Edward - Interactive

by Mike Voyce

  Chapter 20 – Father Joseph

  I told Angharad the scenes of this last chapter. She became more than ever critical of Edward. Yet, she was unfair to judge him so harshly; what could I say to make her see him as I did? All I could do was offer the truth, as I offer it to you.

  One thing most perplexed me; Edward did his best to insist on bringing Eadie to Cambridge, even though, eventually, he had to give up. Why was the College so obdurate? Surely there were other noble and gentlemanly students who actually did have mistresses. Lack of an answer to that question was the ground for Angharad’s strongest criticism. Eventually I found the answer.

  When I found that Buckingham College was under the rule of Crowland Abbey it caught my interest. The abbey ruins lie close to Market Deeping, a town I’ve visited on business; together with surrounding villages they all fell within the medieval lordship of Deeping. A manorial lordship was a powerful thing; it not only decided rights to land but many local duties as well; whoever held the lordship could exercise considerable power, even over an abbey. Guess who held the lordship of Deeping. Well? It was Lady Margaret Beaufort.

  Some abbey records survive; I was able to piece together a picture. Lady Margaret worked assiduously to gain the favour of the monks. Not only was she an accomplished Bible scholar, but there was hardly a dispute over land, money or rights the abbey didn’t win. There was great resentment amongst the local people; it almost came to pitched battle. That too, Lady Margaret resolved favourably to the abbey. The monks were grateful; they made her the highest member of their community to which a layman could aspire.

  Something about this worried me as an academic, about our knowledge of History in general. You see the monks of Crowland wrote the Crowland Chronicle. It’s one of the very few primary sources we have for this period of history, especially about the short reign of Richard III. I wondered how, ever again, I could think the sources of History reliable.

  With this trick Angharad encouraged me to use, of eavesdropping on people around Edward, I found a conversation between the Abbot and Lady Margaret,

  (Past)

  “You know we are grateful in the Abbey.

  We find no error in looking favourably on the House of Tudor. God’s blessing on your deeds, as you work as a fellow servant of Our Divine Lord. I cannot think my prior would fail in his duty to serve your will.”

  “It cannot be ungodly to enforce the Law of a Pope ...strictly.”

  Lady Margaret was, as is sometimes said, ‘pushing on an open door’.

  “Indeed my Lady. Bishop Morton has much influence in the see of Ely, between us we shall find the University speaks as one.”

  Edward was under the monastic rule of the College, it was controlled by the Abbot of Crowland and Crowland Abbey served the Countess. The tight web of Tudor power was never obvious but I think the Abbot was right; the University would not defy its patrons.

  It’s easy to guess how Edward might have rebelled against his guardian but would he have rebelled against University, Church and the Law of the Pope?

  Whatever power Lady Margaret used may have been hidden from Edward, it was certainly hidden from Eadie. It helped to make matters worse between them. As the next difficulty arose it was as if Edward were excusing himself to Angharad and I.

  (Past)

  Lady Katherine is to be married; hasn’t she had enough with Jasper?

  Invitation to the wedding came in a long letter full of brightness. The man she’s to marry is without titles, virtually a pauper, hardly ten years older than me, a favourite of Court Society: really, mother!

  It’s to be a private wedding, away from London, but there’ll still be days of entertaining and being polite, smiling at Brother Henry. At least the season is favourable, there’ll be hunting and hawking enough.

  Lady Margaret and the King expected a longer mourning for Jasper. Why should they? Yet, they don’t approve of this marriage and it’s to be done without the King’s licence. There’ll be a heavy fine to pay to compensate Tudor dignity, for all Sir Richard’s silken tongue. I know nothing of this Richard Wingfield that mother should marry him, except, they say, he pleases those in fashion. I never knew mother was so impetuous.

  Eadie wants to come too. How can she when there shall be enough strain under Tudor gaze? Mother’s letter pleads for good behaviour, that I might let her seek happiness in the last years of her life. What can I do?

  It was increasingly difficult to keep the strands of Edward’s life running smooth; no matter how he tried to put the will of others before his own. His consternation was a tangible thing. I tried to shut away the depression these visions of Edward beckoned me to but this desperation and powerlessness, more than anything else, rocked my own emotions.

  (Past)

  “Where’s my invitation?”

  “I’m sorry; I don’t think mother even thought of it.”

  From all the petty squabbles we have these days I knew this would be the cause of another scene. There was nothing I could say to stop it.

  “So I don’t matter anymore, Lady Katherine wouldn’t even think of it.

  But you’ll go, won’t you Edward? You don’t care either.”

  The heat of Eadie’s words stung like wasps. Here was spite not sorrow. And where, oh where, had gone the good humour of our childhood when we’d accept the whims of the adults with a shrug. I almost cried at the remembrance of it.

  I looked at her as others would see her. These days she’s always brightly dressed but in the plain styles of the country. Her thick hair hangs loose and falls over her shoulders. She still looks the gipsy. Why can’t Eadie be the lady of Court? I can hear how Lady Margaret’s servants would report Eadie’s shoeless feet on the marble floor of my mother’s chapel.

  “There’s nothing else I can do.”

  If only she’d wait till I should be my own master. It shall not be long till I shall be free from my wardship. Eadie never could hide her feelings from the Countess, and she could find reasons enough to deny me Penshurst. Added to all, Lady Margaret would do it now to hit back at Stafford forgetfulness of Jasper’s memory.

  Eadie must have heard the defeat in my voice. As I stood there, not knowing what to say, I saw her mood change again. Anger abated and she came to me softly, she put her hand on my arm,

  “Go, Edward.”

  She smiled at me with tears in her eyes; turning away, as if there was nothing more to say. What a world of feeling there was in that leaving. What a world of guilt in my impotence.

  Edward did indeed go to his mother’s wedding. I next found him there, diverting himself as best he could, on the day of his arrival.

  (Past)

  ‘The falconer’s a good fellow and good company to lend me his time and his birds.’

  The thought was comfortable as we rode through the parkland, green and pleasant, dotted with copses and watercourses as Jasper had planned it. Typical of the Welshman, acceptable for hawk and for hound, perfect for neither, but then you make profit out of the grazing and the timber.

  The dogs have worked their best, the falcons too; even as we watched, my peregrine was about to make a kill. The falconer knew his birds.

  I was about to say so when the dogs barked.

  A single horseman came from the woods to our left, seventy yards across the meadowland. The horse seemed to start at the sound of the dogs; then it checked.

  The falcon hadn’t killed cleanly, the quarry fell from her talons. It dropped like a stone at the horseman’s side.

  The horse reared, it panicked; and then it bolted.

  Surely it was too far to see but it looked as if one of the saddle girths was broken; the rider slipped sideways, only hanging on by gripping the horse’s main.

  He must recover or fall at the next ditch; though I didn’t like any man’s chances of staying on so far out of the saddle.

  I set spurs to my horse anyway. We made up two thirds of the distance by the time the horse reached an open ditch and fence. It was easy
enough if you met it in the saddle, but this rider fell as it was sure he must.

  I jumped past him and collected the horse. I found the rider still sitting in the ditch and he thanked me with such courtesy, it turned irritation to remorse that it was my sport which unseated him. The man was handsome and more collected than his horse. He even knew me, though we never met before, and he refused all help but for my promise to meet him again at the house.

  “You must let my groom see to your saddle.”

  “No need Sir Edward, it’s already done.”

  These first words, exchanged as we met in one of the large public chambers of my mother’s house of Thornbury, were so like all our later dealings. He had set out a game of chess on one of the tables and we played all evening. He played, as I was to learn, as he lived his life, with such quiet confidence I never knew if he were proud or humble. But I was forced to respect his play as I was forced to respect him as a man.

  These were my first meetings with Sir Richard Wingfield. It was well into the evening before I learned who he was. As we met in my mother’s porch he had all the advantage of me and I none of him. In all the time I knew him he gave nothing away, but with such manners and courtesy he was never mean.

  Sir Richard asked after the tutor and the priest Lady Katherine told him of. As to the tutor, he meant Thomas and I thanked him, as to the priest I shook my head, there are many priests in Cambridge and I didn’t know who my mother might mean.

  I told Sir Richard he should be a diplomatist. He smiled, as well he might, for in the years after he became one of the greatest ambassadors of our time. At least Mother was to marry a man of grace, which is more than she’d had in Jasper.

 

  Sir Richard’s words drew me on. But before I come to that, there’s something else about Lady Katherine’s wedding. It wasn’t just the way Eadie dressed which showed her casual attitude to the Church; it was her attitude to marriage itself. I’d have missed it entirely but for the shudder of memory it brought, as Edward thought how it would be if Eadie came to Lady Katherine’s wedding.

  Edward had tried to show off his love. He was proud of her, and there had been a time he would take any excuse to bring Eadie into the company of the rich and powerful. These days he was more guarded, ever since John Morton, bishop of Ely came to dine at Penshurst.

  (Past)

  Eadie asked the bishop what he thought of marriage and he gave a harsh answer, I had seen from his eyes he hadn’t liked my Eadie on first meeting and this was a chance to say so.

  “The holiness of the sacrament and the blessing of God alone save our sinful souls from what else would be mortal sin of the flesh.”

  Eadie’s reply was shocking,

  “Whether marriages are made in heaven or not, it takes a man and a woman and neither priest nor bishop can touch the passion God put between them. That is what makes children, a sacrament greater than any known to the Church of Rome.”

  The bishop crossed himself. Henry Tudor’s spymaster was no simple man of the Church; he knew how to tailor the Law of God to the power of the World. But, whatever he did for his king, he did believe in the Laws of the Church. He admonished Edward and Eadie and never returned to their house again. Edward pleaded with him, as he was leaving, that no report should reach Lady Margaret.

  I wondered if even the diplomacy of Sir Richard Wingfield could have helped Edward in these difficult scenes. Sir Richard’s mention of a priest made me wonder just how much he knew about Edward, I even wonder if he knew what I’m about to tell you. It’s almost as if his words opened a door in my mind to the next scene. It’s a strange scene and it takes the rest of this chapter.

  (Past)

  I came home from College. The lodgings we’ve taken in Old Street are warm and bright. They have their own garden, full of the scent of hollyhock, lupin and foxglove. Albeit the house stands in the old town, the buildings are new and there’s an air of space and light; oak used before it’s time creaks under your weight and dust dances in the beams falling through the fine leaded windows.

  Thomas was already home, with a visitor, I heard them talking, even before I came into the room. Our guest rose, it was Father Joseph of our Welsh tour, resplendent in white robes, contrasting with the black, Benedictine habit of my teachers.

  We met each other warmly. Even if I have no fond memory of Wales, Father Joseph is a gentle and Godly man. I hadn’t known he and Thomas were such friends. Thomas never spoke of him before Wales and hardly ever after, yet here they were like brothers.

  “Well how are you Master Edward? You’ve grown to manhood since last we met.”

  I thanked him, still not knowing why he’d come, he didn’t say what he was doing so far from home.

  “I hear Lady Margaret’s retired from public life, you’ve a friend now, not a guardian.”

  A question or statement? As to Lady Margaret she will never retire.

  We talked of easy things. The Father was from the religious house in Brecon that gave me refuge as a child. His order had once been Stafford tenants, but for centuries past they’d been excused all rent, I hadn’t known that.

  Thomas and Joseph talked of bygone days. From such recounted snatches I learned of the relationship between the Brothers and my family, our common heritage. It was like a lesson, why had no one told me these things before? Yet, much as I would learn, so much came at me so fast I barely remember a part of the long history Father Joseph told. All this time they watched me quizzically, from the moment I came in. It was as if he and Thomas were testing me, like that day the doctor of letters came to Lady Margaret’s house.

  Thomas had dismissed the servants before I came home. There was a cold table laid for us, cold meats, cheese, bread, oat-cakes and wine; most of all the wine, a strong claret from France. We ate as Father Joseph talked.

  There came a time when there was some signal in Thomas’s look, it was for the Father, not for me. By and by it came as it were to a change of subject.

  “Tell me Edward, do you remember some trinkets you had as a boy?”

  I looked at him, my lack of understanding clear on my face.

  “Thomas tells me you called them your Marbles. You and Eadie played with them when you were small.”

  I smiled at the remembrance of those sunny days and the games we played; yes I remembered, we were truly such naughty children.

  “Edward, they were taken off you I think.”

  “Yes they were too! I remember; I broke one. Aletia went white with anger, I’ve never knew anyone full grown make such a fuss over such a toy.”

  My head wasn’t clear; I’d drunk freely of the wine, out of thirst. My habit is to drink only small beer and this was the strongest liquor I ever had. Father Joseph was solemn.

  “Edward, those were no toys but precious things, to be used for very special reasons. They were desecrated in Lady Margaret’s house.”

  “A foolish child, even a naughty one, but I hope ~ not foolish now, to be upbraided over past trifles.”

  Why I spoke so uncivilly I don’t know. The Marbles were always special to me; it broke my heart when they were taken away. I’d have done anything to have them back and undo the damage and the guilt I felt.

  A look of consternation passed between Thomas and Father Joseph. It was Thomas who spoke next.

  “Edward, listen; not only is Father Joseph a friend, not only did he save your life in Wales, though you didn’t know it, it’s a duty to your inheritance.”

  “My inheritance? My inheritance, sir, has caused me nothing but grief!”

  I could have bitten my tongue a second time.

  “Patience Thomas.”

  It was now Father Joseph’s turn,

  “Edward, what would you say to the return of the marbles?”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “There are many old things we keep in our Order, though the public accuse us of despising such artefacts: there are some forgotten trifles, we value greatly.”

  He sighed
and looked at Thomas.

  “How do you explain the centuries of piety to the young? All these so very many years of keeping faith even against despair.

  Edward, do you believe in the power of relics?”

  It was an amazing question, as odd as it was unexpected. I tried to give a sober answer. What was I to make of all this?

  “I know the late King Louis of France scoured the World for relics to save his life. Even the Holy Father in Rome helped him. The good king still died when God intended. Though truly Father, I know nothing of relics save to doubt the piety of those who call on them.”

  “Was Louis not pious?”

  I couldn’t answer Thomas’s question nor his tone, I wanted no argument. Nor, it seemed, did Father Joseph, his smile was broad.

  “There are those who believe most devoutly in relics and, believe me, Edward, we are not all impious.

  As to Louis, I’ll not judge a king. Maybe he was impious; it’s the fate of kings to fall into dilemma and in them to lose sight of God. But I speak of what I know; the right relic in the right hands may work the Will of God. My brothers and I seek nothing more for this land of ours. We have done so since before our records began and in that time the greatest virtue demanded of us has been patience. For many, many generations there has been nothing we could do but hope to preserve the trust we hold for the future.

  We do not hope, we do not expect miracles, we trust in the Will of God. It was so when a predecessor of mine gave the Sword to your ancestor.”

  Both Thomas and Father Joseph were looking at me oddly, what did he mean?

  “Thomas tells me you keep your father’s Sword near you. Do you know its story? Do you know the story of Father John’s vision?”

  I cast my mind back. It was years ago that I got the sword. It was given me by Thomas; there’d been a letter from my father. I kept it as a precious link with Papa but I hadn’t read it for years. It spoke of a Father John in the distant past but it really said very little. My face must have mirrored my uncertainty.

  “You’re somehow something to do with the Father John in the letter? With my father’s Sword?”

  My amazement brought smiles to both their faces.

  “And ‘the Marbles’ too and certain other things besides. They’re very sacred and very special to Britain.”

  ‘Britain’ was an odd word to use, it was the name used by the Romans for England but he didn’t say England, nor Wales, nor even Scotland. Father Joseph was still speaking.

  “We try to keep an eye on them.

  It was a great and sad loss when your father failed. We mourned for him and for this land for two years. It wasn’t just that our order has been linked to the house of de Stafford for so long but your father tried to fulfil Father John’s vision and it was in doing so he died.

  My brothers’ wish is that you know our sorrow over that loss.”

  I was deeply touched. Father Joseph meant what he said and it gave me a very warm feeling to know he meant it. I understood very little of this conversation apart from that. Something seemed to be expected of me.

  “I don’t know what I should say. My father did fail and one day I shall take his place but I don’t know what I should do then. King Richard is dead and all the wrong that he did is ended. What should I do?”

  “Follow your destiny.”

  I could only look blankly at them.

  “What is my destiny?”

  I looked from one to the other for the help I’d always been given. They could see I was at a loss. It was Thomas who spoke.

 

  “Did you know I was a friend of your father’s? I knew him from being a boy. I couldn’t help him when he was agonising over defying Richard. It was clearly time to act; he should even have done it before, in his own name, without attaching his cause to Tudor. He was torn by loyalty and uncertainty. He was frightened of the great wrong of arrogance, of putting himself first when doing it would be named treason. When he did act it was in an unprepared rush. I was sent to strengthen the musters and to fetch him those ‘Marbles’ of yours as good luck talismans. By the time we could raise the Duke’s forces he was cut off by the storms and floods that came. I couldn’t reach him. You won’t remember receiving those trinkets from me, you were just a baby and I was gone to save my own life to Tudor and to Brittany.

  I’ve thought about it a great deal since. Father Joseph and I have talked. Yes, I knew the story of Father John from your father’s lips. To make the vision come true you have to believe, to work miracles you must have faith as well as the Will of God on your side. Henry didn’t have that faith; I think he knew it himself. He thought he could clear his doubts by joining with Henry Tudor. You see what happened, Tudor is indeed king and your father dead and gone.”

  “Thomas is right; Father John’s vision didn’t put Henry Tudor on the throne. It’s been a lesson in humility to us. We can’t give you your destiny, Edward. Only you can do that, from what you believe for yourself.”

  My mind was reeling from these blows. How could I not have known all this? What did it mean, what should I do?

  “Father John’s vision was about my father’s rebellion. He thought it would lead to him, not the King, reaching the throne of England and the just rule he expected my father to give is why the Sword was given to our ancestors all those years ago?”

  As I spoke I looked from one to the other but I didn’t know which to ask. I think I was almost talking to myself.

  “Yes.”

  The word they both spoke together was emphatic, almost with a sigh as one who has finally got an instruction into the head of a particularly stupid servant.

  “But the rebellion failed, my father’s dead and Henry Tudor is king so it was all for nothing.”

  “Oh!”

  Thomas got up from where he was sitting and paced up and down the room, once.

  “Give me strength!”

  He came and leant over me one hand on each of the arms of my chair.

  “Edward, I have not taught you to be a dullard. Think boy! If we’d been so very content with Tudor would we be telling you all this now?”

  Thomas stepped back. It was Father Joseph’s turn.

  “Father John’s vision didn’t put the present king on the throne. It didn’t say when it should happen but it put the crown in the hand of some member of your family. It didn’t have to be Duke Henry; it’s simply that it could have been him.”

  They were both looking at me.

  “You mean I should be king?”

  Now it was Father Joseph’s turn to be out of patience.

  “I can no more tell you your destiny than we could tell Duke Henry’s. It depends on your own will and your faith and the Will of God.”

  There was silence for a time.

  “And the Sword will help whoever has it to be king?”

  Father Joseph nodded.

  “Relics do have great power when used in faith for the right reasons at the right time. The Sword, as you know is an instrument of great power. It is a relic of the land itself.”

  “And the marbles?”

  “They and other things too are all part of the trust we hold.”

  There was silence for a further time. Then it was Father Joseph who spoke again.

  “You can imagine Lady Aletia’s consternation when she saw you’d broken a relic of Britain. But now you’re older. Thomas believes, whether you’re ready or not, it’s time you must hear our story. If you wish to accept them I can return to you your childhood Marbles. Aletia gave them to Thomas and he gave them to me. I can now return them to you.”

  Father Joseph paused to wag a long finger of admonition at me,

  “If you wish them, knowing what they are.”

  A thought had been running round my head and I realised it made me a little cold in my thoughts towards Father Joseph.

  “You remember, on our way back from Wales, I had a fight. A young man tried to kill me, Father Joseph. You persuaded me to do nothing. And you, T
homas, when I was set upon in an alehouse you attacked me for defending myself. Why did you do that?”

  There was genuine puzzlement in my voice.

  It was Father Joseph who ended the long pause that followed.

  “No man can die before the purpose of his life has begun. Many indeed do die young, I cannot know the ways of God but I think such children either have no purpose or it is fulfilled by only a short stay in this life. Happy are those who die having served the reason for their living.

  There are many who die having never fulfilled their destiny. They had the chance and failed to take it. It’s my belief they continue to live, by the Grace of God, until it’s clear they have turned their backs on their fate or on God.

  You, Sir Edward, are only now setting out on your destiny. You still have to make the choices which will shape your life. I cannot tell what you will do. Maybe you will fulfil Father John’s prophecy; maybe that is not God’s Will, maybe you will fail in your duties to God, yourself and Man. I don’t know but I do know that God will not permit your death until you’ve made your choices. Your purpose, and that of any de Stafford heir, cannot be ended by a mere brawl. Your life was safe and continues to be so until your course is clear or your destiny fulfilled.”

  It was an astonishing statement of faith but there was no doubt in Father Joseph’s quiet tone. He believed it completely.

  “You attacked me, Thomas; you could have hurt me with that whip, when all I did was defend myself in an alehouse.”

  The memory this meeting revived could not just be dismissed, even by Father Joseph’s faith.

  Thomas looked sheepish.

  “That you took no injury proved your innocence. Believe me Edward I am heartily sorry and bear the burden of my rage to this day. You used the great Sword in a private fight, it is the very use from which it must be spared and, I am sorry Edward, please believe me, something had to be done to test your purpose.”

 

  The sadness I saw in Thomas made me change the subject.

  “What about the danger in Wales, the danger Father Joseph was sent to guard against?”

  Thomas answered for the Father, a smile returning to his face.

  “You mean the danger from resentful tenants. Joseph moved us so around as to make them dizzy. There was only one serious ambush laid and that on our way home. They lay in wait all nervous of the wrath of God while we passed peaceably down the next valley.”

  Thomas’s amusement at the memory wasn’t matched by Father Joseph.

  “ ‘T is the one time I practised deceit, and involved others too, in my dishonesty.

  Edward, you were safe. Each of us may be if we will trust in the Will of God. If we will but do so we must know nothing but good and right and our just fate may befall us. And all this is true and has been preached by the Holy Church for every man. You and your family have a special fate. God’s earnest of that fate is given you in the Sword and your ‘Marbles’ and in certain other things of which you will know soon enough.”

  Father Joseph’s faith moved me, but I tried like a man to hold on to my wits as all this reeled round my head. Then I found an anchor for my doubts,

  “Thomas said you saved my life in Wales.”

  There was a long pause while Father Joseph and Thomas looked at each other. When Father Joseph did answer he seemed hesitant, as if there were things he didn’t want to tell me,

  “Thomas was speaking of your soul. If you were to do injury to that it might truly threaten your life.

  Do you remember, on the way to Wales you wanted to visit Tretower, to pay back the Vaughan family for what they did at Brecon when your father rebelled? Had you held to that purpose the infection of hate would have threatened your life indeed. Thanks to God you returned to innocence, which protected you through all our journeys.”

  I shook my head, not understanding, but I begged Father Joseph to go on as before, that I have time to think of all this.

  “If you are to fulfil your destiny you shall need courage. Wherever there is special destiny, there too, is special danger. This is why the Church talks of the Antichrist. You need fear nothing if you stick to the path of destiny. If you dare to climb a mountain path you may look down into the danger of the abyss. Yet the mountain path may be as safe as the broad high road.”

  It put me in mind again of those dangers coming back from Wales and also that old crone Mair, who spoke so strangely in those distant Welsh hills,

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

  “Why did anyone want to kill me, those ruffians or the Lady Alianore’s cousin?”

  “Surely you understand young love, Edward. A certain contract made long ago pleases her no more than it pleases you. Yet be careful, for while some may disbelieve destiny there are others who let nothing stand against them. They’re ready to condemn those who oppose their will, yet see no fault in themselves.

  Everything seems to find its opposite. Great destiny breeds great envy and, hear me Edward, you must not be fooled by the will of others into your own weakness.

  There is one more thing I must tell you about our relics; the Marbles are held safe by my brothers, they shall be honoured in our hands, but the Sword is in your hands and cannot be taken from you. Remember Edward, the Sword also has two edges; as it does good in your hands good will come to you, as you use it ill it will use you ill. This was why Thomas was cross at your fight with the assassins in the alehouse. Since then you have used the Sword not at all, but some day you must, and before that day you had best decide which way you will go.

  Do you understand Edward?

  To tell you these things is why I came. But I must charge you with one solemn duty. Were a king to hear what has been said today, or to know the purpose of our Order, we should be counted guilty of treason, even as your father was. I charge you therefore Edward, on your most solemn word that you shall never speak of this in your lifetime; unless, of course, you become a king yourself.

  The World believes we are dedicated to making bells and so we are and so it must remain.”

  My mind rounded on that word ‘treason’. It was as a traitor my father was killed. I was branded a traitor by Sir Reginald Bray and duped into killing a man. I could believe no ill of Thomas, and Joseph was a man of God. What should such people have to do with treason?

  My mind reeled still. It was all too much too fast; I didn’t understand any of it. I had drunk too much and my head spun. I begged in a pretty speech to be allowed to think about it all.

  Looks were exchanged between Father Joseph and Thomas; it was as if they were assessing the answers I made to their questions, all the unconsidered things I’d said in this strange meeting. At last Father Joseph came up to me and took me by the shoulders, staring deep into my eyes with a clear, unblinking gaze, he said some odd things to round off the whole of our odd meeting.

  “Edward, listen to me. Edward. Now listen to me and know what I say is true.”

  He was speaking in slow, measured tones that seemed to make my head swim still more. It was difficult to concentrate on anything but what he said.

  “If, out of the love of this land and its people, you will to take the burdens of kingship then remember all you’ve been told. If you lack faith or will, forget all that has been said today, save that we met and that I and my brethren will help you if you are ever in need.”

  As I came to my senses, I begged to be excused and stumbled off to my bed. That night I dreamed of my childhood Marbles; I can’t think why I should for I wasn’t to see them again for years. Surely it had been the oddest meeting. The oddest thing of all was that in my classes, the next day, I could remember nothing of what I’d only just learnt that previous day, the day of meeting Father Joseph.

  After the visit I asked Thomas more about the good father. He would say little or nothing. But this much, I remember, he did say,

  “Father Joseph and the Brethren guard that one of the ‘Seven Pinnacles’ which lies a
t Brecon. Their wisdom is ancient but there are many who would envy the White Friars, if they knew the truth.”

  ***