An Honourable Estate (6 page)

A look of satisfaction crept across Adam’s face. 
“Indeed he can,” he replied.  “Let’s get the men settled and then we’ll
ride up with our request.”

“And shall we bid the priest open up the church?” suggested
William.  “We cannot expect men to sleep in the open,” he said, as the
lingering mist turned into a persistent rain with the creeping darkness.

Father Robert de Cliderhou, the rector of Wigan, frowned as
William politely explained their request after banging persistently on his door
with a gloved fist.  But after glancing at the armed men who were standing
around his threshold he fetched his keys and reluctantly turned the iron lock
in the thick studded door to allow them access.

“I would ask you to keep from the chancel,” he said as he
watched men begin to follow them through the doorway, “and to remember that you
are on hallowed ground – and to clear up after yourselves.”

“You have my word,” said William as he reached to take the
keys from the priest.  “I will return these before we leave,” he said as
weary men began to spread their blankets on the floor and pull off their sodden
boots to dry their feet.  “Can you spare us any food?”

“I have little enough for my own needs.  I give what I
can in alms, but there are so many...”  The priest glanced at the throng
of men who were laughing and joking with one another as the church filled with
the press of wet bodies, a few lean dogs and, had William not held up his hand
and shaken his head, horses as well.  Though he could hardly blame their
owners not wanting to leave them tethered outside when so many had disappeared,
probably to be sold as illicit joints of meat from the stalls of unscrupulous
butchers.

“Have they brought no food of their own?  I cannot see
how they can all be fed,” said the priest.

“Pray for a miracle,” replied William, thinking that his
dilemma was indeed like the feeding of the five thousand and hoping that it
could be as easily solved.

After the priest had left with a backward glance of disquiet,
William gathered around a dozen or so men he knew he could trust and horsed
them although the underfed animals were weary.  But armed men on
horseback, he reasoned, would be more menacing than armed men of foot.  He
made sure each one had sword and dagger as well as a bow and some arrows and
after exhorting them to be assertive and insistent he led them towards Robert
Holland’s manor house.

The house stood some distance from the village and was built from
stone surrounded by a wall inside which William could see a fair few cattle and
sheep were gathered, safe from wolves and thieves.  Beside the house was a
sturdy barn which William suspected was quite full.  The gate was locked
and barred, but he was prepared.  After knocking and receiving no reply he
dismounted from his horse and unpacked the dry tinder, arranging it at the foot
of the wooden gate and striking his flints.  Before many minutes had
passed there was a steady blaze and the bundle of twigs that he had brought
were fed to the fire until the gate itself began to burn.  The men behind
him raised a skin-tingling cheer of delight.

It wasn’t long before men came running with pails of water,
but the gates no longer posed a problem and, as William remounted to lead his
men forward, he directed them to take as much as they could carry of grain,
peas, beans and any salted meat they could lay their hands on.

“And I would have what bread you can spare and a few kegs of
ale or wine from your buttery to warm our bellies,” said William leaning from
his saddle to speak to the agitated bailiff.

“You haven’t heard the last of this Bradshaw!”

“Bradshaigh,” William corrected him.  “Sir William
Bradshaigh of Haigh and Blackrod.”  He grinned down at the bailiff’s
infuriated face, lit by the flames from the burning gate.  “I’m sure you
can spare it,” he told him.  “And bring whatever weapons you can find!” he
bellowed after his men.

An hour or so later camp fires had been lit in the
churchyard, a thick broth was cooking in heavy iron pots and bread and ale were
being distributed to the men.  William and Adam had counted the sacks of
grain that had been requisitioned from Holland’s barn and had decided that they
had enough to feed the men for another day at least.

“We could do with more, though and more weapons and armour,”
said Adam as they settled down with their backs against the cold stone wall of
the church and dipped their bread into the hot broth.  “Those men who wear
only jackets stuffed with straw will be cut down at the first onslaught.”

“They will have weapons and armour at the castles at Halton
and Clitheroe,” said William.  “And maybe we should also send men out to
forage for more food provisions in the surrounding districts.  We must
keep the men well fed if we are to keep them with us.”

“You’re right,” agreed Adam.  “I reckon this supper is
the best that some of them have eaten in weeks.  Their loyalty to us will
be compounded by full stomachs.”

“I think tomorrow,” said William, as they settled down after
posting sentries around the church, “I will visit William Holland and see if he
is as obliging as his brother.”  He heard Adam laugh and as he lay
listening to the muffled snores and coughs of the men who had answered their
call to arms he felt a growing pleasure that they were taking action and were
no longer mere victims of their greedy and incompetent overlords.

They roused the men early and sent contingents off to seek
weapons whilst others rode in search of more supplies.  William sought out
his men from Haigh and gathered them around him giving them their orders for
the day, and with a good breakfast inside them they set off.  The
incessant rain dripped off William’s hair and trickled inside the cloak that
covered his mail hauberk to keep it from rusting.  He squirmed
irritably.  He should have become accustomed to such weather by now, he
thought, but he had never been keen on privation, much preferring a warm hearth
and good food and wine.

Smoke rose from the chimney of Sir William Holland’s house at
Haydock and the thought of the man sitting inside, warm and dry, whilst he was
out in the wet and cold spurred on William’s determination to take as much as
they could.  The house was flanked by a barn on one side and a shippon on
the other.  Near the outbuildings there was a vegetable garden, a herb
garden and an apple orchard.  Beyond that an area of wooded, but
uncultivated land.

He reined in the horse and allowed his men to ride up beside
him.  “Go to the barn and fill as many carts as you can find with corn and
other grain,” he told Harry Palmer.  “Then take anything else that you
think may assist us from the house and barn.  “You,” he told another, “get
the cattle and oxen from the shippon and drive them back to Wigan and you, Tom
and Leo, go and round up those sheep in yonder meadow.  All of them,” he
added.  “We have many mouths to feed.  And if you meet with any
resistance say we act in the name of the king, and if that does not suffice you
have my blessing to use whatever force is necessary.”   He grinned
and the men descended on the manor like crows plundering dead and dying sheep.

Within a couple of hours they had several carts piled high,
at least a hundred sheep, about sixty oxen and twelve cows.  Sir William
Holland was left with nothing but a black eye.  And on the return journey
they broke into a grange at the house of Sir John de Langton at
Newton-in-Makerfield and seized another ten pounds’ worth of corn.

Adam had led a party of men to take Halton Castle and by the
time William arrived back in Wigan with the provisions he found his friend
gloating over his own haul: fifty chain mail hauberks to protect men in battle,
a hundred steel helms and a hundred lances to add to the longbows that the men
already had.

“We shall be a match for anyone now,” said Adam rubbing his
hands together over a fire as William nodded approvingly.   “I feel
confident that we will prevail, in the name of the king, against those tyrants
Holland and Lancaster!”

Leaving
Bella and Amelia in the care of Edith, Mabel put on her outside boots and
fastened her threadbare cloak around her to walk to Wigan to witness for
herself the excited stories that were circulating in the village.  Walking
briskly through the dismal autumn day it was about an hour later that she heard
the raucous sounds of the gathered army outside the church of All Saints. 
Smoke rose from myriad camp fires and her mouth watered hungrily at the aroma
of roasting mutton.  Men were sitting and standing around eating and
drinking and the rising voices and laughter conveyed an atmosphere of growing
excitement.  There were cattle and oxen and sheep in makeshift pens and as
she peeped inside the doors of the church she saw more sacks of grain piled up
than she had been aware still existed in the whole of Lancashire.

“Can I assist you?” asked a voice almost in her ear, making
her jump.  Mabel turned to face the flushed faced man, armed with a
slightly rusty sword and stood up as straight as she could.

“I am Lady Mabel Bradshaigh.  I am seeking my
husband.” 

“Sorry, m’lady,” mumbled the man.  “But I’ve been given
orders that no one is to enter the church under any circumstances.”

“Not enter the church?” she repeated, “And what does Father
Robert have to say about that?”

“Not much, m’ lady.  Not with a pike thrust at his
chest, anyway.”

“Do you know where Sir William is?”

“Over there.”  The man pointed to the far side of the
church, under the east window and Mabel hurriedly thanked him and followed the
path around the stone wall, stepping over the legs of an outstretched sleeping
man, until she caught sight of her husband deep in conversation with Adam
Banastre.

“Mab!” he said in surprise when he looked up and saw
her.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see the preparations for myself,” she told him, glancing
around.  “Your men seem well armed and provisioned.”

“We have done our best.”

“So the stories of plunder are true?”

“We have requisitioned much of what we need.”

“Your wife sounds disapproving, Will,” remarked Adam
Banastre.  Mabel glared at him.  She still blamed him for this and
thought that there could have been a better way.  If William was hurt, or
even, though she hardly dared form the thought, killed, she would hold Banastre
and his ill thought out rebellion wholly responsible.

“Walk with me, Mab,” said William, taking her arm and gently
leading her away from the other man.

“You are afraid I will tell some truths to your so called
friend,” she remarked.

“I hope you haven’t come to make trouble, Mab,” he
said. 

“I wish you would give this up,” she said, stopping and
resting a hand on his chest.  “You cannot prevail against the force of the
Earl of Lancaster.”

“Banastre thinks we can.”

“You know my opinion of him, William.  I fear for you,”
she said as she glanced around at the preparations for battle.  She looked
up into her husband’s hazel eyes.  “Come home,” she asked, although she
could see that he would take no notice of her pleading.

He shook his head.  “I cannot do that.  I have
sworn an oath and I am committed to this uprising.  Besides, I believe
that what we are doing is right and necessary.  But I would rather go with
your blessing Mab.”

She looked again at his earnest face and saw that nothing she
could say would dissuade him.  “Then you have it,” she said at last and
she clung to him as he leaned to kiss her.  “Come home safely,” she added
when he finally released her from his arms.

On
the following Friday, which was the Eve of All Saints, the army marched for
Manchester, helping themselves to several cattle belonging to Henry de Trafford
along the way.  Once again they took refuge in the church.

“That banner will assist us,” remarked Adam, when he saw the
king’s colours hanging in the chancel.  “We fight for the king so we
should ride beneath his standard.  We will say he sent it to us,” he said
as he dragged a coffer across the rush strewn floor before clambering up to
detach it from the wall and stroke it lovingly with the palm of his hand. 
He grinned at William.  “We will win, my friend.  We will win. 
Have no fear.”

Behind them the door crashed open and a messenger came
in.  William recognised him as the young lad that Adam often used to
gather intelligence.  He could be no more than fourteen years of age and
his face had an angelic look that meant he could often overhear the talk of
indiscreet men without suspicion.

“What news?” asked Adam.

“My lord, there is an army approaching from the north.”

 “We
will re-group at Wigan and then head north towards the castle here at
Clitheroe,” said Adam pointing to the places on the map that he had spread upon
the church’s altar.  William, Henry Lea, Harry Duxbury and some of the
others listened intently as they stood round.  “We should be able to take
more arms at Clitheroe and then we will head here to Preston,” he indicated the
place with a grubby forefinger, the nail bitten down to the quick.  “The
river will give us some advantage and we can take Lancaster’s forces here,
forcing them to either break up or head for the water.  Remember what the
Scots did at Bannockburn?” he asked, looking up at them with a smile.  “We
shall learn from their tricks and see if we can’t drown more of Lancaster’s men
then they did ours.”