Edward - Interactive

by Mike Voyce

  Chapter 12 – Wales

  (Past)

  The next morning dawned with the traditional cold light of day. The fire was out and a tangible chill gave the light a brittle feel, shot through with gold shafts of sun light. There was the promise of a fine day, once the Sun warmed the cold Earth. It must still be early.

  Jinney had drawn the curtains; she was shaking me awake with a giggle.

  “Wake up Master Edward, quickly now! Master Lewkenor’s astir; it wouldn’t do for you both to be found abed.”

  Intelligence rushed into consciousness to discover an agony of embarrassment. I could do no more than sit bolt upright, pulling the covers around me, making the greatest utterance,

  ‘‘Er...”

  “‘T ain’t nothing Master Edward; everyone’s got to say their goodbyes.”

  And she left with a flounce and a wink; she was older, somehow provocative.

  Eadie’s mood once more underwent a sea change. Not helped by my embarrassment. It was now that, if I acknowledged our love, I wouldn’t have to go, or else she could come too. This was silly and I said so.

  “I hate you! I don t want to see you ever again.

  After last night, the confusion and pain of those words cut the ground from under me and left a chasm at the pit of my stomach. It was my turn to weep, though I hid it, and Eadie did come to see me off.

  The horses stamped their impatience. Thomas was leaving his conference with Lady Margaret. He attended the Countess indoors to receive his instructions and the bags of gold she proffered - but not all of them,

  “No, by Our Lady... I’ll be bringing back more money than I can carry without taking this with me.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Aye ma’am, they pay out of love or fear. With no lord and no soldiers they’ve had neither.”

  The serious tone of his words had stopped all levity but the humour that creased his cheeks, as he finished, left nothing to be said.

  I sat my horse in starched new clothes, my father’s Sword at my side. The household had all been afuss to make me presentable.

  Aletia attended Thomas as he mounted, worn and comfortable in his surroundings. I admired him beyond words.

  Aletia and Eadie might have been sisters, the same look of annoyance and (oh, let it be) love. They were too taken up in themselves to see.

  Soon the party moved. The groom bringing up the baggage horses at the rear. Behind Father Joseph, in his cream robes, rode twenty-seven men in de Stafford livery, twenty-four of them soldiers. It seemed strange to see Lady Margaret’s servants bearing Stafford badges.

  What a shame the King curtailed such display when he restricted the use of retainers. The noble houses had always been able to show off their following. Now it was cut down almost out of sight. Perhaps we should have brought more men? The King would hardly punish his own mother. I only had to look at Thomas for the thought to die before it could come to my lips. Thomas would think me a childish, strutting, peacock.

  Master William Gibbons would meet us after some distance. As a clerk he already knew these estates, from his service to Lady Margaret and William Bedell. He would be Judge in Lady Margaret’s courts and clerk to our expedition. There would be other retainers making the journey to Wales. Aside from Master Bedell himself, there would be an auditor, John Gunter, and Lady Margaret’s most senior minister, Sir Reginald Bray. Both these men were in the King’s service as well as service to me, they would bring that authority to our venture, but we shouldn’t see them till we came to Wales, to the house of Sir Rees ap Thomas, my receiver for Brecon and Hay.

  William Gibbons waited for us by pre-arrangement, with his servant, at Martin’s Cross. It was a broad, open place, marked in the middle of the thoroughfare with a large stone monument, dedicated to the saint for whom it was named.

  We entered a nearby alehouse to discuss our campaign, leaving the groom to water the horses. Master Gibbons introduced his servant as Andrew, his clerk, he would keep our records. Andrew was a shy, unhealthy looking boy, just a little older than I. Master Gibbons was serious faced and quiet but when he spoke, like Lady Margaret, he was used to being heard.

  “It is a sorry business on which to bring a boy, pardon me Sir Edward, and such a small party, a matter of rents. It would have been better to introduce my lord on a more glittering occasion.

  The titles to many of these lands haven’t been well kept and lordships have stood idle. In all these last ten years little has been done. Yet the attainder under which the old duke was put, voiding his titles and effectively bringing them under the crown, was reversed on the accession of the present king, that would be... nearly eight years ago. In the two years Richard held them some titles changed hands and confusion and resentment can be expected. Yet the ffeofees know well enough who is their lord. Dispositions by King Richard were specifically revoked by King Henry and no further evidence is needful.

  Of course, title vested in Lady Margaret, the Countess of Richmond, on her guardianship and as such rests there until Sir Edward achieves livery of his inheritance, or failing you, Sir Edward, it would pass to your heir - your brother Henry.

  We shall be taking over the authority of stewards and receivers wherever we go, it cannot be helped. The receipt of John Gunter shall excuse these officers and he in turn will recast the accounts with Sir Reginald and Master Bedell.

  I am appointed judge for legal causes touching the estates and I have the Countess’ attorney on this and other matters, I may speak for the lordships. No vacancy arises; soacage and service are owed now as they have always been.”

  “There, Edward, our cause is lawful.” Thomas smiled.

  “It may be, but I understood not a word of it.”

  The company laughed, we were all in harmony.

  The journey passed as quickly as we could make it, speeding our horses from a pilgrims’ canter, sometimes trotting, sometimes slowed by obstructions and bad roads. We missed many of the large towns to follow the most direct line, hiring guides at the inns as we needed. Thomas, Master Gibbons and Father Joseph consulting at night to plan the next day’s route.

  On one of these nights I gave voice to a thought that troubled me. Now I was older I had learned a little of the rising which killed my father. We were nearing Wales and Thomas and Father Joseph had begun to discuss how we should deal with tenants.

  “I want to visit to the Vaughans of Tretower.

  We have the men to pay them as they should be paid.”

  I knew what they’d done. When my father and I set out to face King Richard, they sacked Brecon Castle and kidnapped my sisters, Elizabeth and Anne. We’d left them behind thinking them safe with the Vaughans and our loyal retainers.

  They’d done it as much out of envy of our family as loyalty to King Richard and they’d never been punished. They still held land of the Stafford estates and here were rents to collect indeed. As our journey progressed the thought had grown in my mind.

  “And if they don’t pay duly, let’s set a torch to their childhood home as they did mine.”

  The last words were out before I could curb them and they opened a grave silence. When Thomas and Father Joseph spoke it was as if I’d said some terrible thing.

  “And what of Sir Walter Vaughan, who serves you loyally?”

  “Would you make war in the West, with just twenty-four men?”

  I was taken by the shoulders and much was said that passed as if in a dream. I’d never expected them to find justice so appalling.

  “Never let any man hear you speak so. There are those who would rather see the Vaughans inherit these lands than that you should.”

  Finally Father Joseph stood over me and it’s his words I remember, as he told me I must,

  “Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.”

  It was a long ride, for we were to start in the north, with Master Corbett’s estates. There was little chance to write to Eadie and no one by whom to send a letter. The separation was fretful. Sleep wouldn
’t come, with my mind suspended between the memory of our love and the hard words Eadie used that morning. There was nothing to be done. Thomas consoled whatever loneliness he felt with reading. I cherished my Sword, the bible Eadie gave me, and the little rose inside, touching them often.

  Soon the country changed; and changed again as we left England and rode through the Marches. This could be wild country and it was wise to pay court to the lords of the manors through which we passed. To remain on good yet discrete terms called for circuitousness and ingenuity. Courtesy was paid here according to station and on the several nights we were so entertained my confidence rose; I was no mere piece of baggage on Master Gibbons’ tour.

  We came at last to the house of my steward, Master John Corbett. Thomas sent a servant ahead to warn him of our coming and we were well received, if plainly. Master Corbett eyed William Gibbons with concern and the two spent a long time closeted together. “Well”, said Thomas, “if John Corbett is lining his pocket it isn’t obvious from this.”

  I didn’t understand him but I was certainly surprised at this bare and mean house, it was little better than a tenant’s farmstead. No one would guess Master Corbett more important than his neighbours.

  Our host went to bed and Master William appeared.

  “The problem’s not here.

  Our squire has trouble enough getting in what’s due to him, and it’s not that his tenants are poor. They sound insolent and complain of their landlords. I have power as Lady Margaret’s Justice and I’ve instructed your steward to summon the worst offenders before a manorial court. They shall present their cases before me tomorrow. Messengers were sent out within the last hour.”

  The hall was bare except for the table at which Master William and Andrew sat. There were court rolls and quill and ink before them and saddlebags, yet unpacked, at Andrew’s side. Half our men at arms were stationed round the room.

  Master Corbett fidgeted.

  “Be at ease sir. If they do not come we shall have an example to set before their neighbours.”

  “You wouldn’t try to turn them out?”

  John Corbett sounded horrified, but William smiled his reassuring, lawyer’s smile.

  “There is nothing like a threat of eviction to concentrate the mind.”

  Time passed, we were all conscious of it.

  “They’re not coming. I told you they wouldn’t.

  So now you have to fight a pitched battle on their terms, with half the county behind them and no one behind us, or you have to sneak back to London leaving me here.

  It was wrong to call for the most difficult first.”

  William looked at Master Corbett for a full minute before he spoke.

  “I have sufficient authority to bring such force as I need. But you’re wrong, they’ll come.”

  Barely minutes later, the door opened to admit a party of maybe thirty men. They were led by a thick set, red-faced man. Around him hung an air of rude strength and his men looked arrogant, even disdainful, at our party of ‘‘foreigners”. Their leader walked up to William Gibbons, truly standing over him.

  William didn’t look up.

  “I am Dafydd Pwyll.”

  William leant back, throwing his arms back to rest his hands behind his head.

  Thomas spoke,

  “Your rents are due.”

  “Ha! I heard they sent for the boy, to see what he could do.”

  Pwyll turned with a smile to look at his fellows then back to Thomas, no longer smiling.

  Thomas slowly, leisurely drew his sword, it couldn’t be considered a threat against so many Pwylls, all armed, and he placed the point at his feet and leant forward on the hilt. When he spoke, by way of contrast, his words rang with the steel of command.

  “My master, your lord, will receive your humble duty which you have so long withheld.”

  Master Pwyll found no comfort in Thomas’ steady glare; his own eyes reflected the shock.

  There was an eagerness in me to take part; I leant over to speak to John, one of our men at arms. He and another slipped quietly to the back of the room to stand by the door, the only way for anyone to leave.

  Thomas’ eyes flicked briefly to me but now they rested firmly on Master Pwyll. Even his own party waited for him.

  “The Duke was attainted.”

  All Wales knew by what process of Parliament Duke Henry lost his lands, confiscated by King Richard, they also knew what William explained at Martin’s Cross.

  “Tush man, you know better than that.”

  William sounded good humoured, even indulgent.

  Master Pwyll was not here to be humbled by any English clerk.

  “My lands are my own like they were my father’s before me and his before him.”

  “Well now, that’s what I’m here to decide and before I leave this manor, Master Pwyll, I shall make an entry in the court roll on behalf of Lady Margaret Beaufort, countess of Richmond, and in the presence of my lord Stafford whose lordship and right it is. If you have not paid your duty you are landless and bondsman to the estate.”

  There was just a hint of damp at Master Pwyll’s forehead, and horror in his eyes.

  “I’m no bondsman. The people here know me and mine and our place here for generations.”

  “The Law knows the lordship and if you have abandoned your duty you’ve abandoned the land that goes with it.”

  “Why should I pay a...”

  Whether it was William’s encouraging smile or the re-balancing of weight of twelve men at arms which caused Master Pwyll to break off, his next words were lost forever.

  Pwyll’s down cast eyes came as a surprise to me, suddenly he sounded weak and lame,

  “Master Corbett never collected it.”

  “Well now, you may pay what you owe to my clerk.”

  William’s voice caressed like charm itself.

  “I’ve no money here.”

  Thomas nodded to the youngest Pwyll,

  “We shall all wait while your son here fetches it.”

  I held my breath, but I could see Master Pwyll was shaken and it was I who’d trapped him, John would let none of the tenants’ party pass the door without Thomas’ word. There was a moment I expected violence, but slowly, that time was passing away. Whatever William and Thomas were feeling they showed nothing of it.

  There was a side-show of gestures and a muttering amongst the Pwylls in the Welsh language, a debate, with many a glance at the soldiers and at me. Which view was winning I couldn’t tell, not until the mutterings died out. With an angry wave Dafydd Pwyll sent the boy away, the soldiers making room for his passage. It eased the tension but then came the wait.

  Everybody waited, the de Stafford party not moving, not speaking. The Pwylls were fidgety. You could tell what the soldiers thought of them from the hint of expression around their eyes; no discipline. The tension in the room rose, it became unbearable. Several times Dafydd Pwyll made to go and thought better of it.

  These days the nobility were allowed to retain few men at arms. Those who were left were the best. John had been in Tudor service for many years. He’d been in Brittany in those dangerous days before the present king came to power, he’d seen many campaigns. Edmund, at his side, was younger but built like an ox. With ten other soldiers in the room, not counting Thomas and I, and the door blocked by my command, the odds were not favourable to the Pwylls’ leaving.

  Time passed and further time. Finally Master Pwyll made to speak to William.

  “‘T isn’t that we’re disloyal, ask anyone in these parts. ‘T is just we want to know where we stand. That’s all.”

  William gave him no answer.

  “Are you going to turn us off our lands?” The man sounded desperate now, not cocky.

  “Ask your lord.”

  Master Pwyll looked at John Corbett, who’d taken no part in all this time.

  “This young lord’s my master.”

  Pwyll finally looked at me. I didn’t know what to say.r />
  “Will your son bring back the rent you owe?”

  It was a simple question, I’d asked for information, but Pwyll took it badly.

  “Yes, and you’ll turn us off if not.”

  There was no answer I could give without showing weakness. I felt truly uncomfortable.

  Further silence, sullen and unhappy, ended at last with the return of the boy. He came in weighed down with bags of coin, it was beyond my belief he should carry so much. These were dutifully handed to his father. Clearly loath, Dafydd Pwyll handed them to Master William, to be counted by Andrew.

  “You’re short Master Pwyll.”

  Pwyll’s look showed amazement.

  “There’s six years rent there!”

  William looked at the note handed him by Andrew.

  “There remain one back quarter and the quarter now due.”

  William sounded bored.

  Further demands had never crossed Pwyll’s mind, surely if he did pay, these foreigners would simply take what they were given. Slowly it came to him; these soldiers were here to break him.

  Two further bags were produced by the Welsh party, coins changed hands, counted out under Andrew’s eye. By turns the Pwylls’ mood had changed from insolence to despair and now to smouldering resentment.

  “Your honesty and loyalty this day will be remembered, Master Pwyll.”

  Thomas had intervened before mounting anger could break into the open.

  “That you paid of your own free will when you saw my lord will be remembered by him and by your neighbours.”

  The whole family were reminded of their choice; they could either be mocked for their weakness in paying at all or respected for paying a just debt.

  When they’d gone William complained,

  “He was still short, by all the small and disputed sums arising over all the years, he’s remembered and deducted every one. This quarter’s payment is the first that man’s ever paid without deduction.”

  Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

  Over the next week and a half a flood of further summonses brought more payments. There were even payments coming in voluntarily. John Corbett showed his bewilderment and relief. Nevertheless, he came away from an interview with William, on the night before we left, pale and shaken. He had a pile of coins. He also had strict instructions on management, if he were to keep his stewardship.

  We heard later that a neighbouring land agent was murdered a few days after, it was said for breach of his word, but nothing was said to me that could connect it to Master Pwyll.

  The tour proceeded, there were many more stewards to see than Master Corbett. Thomas tried to make the exact timing and order of each visit uncertain. This was something taken increasingly seriously as the weight of our saddlebags increased. The final tally in those bags far exceeded what even a rich man might expect to see in all his life.

  Ours was not the only venture at rent collecting. Villagers and their stewards could be dealt with thus, not the rich and powerful, who would well know how to resent such treatment. Noble tenants were left to my receiver general. Master Bedell had been working all this time with Sir Rees. I think Master Gunter found it a relief, to turn from their work and the difficulties of fee farms, to sign receipts for what we brought him.

  I saw Sir Reginald’s relief; he explained to me how he could recalculate upwards the valores of my holdings, based on the money and intelligence we brought.

  “Estates are valued by the rents they receive. None save the King’s reach their owner as full as they left the tenants but yours have failed for other reasons. Your receivers have not been dishonest men, they have faced opponents in their work, and your presence with Lady Margaret’s servants has shown the justice of your right.

  Payment of rent confirms the title of the lordship and it pleases me your house should now receive that justice.”

  I saw little of Sir Rees, so much was done through his deputy, John ap Griffith ap Maurice, and by John ap Thomas in Hay. I loved the town of Hay and spent many hours there, down at the banks of the river Wye. But there was one day Sir Rees called me to see him in private. He called me into a small room, comfortable in dark panelling.

  “It is a long time since I was at court, Lord Edward. Forgive me that we have not met before this visit.”

  I was surprised for he seemed to mean something more than mere courtesy.

  “I should have come to see you before, but you were only a baby when the Countess of Richmond took your estates.”

  Sir Rees looked hesitant. He offered me a chair and I took it. He was clearly unsure how much to say.

  “It has been difficult to know where my loyalty should lie, and many other good gentlemen in this county have been as unsure as I.

  I have no trouble to serve the King as a true subject, but it is not always easy to serve truly both the Countess of Richmond and your estates.”

  There was a further pause.

  “I have known the people living on these estates and the towns round about all my life. There are good and bad, but, believe me Lord Edward, no worse than anywhere else.

  When they are given a certain understanding of how her ladyship will view rents and manorial perquisites, if they give their support as her ladyship pleases, your officers are unlikely to ignore it. Very little has been said openly, and I for one have no need to profit, my love is for the land I’ve lived on all my life. But you may notice who has risen and prospered over these times.

  Now it seems, in the presence of the King’s own auditor, Sir Reginald is trying to bring things back to where they were when I was a boy. I wish God may prosper this work and your estates; but remember, when simple people are given something, and are grown used to it, and see it snatched away, they are more resentful than if they never had it in the first place.”

  I looked at Sir Rees. He would plainly say no more, but he looked in full earnest and it seemed to me he meant me well.

  “What would you have me do, that you tell me this?”

  “Why nothing! That is for your servants. But remember, Lord Edward, when you come to deal with the people of Wales, deal with care and gentleness.”

  Sir Rees’ whole mood seemed to change. It never occurred to me the fear that speech had cost him, but now he had said what he had set out to say.

  “And now my lord, I must tell you that it was the courtesy of my office, when your father was at the Castle, to provide sport fit for a duke. You shall have my hounds and my falcons whenever you please.”

  The interview was over and the sense of it faded from Edward’s mind. The voyage of diplomacy and complex negotiations; dealing in loans, bonds and paper forfeiture Sir Rees was concerned about passed him by. There was embarrassment and awkwardness whenever Edward tried to enter into it, and all parties conspired to turn away his questions. These were not the quick raids of enforcement William Gibbons and Thomas made. It was as if Edward were explaining himself to me, as the picture moved on from Sir Rees, back to Edward’s own tour.

  (Past)

  We were playing the role of sheriffs, escheators and bailiffs. A rude introduction my tenants had to me, but at least these people could learn to treat me as a man, even if the high servants of my estates did not.

  The fame of our party spread quickly. Having the people forced to guess where we may next be, and guessing wrong, came to be a game with real zest to it. It was in this I first realised the value of Father Joseph. He made it his business to make contact with certain of the religious houses, with people he knew. These good men of the cloth were invaluable. Twice they acted as night guides when Thomas deemed it prudent to make a rapid move. We slept in their houses more than once.

  At the time I quite took it for granted the good men of the Church would give us such special help. Since then I’ve come to think it was something special about Father Joseph.

  On two occasions we found stewards who defaulted in paying what they actually received from the tenants. Interviews with these stewards we
re conducted by William. I came to admire and respect the sharp brain of this man, trained as a lawyer but without titles, who could command the respect of people like Lady Margaret. I also learned to respect the importance of the records William made. When he had not the records himself he demanded them from the stewards, when they were missing completely he investigated of the tenants themselves. He never took anything at face value. He had a knack of putting people in the position of explaining themselves, a knack I never quite learnt.

  There was one day Master Gibbons declared a holiday. Truly a great burden fell on him for there were many petty squabblings and arguments for him to settle. The conflicting testimony before William’s courts was the source of much valuable information, to supply missing titles and gain acknowledgement of the lordships’ rights. But it wasn’t always easy for him to end these squabbles favourably to the estates. The previous day we’d seen him worn out. Rubbing his eyes at the yards of writing and endless complaints, I heard him excuse a tenant’s rent in a way he’d never do normally. We were amazed. So this day I had a holiday, I was allowed to ride out alone.

  The country was rough and hilly and scarcely inhabited. For all it was green and well washed by constant rains the soil was light and stony and would blow away in dry weather. The ride didn’t lift my spirits, as I looked in vain for amusement. Perhaps it was the lack of people that made me bored. It made me notice the little girl by the roadside. She was sitting at a place where a narrow track joined the main way I was travelling, she could have been no more than nine years old. When she saw me she jumped up, she went on jumping up and down and waving to me in excitement till I stopped. Before I could speak she called to me by name.

  “You’re Lord Stafford. My great grandma sent me to fetch you.”

  My mouth hung open, truly. No one knew me here. Thomas was most careful not to let me ride alone anywhere where I should be known.

  I let myself down from the horse’s back.

  “Who are you, little girl? Where did you hear my name?”

  “Come’n, great granny sent me to fetch you. She’s very old.”

  The second part was said very confidentially but the girl would say no more. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me up the track after her. I laughed, at least it was diversion, and I swung her up into my saddle. Walking beside her we went up that narrow lane that so clearly went to her great granny’s house.

  I started out light of heart and easy of spirit; I don’t know why for I wouldn’t normally obey such a little girl’s summons. As we went the track became more and more oppressive and I turned about me looking for ambush; it was silly for there was nothing there to fear, just a weary slog on foot.

  It must have been over a mile, up a hill and down into a valley. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, we might have fallen off the edge of the World for all anyone would know. I regretted the coming; I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known the distance. All this to see some cottager and at her bidding too. Why in the name of God should I want to hear this old crone?

  Doubts and fears assailed me, what bewitchment brought me into such a wilderness? This dark haired little girl could truly be a witch’s weird. Why did I come with her? It was all done in a moment, without a thought. My sober mind nearly turned me back before the little girl waved our arrival.

  At first you couldn’t see the house. It was built low against the hillside, made of the same roughhewn stone that made the field walls. The roof was an ancient dense thatch, full of moss and decay.

  The little girl jumped down with a cry and ran indoors. I followed slowly, stooping to get inside. There was a smell of sheep's wool, damp and cooking and a bent old woman standing by a kettle over the fire. You could barely see for the poor light from the window and the steam from the kettle.

  She spoke without turning, the years hanging heavy on her. I’ve never seen anyone who looked so old.

  “Sit down young master. That’s all little Mair, you can run along now.”

  And she went back to her ministering over the fire; speaking not another word.

  I sat as I was bidden and looked around me. There was little to see, just the sparse trappings of a cottager’s life, and some signs of the healer’s art. They made me nervous; they were the mark of witchcraft. Time stretched out in silence till I made to speak to her, but it was she who spoke first.

  “You wonder that I know you? Young people are always in a rush, too quick to know anything.”

 

  More time passed and I bided in patience.

  “I was born long, long ago. I frighten people by my age. They say ‘t isn’t natural.

  I was born in the reign of the first king Henry; he whose son killed Lord Hotspur and fought Owain Glyn Dwr. My own father was killed in the fighting, before I was even born and I was sent to be brought up in a nunnery. What do you think of that? The nuns christened me Mary and brought me up and taught me book learning before I ran away.

  ‘T is all long, long ago when I was a girl.”

  The ancient woman still stirred her brew over the fire. It was long ago indeed she’d been a girl. Thomas had taught me about the Welsh princes and Owain Glyn Dwr, who rose against the English. Glyn Dwr fought for the king but Henry Hotspur died with the rebels at the battle of Shrewsbury, fighting against my great, great grandfather, Earl Edmund.

  How could any soul live so long in this World?

  She turned and looked at me, her bent old back somehow straightened.

  “I’ve lived these years to speak now. Mark my words for Old Mair will be gone by tomorrow morn. ‘T is time I saw my family, all long gone.

  If a prince would do God’s will let him first come to his own.”

  There was a pause before she went on,

  “I mean you, Sir Edward,”

  For a time it had been as if Old Mair, for that is the Welsh for Mary, was young and firm. Now her straightened back bent again and she collapsed onto a chair, overtaken by a fit of coughing. I made to help her but she waved me away.

  “Go now with God’s blessing or stay and be cursed. ‘T is my time.”

  Much as I would help there was nothing to be done and I went the way I came. It wasn’t the day I’d intended. What did Old Mair mean to call me a prince?

  This, like all the rest, I told to Angharad, first over the phone, and then when Debbie and I went to see her that weekend. She and I agreed, Sir Reginald’s obscure words and the nervous admission from Sir Rees confirmed my own conclusions about the management of the estates.

  “If I’d been Edward I’d have wanted to meet all the estate officers, the ones on the ground. I’d have wanted to talk to them privately.”

  Angharad pursed her lips, waiting for me to say more.

  “Maybe Edward didn’t see what was going on; maybe he couldn’t have done anything about it. I think the truth is, he didn’t care.

  I think Sir Rees’ advice was right, if he showed the same boldness against other tenants directly, that he showed against Dafydd Pwyll, he could easily have Wales against him. But if he showed himself to be their true good lord he could have brought those responsible for fraud out into the open.”

  Angharad put her drink down. She crossed the room to me; she even patted me on the shoulder.

  “My, you have learnt something.”

  I didn’t quite know how to take that, and after it, I didn’t know what to say about an oddity like Old Mair. I glossed over what I couldn’t explain, not wanting to say,

  “I don’t know.”

  (Past)

  Eventually, when we’d been away from home for three months, Thomas declared our enterprise no longer safe. Master William agreed, we’d done more than we set out to do and further returns would be less and less. The truth was we were all tired. Early one morning we turned our horses on the first leg of our homeward journey. It was not yet dawn, we wanted to make as much distance as we could before the rest of the World roused itself.

  There was such varied force of the vividnes
s in these images. There must be some reason why some images are totally compelling while others are vague and some just will not come at all.

  Apart from Pywll I can’t bring the names of any tenants to mind; I suppose, to Edward, they didn’t matter. I can’t remember the names of the farms nor the manors. I think even Edward lost track, as events whirled by him. It’s maddening not to be able to give you more details. This Welsh trip ought to be worth a book in itself, if only I could grasp it!

  What of the old crone who gave Edward her dying words? What did she mean? I worked out she must have been 89 years old; extraordinarily old for the times but not supernaturally so. How did she know Edward’s name? How had she known he would pass by the end of her track on that particular day? Why did he go to see her?

  Christmas 1492 was such a happy time for Edward; he was among those he loved. This spring was so very different, the need for touring estates was prompted by a “whistle blower”, possibly even more than just John Corbett alone, a tissue of abuse was being revealed that ran all the way from tenants to Lady Margaret herself. Yet Edward didn’t want to see it, this tour flicks in and out of consciousness leaving only a sense of wasting time. Yet if Edward had wanted to see, there was so much for him to learn, how feudal tenure worked, how the loyalty of those his family had ruled for centuries could still be rekindled, if only he’d wanted to see.

  There’s a trace of memory, of Edward watching William struggle with a complicated case of a broken duty to keep a fence, it cost the loss of a pig. The details are gone in laughter at Master Gibbons’ discomfort, the only time anything really got the better of him. There are flavours, impressions of that tour, almost a taste, of the places and people. The different smell of the soil, the different quality of sound in the hills of Wales, the feel of plain, unpolished furniture and the taste of the beer, these things all remain.

  ***