by Mike Voyce
Chapter 13 – Unhappy Differences
There’s something odd in this chapter. You see, where tension surrounds my channelling I know something special is about to happen. I had that feeling now, but important information just would not come. I trawled for it, but the silence remained obdurate. Even talking to Angharad, I couldn’t work out why, but if events had only gone differently so might Edward’s life, and mine.
The tension was an energy built up by emotion, like that night Edward and Eadie first became lovers, yet here there’s a difference, it concerns someone else, someone very powerful in Edward’s future. He must have known about her, but it’s as if he shut her out of his mind.
(Past)
From somewhere I caught a snatch of conversation between Lady Margaret and Thomas, before the departure for Wales.
“I want you to go on there on your way back, even though it is a great distance from your route.”
Lady Margaret was almost thinking out loud,
“But it is needful. If your expedition is a success, as I pray God it will be, you shall have cause to fear robbers. You will be expected to make for one of our houses and we would have further arrangements to provide for you from there. This way, no one will know what to think.
Though mind me, Thomas, you are to bring the money here, yourself, as quickly as you can. Leave Edward there, the change will do him good and it’s high time he looked to his future.
...The matter is settled. I have already written, they are to expect you before Whit.”
Thomas didn’t like anyone interfering with his arrangements. This time he had no choice. Through his annoyance I missed some of the words, something about honouring a contract made for Lady Margaret’s benefit.
I’m confused about this destination. It might have been the home of my lord of March or one of the Marcher lords. No name, not even a hint, will come, with Edward’s vague sense of geography, it’s difficult. Nevertheless, the visit was paid.
(Past)
The castle looked like a fortress, sufficient to protect against a besieging army, but its solidity was there only to impress. Not like Stafford, designed skilfully and scientifically with fields of fire in mind, the haven for a substantial force capable of fighting back. Nor was it like Sheen or Coldharbour, built with no thought for defence at all. This place was like a massive prison, yet inside it was roomy and luxurious. There were rich tapestries on the walls, beautiful carvings on chests and tables and vivid frescoes in the staterooms. All the living rooms were richly furnished, making an effect much grander and more glittering than Stafford, for Stafford hadn’t been a seat of power for many years.
My lord greeted us in person. He directed for the needs of horses and servants himself and allotted the private chambers. Mine was princely, more luxurious even than the public rooms; it had light on three sides, it was impossible not to be flattered.
There were dispositions to be made and business to be transacted. Master Gibbons had letters from Lady Margaret, he took these to my lord (Percy?) in private, Thomas and Father Joseph each had their own concerns, I found myself alone.
In my imagination the castle was a magical place and the chance to explore it not to be missed. It amazed me so much life could be got into the space of the castle and yet leave room for such wealth.
The castle drew Edward in, as if bewitching him, and under it tugged a sense of danger. As I meditated, tension snapped me into Edward’s senses, to see what happened through his eyes.
(Past)
I found myself in the armoury, eyeing a rack of swords. It came about by chance, just by wandering about.
“Well boy, what do you think?”
The voice belonged to a tall, thin man of about twenty years. I hadn’t heard him come in.
“Do you see anything you’d like to try?”
On matters of arms I am simple in my enthusiasm. The swords in the rack weren’t dress swords, nor yet practice swords; they were there for the muster in time of war. General issue swords are not the best swords, they’re not tailored to the height or weight or hand of the swordsman, but they are for serious business all the same.
“Why yes.”
Without turning or thinking I selected a sword and drew it from the rack. Turning then I faced my questioner.
“It would be a shame not to put that sword to the best test. Come with me!”
There was a smile, even a smirk on his face, as he led the way, along passages, down stairs, through an open courtyard to an enclosed space, a flour store, still within the main buildings of the castle. I didn’t question his smirk, I didn’t even think about it.
“Now boy; let’s see what you’re made of.”
For the first time I looked into his eyes. What I saw, with dawning horror, was nothing less than pure hate. Suddenly I was confronted by a dangerous enemy, sword in hand; no general issue, very much tailor made. What made me look into his eyes, to see that look, I don’t know. There was an eagerness about him, like a bird of prey, about to fall to quarry.
He chose the place well, no one would see, no one would hear, no one would come. It was between us.
My sword was a good choice; it was well made and had good balance. Many swords in these days, stored against the retreating risk of emergency, are clumsy and difficult, never intended for real use. I slipped my cloak from my shoulders to hold in my left hand, I remembered Thomas saying, “An empty hand is a dead hand”.
The stranger advanced, his sword held before him. This was surely a gesture of arrogance. In such a stance there could be neither attack nor defence.
I attacked obliquely, taking his opposing sword to the side. With my left fist, hindered by my cloak, I gave him a punch. It was a blow as hard as I could make it but not one to hurt. Had I a knife in my hand and been prepared to use it, it would all have ended then. I leapt back smiling, expecting his praise and acknowledgement.
But this stranger didn’t smile.
“You shall pay for that.”
And he drew a deadly looking knife for his own left hand; it was too long for a dagger, too heavy for a throwing knife, a vicious thing for our encounter. My cloak was thin, no protection against knife or sword. Now my chances were unhappy, I took a step back.
“Now we shall see.”
This time I waited, ready to go right or left, poised on the balls of my feet, needing to stay clear of that knife.
The attack came and I parried, stepping smartly to the left, to avoid the knife, to gain space.
An attack again and again the same defence. We had now changed places. I knew the next attack would look the same but it would be differently balanced, if I played the same game again this time I would have that knife between my ribs. I looked in his eye and beyond all doubt I saw his lust to kill, and a cunning that said he could.
What could I do? I’d been several times through the choices for sword against sword and knife, all of them called for some redeeming advantage; I had none, yet he had height and reach. I moved slightly, to encourage an attack one way not the other, and let my sword point drop.
A thrust again, my sword point flicked up to block and I rushed in with a shoulder charge. Had we been equally matched he must have gone down, as it was he staggered back. I had to leap away before he could recover enough to use the knife.
In the pause which followed I reckoned furiously. I can’t remember being scared, though I should have been. He was better armed, taller and stronger, stronger beyond measure; if we went on like this I must surely lose. You could see him recover confidence for the second time. I wanted to bring this folly to an end. The man looked out of his senses. I wanted to cry out,
“Stop. You’re frightening me. It isn’t supposed to be for real.”
I could of course, I could have said that, but it would’ve been dishonour. I could try to force my way out of the flour store: I’d have to work him back and left some twenty feet with no clear way to get position on the door and yet not be pinne
d to it. Unhappily the door was shut. I attacked and attacked again each time breaking away before our swords could lock.
Would he have learned to guess the change or was he too pleased with himself? I took my chance, praying to God. The third time my attack looked the same but it was sloppy. Not a thrust but a broad swing against his sword. It must have looked like a gift and he smiled broadly. It was child’s play to block and gave every chance in the counter-attack. I waited for the blocking move; it was late to come but if he’d struck all would have been ended. As it came I dropped my sword point, bringing the hilt and my elbow up, as if it were backhanded, to reverse the swing. It caught the edge of his sword, unbalancing him, turning him around. Now behind the stranger, my left hand grabbed frantically for that dangerous knife.
With my knee in his back we went sprawling and staggering. I found the knife blade and the hand holding it and I pulled with all my strength. The knife went clattering away across the floor and the stranger went staggering on in the direction he was facing. It left him no chance to recover the knife, while I was miraculously still standing and ready to fight.
He turned to face me, in the uncertain light I could not be sure, but now the stranger looked pale and frightened. Was it guilt? That I might serve him as he tried to serve me? He hesitated; then went for the door, I didn’t try to stop him.
A minute or two went by when nothing happened. Then I began to search for the knife. As I came out into the daylight, with that rich blade, I felt like an old man.
At the table that night I was seated next to my lady, her lord on the other side. The stranger of that afternoon was a little way off, diagonally opposite me. Father Joseph and Thomas were there with some dozen or so newly met strangers.
I recounted my tale as soon as I could to Thomas, that afternoon. I told it to Thomas and Father Joseph both. Thomas turned pale but it was Father Joseph who acted, before Thomas could say a word.
“Edward it’s time I spoke to you. I know Master Lewkenor will forgive me if I borrow you for a moment.”
I was led away into a side chamber; by chance it was the castle’s family chapel.
“I know our host will not mind if we use this holy place for a little worldly talk.”
The hand which guided my elbow fell to Father Joseph’s side.
“There is business between the Church, your family and this house. It is business about your future and it is now long overdue. It is about a contract made by Lady Margaret with the full blessing of the Church. I do not want his lordship embarrassed.”
Father Joseph sighed.
“Tales of breach of courtesy within these walls would have a very bad effect just now.
Were you at any time in certain peril?
Now look at me, and tell me truly, can you swear this man would have killed you?”
I dropped my eyes. Had it, after all, been a childish fear?
“No Father.”
“I think I know the man who fought you. He’s a nobleman and he’s of this house. You will certainly meet him again but do not fear. I doubt he’ll cross swords with you again.”
My expression must have spoken for me for Father Joseph smiled.
“You may be proud, you acquitted yourself well. It’s no more than Thomas taught you.
Do you agree it may have been no more than sport?”
I had no choice but to agree.
“I will tell Master Lewkenor so; he will be pleased to hear it.”
But now, this evening, at table, surely the fight couldn’t go without something being said.
“I’m sorry, Edward, my niece, Alianore isn’t here.”
It was my lord speaking.
“She’s a wilful girl, for that matter the whole family, Eh?”
He spoke as if I should know and I tried to show my agreement without being rude.
“She’s taken it into her head to be ill tonight. Pity, you haven’t had the chance to meet her.
Still, you have met my cousin’s boy.”
My lord pointed at the same stranger of the fight.
“He and she practically grew up together; they’re as close as peas in a pod.”
The stranger might have been full-grown but he blushed to the roots of his hair. It showed off his general good looks.
“Indeed, my lord?”
I’d been toying with that knife, it was still about me.
“I believe I have something of his.”
The words and the knife were out at the same time and before I could give them any thought. As soon as they were some sixth sense made me regret it. I went on with as much humility as I could find but having started badly I only made matters worse.
“I believe, sir, this is yours.”
It was passed down the table, but he refused it.
“No, Sir Edward, it’s none of mine.”
The knife was passed back and I was left holding it, nonplussed, until Thomas took it.
“A fine blade, speaking as a soldier. I shouldn’t like to face it, nor, as its owner, to lose it.”
Thomas mused aloud as he turned it in his hand. He let both me and the boy down the table know he remembered my story.
“Perhaps my lord should keep it safe till it be peaceably claimed.”
With that it was handed to our host and the incident closed. Closed but for the look of hate in the face of the knife’s owner.
I did not know what more to say or do or how to act but to remember Thomas’s words as we left the hall.
“Careful Edward, you’ve made an enemy.”
Several things puzzled me about this. First was Alianore. I’d heard her name before, or rather Edward had, but I didn’t know who she was. I knew it was she who was important, not the man in the fight, but, with nothing to go on, I couldn’t say why. It struck a jarring note, somewhere things were going on beyond Edward’s control.
I had, in fact, read the name before, but history books spell it differently and I had not recognised it. I went back to the local library and the Dictionary of National Biography confirmed, this was Alianore Percy of whom you will hear more. I hope, dear reader, to vex you in this for I shall not tell you. Edward didn’t have the Dictionary so why should you? You’ll just have to wait until he finds out, unless, of course, you want to go to the library yourself.
There’s a second unsettling point. I’ve tried that sword manoeuvre which saved Edward’s life (and, yes, I’m sure it did save his life). Of course, I used a walking-stick rather than a sword, but no matter how I tried, it is impossible to achieve what Edward did. Yet, not only did I watch him do it, it’s as if I was him as he did it. There’s a paradox, it happened yet it couldn’t be done.
The next time I slipped into Edward’s life the contrast between his life and my armchair couldn’t have been greater.
(Past)
Thomas left the following morning. A messenger arrived from Lady Margaret and Thomas went within the hour. He didn’t say what it was about and nobody knew.
It was one more thing and I didn’t like to lose Thomas; he was a link with home and Eadie, so much more to me than you could know. Everyone said it would likely take much more than two weeks before he’d be back. It left me little joy and no entertainment but for the kindness of my lord.
So my thoughts ran as I let them idle, walking my horse down this stony road towards an inn, crouched in the valley, promising shade from the sun baking down from a clear blue sky. It was one of those rare hot days that presage an early summer, with the buzz of insects and the breath of nature.
There was still nothing to be seen of the Lady Alianore and I thought she must be a sulky child or wilful indeed. In all these days she’s appeared not once, not for hawking, nor for riding, not even by my lord’s coaxing. Perhaps there’s something greatly wrong with her that she’s scared to show her face. My lord’s embarrassed and has been generous but, at last, I took to exploring the countryside on a borrowed horse. Thomas took mine as part of the string carrying t
he treasure of our rents.
The ale-house suits the day. I looked around it with the same idle curiosity I had for all this strange country. Yet the bright light made every detail sharp and vivid. It made solid bars, with dust dancing in them, to fall in shafts through the windows. The fields and road and woods beyond had all been freshly washed in that light and hurt the eyes to look on.
The greatest sense of the inn was wood. With oak and elm in the floor and the beams and the panelling of the walls, only in the middle of the room, carried between great oak beams, was there any relief, given by the clean white of a plaster and lath partition, that and the dull brick of a rich fireplace on the end wall. It was all the very spirit of a country inn: unlike the city by its clean air, and bird song in place of hawkers’ cries.
The room was full of tables, chairs and stools, with an enormous dresser to my left, carrying most of the landlord’s plates. I sat before a small table with a window to my back and the open door before me. There was a doorway to my left leading to the private rooms of the house and, to my right, on the other side of the partition lay the fireplace, now spread with flowers.
Everything was comfortable and the timbers of the inn stretched and groaned with me as I ate. There was a leather tankard of beer at my side and I was at peace after the morning’s ride.
The maid who brought my beer had just left when five men came in. They were framed against the sunlight as they walked through the doorway, only to be lost again in the soft light of the room. They were armed and confident and didn’t look like farmers, though they clearly knew the place. They caught my attention.
Two stayed by the door while one went behind the partition, to my right. The other two came straight towards me. It looked like the action of soldiers and I expected the one out of sight to come at me from behind the partition. There was no doubt their business was with me.
The two coming towards me started a conversation.
“Well, what have we here?”
“D’know. Looks like a young lordling, look at them fancy boots.”
The tone was insolent by intention; it thrust contempt at me like a challenge.
“I ’spect he has that horse outside...I’d like a horse like that.”
I picked up my beer with my left hand and moved my stool back. It was as well to be on a stool, not trapped in a chair; it saved the need to rise until they were on top of me. It was comforting to feel the weight of Duke Henry’s Sword at my side; since the flour store I’d hardly been anywhere without it. But the truth was I felt a sick feeling, a feeling I’d felt only once before, when faced by that man in my lord’s castle.
The one on the left pulled the knife he’d been toying with out of his belt.
It was time to rise.
I threw my beer in his face as the other started to draw his sword. I stepped back. Turning, the one who’d gone behind the partition was coming from my right, sword in hand. I’d carried my stool with me as I rose; now I stepped into him, jamming the stool into him, taking his sword with the blow, knocking him backwards off his feet. He must have cracked his head on a table’s edge as he fell, for he lay there, stunned.
I vividly remember leaping onto a table and drawing my own sword. Stepping from table to table, sword and knife in hand, trying to fly, going round the partition to come to the door from there.
I was confronted by three of them, the one from in front, who’d not been able to reach me, and the two from the door. The one with beer in his face was coming up from behind, still rubbing his eyes. They were all standing on the floor, I above.
The one to my left couldn’t wield his sword well for the beam holding the partition. I kicked at his face and he stepped back.
There was no time to think, only to keep moving. I thrust at the middle one, jumping down from the table as I did it. The thrust went clean through his guard and my sword point sank deep into his chest. I know a sword is made to do exactly what my sword did, but to see the blade disappear inside your enemy and hear the dreadful sucking noise as it comes out, and see the welling life flow and the look of shock in the man’s face. Once it’s done you’re helpless and it’s no good that you didn’t want it.
I had to pull the blade out with both hands, and do it in a moment, with all the force I could. I had to bring the sword hilt back, with all my might, to smash backhanded into the face of the one on the right. I had to, with all speed, to stop his sword swing slicing through my middle.
I watched consciousness leave his eyes before he fell backwards, against the wall. There had been my entire weight behind the quarter of an inch of metal which hit him, just above the bridge of his nose. I thought I heard bone crack.
There were two still standing on my left. I turned to face them. We all paused for a moment before any attack could be made on either side. Decision wavered, and then they fled, the one at the back still shaking beer from his hair. I confess to my own shaking as I watched them go.
There were sounds from the back of the room. The one I’d hit with the stool now stood, undecided. Time passed in stillness, then he, too, scuttled round the other side of the partition and out. I let him go.
I remembered what Thomas had taught. The use of the sword is about speed and balance. Speed and balance are everything; against a soldier you need balance, against a farmer, speed. Duke Henry’s Sword knew its place in my hand, it had been bloodied, and all I’d needed was speed.
There was an anti-climax. No one had shown me what to do next. It all happened so suddenly, so quick. In God’s Mercy I don’t know what prepared me for the attack of those men. Why I’d even taken notice of them as they came in. Perhaps it was Thomas’s training always to expect trouble.
My trembling legs would hold me no more, I sat down heavily.
Had I done too much? Had it been just?
I couldn’t sit for long and got up and recovered my knife from the floor, needing to move.
I looked out through the doorway. The survivors were gone. My horse stood, still and tranquil, for her nothing had happened. Back inside stood the serving maid, stock still and ashen. Behind her came mine host, summoned by the maid’s cry.
“He’s dead,”
The innkeeper pronounced it as a matter of fact, as he bent over the man who’d taken my sword thrust.
He seemed almost bored. I’d never seen a dead man before. He couldn’t be dead, there was so little blood. It was difficult to speak. I tried to steady myself and make my voice firm.
“Who is he?”
“Oh! Don’t worry yourself, he’s a troublemaker. He would have got himself hanged last sessions for a man what died in a fight but nobody’d bring the charge.
He lives on his own, about five mile from here, by doin’ what he can. Some say he’s a thief.”
“Here,
Said the innkeeper, bending over the other. The man still had his back propped against the wall, eyes and mouth open but empty of all his senses.
“This un ain’t dead yet but soon will be.” Rising, with the weariness of his years the innkeeper turned his eyes on me.
“So who are you?”
I put my sword and knife away and gulped. I was a stranger here; I’d brought death to this innkeeper’s house. He might look kindly on these people’s relatives, for all he seemed not to care.
“Edward Stafford, guest at...”
I tried to think of the place name but I didn’t have time to bother.
“I know your sort. Well, you made a good butcher’s job, young as you are.”
“I’m sorry.”
I sat down once more, trying to keep a sob from my voice and trembling from my body.
“They came at me. Those and three others; no one else was here.”
“Yes, well... You did right to defend yourself against the likes of these.”
There seemed to be some expectancy in the air and I pulled open my purse.
“Let me pay for my food.
I don’t know what’s to be done about the
se men, and I pointed at the two still figures, as I handed over two coins, I remember, they were two angels.
I should give you money to take care of them.”
He looked at the angels but whether enough or too little I couldn’t tell. He put them away without comment.
“Don’t worry yourself, I’ll send to his lordship when I have the time.”
I went back to the castle; there was nothing else I could do.
I went straight to our host, what else could I do?
His lordship was concerned and considerate throughout my whole story and when it was done he sent for Master Gibbons. William was given a potted history; he held my eyes as I retold it. At the end he asked some pointed questions and I was dismissed to my room.
I thought and thought going over that fight endlessly in my mind before Master William summoned me to him.
“Master Gibbons, I’ve killed a man!”
“Very possibly two.”
There was a thin smile on his lips as he went on,
“At least you’ve proved yourself in arms.
It isn’t good for the nobility to brawl with commoners.
Oh! I know it’s done. But everyone works in the belief they’ll leave you alone if you leave them alone. From many years painful experience they’ve learned to stay out of noble fights and you owe them the same.
But have you no idea what it was about?”
William seemed pleased I honestly didn’t know.
“His lordship has sent out to enquire about these ruffians: but I think you’ll hear no more. Indeed, it’s better you should not.
I shall limit you, Edward, by the power I have from Lady Margaret, you shall go no further than one mile from here without my leave.”
Howbeit Master Gibbons’ smile was kind there was no more to say, and so it was.
There are two footnotes to add; first, I was struck by the “two angels”. They turned out to be coins minted by Edward IV, worth 6/8d., one half of a mark and one third of a pound; they were very useful coins. A whole mark was many times too much for the price of a meal but surely not enough for the price of a life. What a strange name for Edward’s blood money.
Second was the question of where all this took place, I couldn’t be sure from channelling. My guess, which is mere rational thought, puts Edward in the Scottish marches, not those of Wales. The castle might then be that of Alnwick, in Northumberland; if it was, Thomas could have returned to London by sea, a much safer course than travel by land.
***
