she had learnt from
the way he pursed his lips, and the jealous look that flickered across his face
whenever she mentioned him, that it was better not to speak of her first
husband in front of her second.

But it could have been worse, much worse.  She shivered
as she recalled Sir Peter Lymesey.  She would always have cause to be
grateful to Edmund Neville for providing her with an alternative to becoming
Lady Lymesey.

Edith tapped on the door and came creeping in with warm water
for her to wash.

“I’m awake,” she said, pushing aside the bed hangings.

“I’ve made the little cakes you like so much for your
breakfast,” smiled Edith.  “And people are already beginning to gather
outside!”

Now that Edith mentioned it, Mabel could hear the murmur of
voices.

“Help me to dress in the blue gown,” she said.  “As soon
as I have eaten I will go out.  I’ll not keep them waiting, hungry, whilst
my stomach is full.”

Bella and Amelia both hugged her and wished her well on her birthday. 
Mabel clutched them tightly to her.  Bella was fifteen now, almost a
woman, and Edmund had already begun to make enquiries about a husband for
her.  Mabel knew that it would not be long before both her daughters would
have to go away to homes and husbands of their own and, as she looked at them
and saw William’s fair hair and hazel eyes reflected back at her two-fold, she
felt an ache in her throat as she desperately tried not to weep.

As soon as they had eaten, they wrapped their cloaks around themselves
to go outside.  The fourth of April might sound as if it should be
springtime, but Mabel was not surprised to see the flurry of snowflakes as she
opened the hall door.

The crowd outside fell silent and Mabel reached down into the
sack that was held wide open by her daughters and took out the first
loaf.  From her purse she took a penny and handed them both to the thin
woman who was the first in line.

“Thank you, my lady.  God bless you, my lady,” she said
and after giving Mabel a curtsey she moved on.  They came in a polite and
orderly manner, these faces she had seen grow up and grow older during the many
years that she had handed out alms.

Then she noticed a stranger moving humbly along to await his
turn.  The sack was growing empty and she began to worry that the loaves
and pennies would all be gone before he reached her.  She asked Edith if
there was more inside.  Although she did not know him, the cloak that the
man wore with the hood pulled around his face was made from good cloth. 
He must have fallen on hard times, thought Mabel, and she wanted to be sure
that he would not be turned away empty handed.

She had sent her daughters and Edith into the kitchen to
bring out more food from the stores, thanking God that Edmund was not present
to prevent her, when the man at last approached her.  He said nothing, but
keeping the hood pulled over his face he knelt before her and held out his
hands like a supplicant.  At first she thought that he might be a
leper.  But he carried no clapper or bell and his hands, although
roughened with hard work, were not diseased.

“A moment,” she told him.  “I will not send you away
hungry.”

She looked down at him again and the outstretched hands
seemed familiar, as if she had known them well in some other life.  Mabel
chided herself for such foolish fantasies.

“Will you not put back your hood and allow me to see your
face?” she asked him, gently.  “For it would please me to know who it is
that receives a gift from me on my birthday.”

“Yes, I know that it is your birthday, my lady,” said his
voice and Mabel felt her heartbeat race.  Her hands shook as she took the
warm loaf from Edith who had just come out from the door.  He sounded so
like William that for a moment she was almost overcome with emotion. 

“Forgive my tears,” she said, as she held the bread out to
the man.  “For a moment I thought you were someone I used to know.” 

“And did the man you used to know give you cause to weep, my
lady?” he asked, though he did not take the bread from her.

“No!  No indeed!” she exclaimed.  “He was my
husband and I loved him very much.  But he went away to fight and did not
return and I have grieved for him for many years.”

“And do you grieve for him still?”

“Every day,” she whispered, wondering why she was confiding
in this cloaked stranger who knelt before her.

“Do not grieve any more, my lady,” he said and Mabel watched
as he slowly reached to pull the hood back from his face.  She gasped and
heard Edith beside her take a sharp breath as the loaf fell at their feet. 
She reached for the girl’s arm to steady herself.  The man before her was
so like William that he could have been his brother.  His features were
familiar, though the face was older and more lined than her husband’s and this
man’s fair hair was streaked with grey. 

“Do you not know me?” he asked in a puzzled voice.

“You... you look like my late husband, William Bradshaigh,”
she said.  “You could be his kin.  Do you come from these parts?”

The man rose slowly to his feet.  His gaze never left
her face and as she studied him more carefully, with the tears wiped from her
eyes, Mabel began to wonder if God had answered her prayers and if a miracle
had occurred.  He reached out his hands and gently took hold of
hers.  Even though it was an affront for an unknown man to take hold of a
lady she did not protest or pull away from him, but continued to stare into the
hazel eyes that she thought she would only ever see again in her dreams.

“Do you not know me, Mab?” he asked again.

“William?”  His name escaped her lips as a
whisper.  “William?” she repeated as she freed her hands and stretched out
to touch his face with her fingers, as if they could be relied upon to
recognise him more than her startled eyes.  “How can it be you?” she
asked, suddenly afraid that he was an apparition who would at any moment
dissolve before her.  “How can you be real?” she asked as she traced the
well-known contours of his cheeks and jaw line and finally his lips.