Wonders Will Never Cease

by Robert Irwin

  Sir Tor grabbed the bratchet and handed it to the dwarf. As he was remounting, the lady and the three damsels ran up to him.

  ‘Knight, why do you take my bratchet from me?’ asked the lady.

  ‘It is not your bratchet and I have been sent from King Arthur’s court to fetch it,’ replied Sir Tor.

  ‘You will be sorry for this,’ said the lady.

  ‘I shall bear quietly whatever adventure may befall me,’ said Sir Tor.

  He and the dwarf had not gone far before they heard the thunder of hooves behind them and they heard the voice of Sir Abelleus, the knight who had stolen away from Arthur’s court with the bratchet. He was well armed at all points and demanded the dog’s return, since it now belonged to his lady. Sir Tor made no reply but set his lance at rest and Sir Abelleus did the same and they rode against one another and crashed against one another so that they were both unhorsed. So then they drew their swords and rushed against one another like lions, striking so fiercely that their armour flew off them in fragments, like chips from a woodman’s axe, and their hot blood ran down to the earth. Finally Sir Tor prevailed and he stood over Sir Abelleus with his sword at his throat.

  ‘Yield now!’ he cried.

  ‘Never,’ replied Sir Abelleus. ‘Never while I live unless you return the bratchet to my lady.

  ‘I will not, for it was my mission to bring the bratchet and a vanquished knight back to Arthur’s court.’

  At this moment a damsel on a palfrey appeared.

  ‘Sir knight! Sir knight!’ she cried. ‘On your honour as a knight and for love of Arthur and the glory of his court grant me what I shall request.’

  When Sir Abelleus saw the lady he started to tremble and rolled over on his side and started to crawl away.

  ‘Well fair damsel, ask away and I shall give you whatever you request,’ said Sir Tor.

  ‘Gramercy,’ said the damsel. ‘What I want is the head of the false knight Sir Abelleus, for he is a vile murderer.’

  ‘Now I am sorry for my promise and loath to do as I have promised,’ said Sir Tor. ‘Will you not settle for anything less from him?’

  ‘No,’ said the lady. ‘For he slew my brother in front of me, even though I was on my knees in the mire for half an hour praying that he might spare my brother. He did not, but struck off his head.’

  Now Sir Abelleus begged for mercy, but Sir Tor told him that he had missed his chance, and besides, the promise Sir Tor had given to the damsel was binding. Hearing this, Sir Abelleus started to crawl and then run, but Sir Tor caught up with him and smote off his head. So at the end of it all Sir Tor returned to Arthur, bringing with him the bratchet, the dwarf and the head of Sir Abelleus.

  When Mary has finished this story, Edward complains that Arthur never seems to have any adventures in his own right, but his knights always have adventures for him. John declares it to be a silly story. He does not believe that Arthur and his knights ever existed, but if they did, they were no better than robbers stealing from one another and fighting over the spoils. As he sees it, Sir Abelleus was an unsuccessful murderer and Sir Tor a successful one. Though Anthony has had similar thoughts in the past, he now defends the story (since its teller is so beautiful and she took such pleasure in telling it). Anthony is joined in this by Jane and Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie, for they are angry at John’s carping and his disparagement of romances.

  Now Jane wants to tell her story. It is the story of ‘The Laidley Worm of Bamburgh’ and although it is probably simple enough, it is hard to follow as Jane insists on acting it out and getting convulsed with laughter as she does so. First, Jane is the princess and then she becomes the wicked stepmother who transforms the princess into a worm or dragon. As Jane transforms herself into a dragon, she writhes about and flaps her arms like wings while her hair flies all over the place and she makes ‘Woo! Woo!’ noises and then she forgets what happens next. But eventually she paces about the courtyard pretending to ravage it, but laughing as she does so. Next she is the handsome prince who kisses the dragon and finally she acts out the return of the princess to her original shape. She goes to sit with Edward who has loved her performance, but John says he does not like stories with magic in them, since then anything can happen. Stories should have rules.

  ‘Now, it is your turn,’ says Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie to John. ‘And we shall see how you fare.’

  ‘I do not like storytelling. I think it no better than lying,’ says John. ‘I am a merchant and I do not care to deal in romances, for they are stuff for idle women. Truth is always more interesting than fantasies about knights, wizards, dwarfs and damsels, I think. But I will first confess that I did once make a story up. My name is John Chapman and I come from Swaffham. It was I who invented the story of “The Pedlar of Swaffham” that you have heard Poins relate.

  ‘Are you really John Chapman?’ asks Anthony, for here is a wonder indeed. ‘I thought that Sir Thomas Malory might have made you up.’

  ‘I am quite sure that I am not made up by this Thomas Malory,’ replies Chapman and he chuckles, before continuing, ‘It is I who have made something up, for it is I who put about that absurd story about having a dream about treasure to be found at London Bridge and there meeting a man who had a dream about treasure in my garden. You told the story very well, but it is still nonsense, for things like that do not happen – except in stories. I think that superstitious people like to see the hand of God in the careful arrangement of chance meetings and matching events, as He seeks to move the world that He has created all in one direction. But coincidences almost never happen, and when they do, they are a matter of pure chance, and as such, without any import. What is more, no man ever got rich by dreaming. I certainly did not.’

  Anthony is outraged, ‘But, if you do not like stories and you do not believe in coincidences or dreams, why then did you make up “The Pedlar of Swaffham” story?’

  John Chapman taps his nose.

  ‘I am a sharp man. I was making money very fast and I needed a story to explain how I had become so rich. So I told my neighbours that ridiculous story about the two dreams and I was surprised when in quite a short time that tale was being told all over England. People are so gullible. But how did I get so rich in so few years? That is the real story and you will be interested to hear it. I was never really a pedlar, but I started off trading in sarplers in a small way. I guess that you fine ladies will not know what a sarpler is. A sarpler is a quantity of wool, roughly enough to fill a large sack. I made contacts with traders across the Channel and started to sell most of my sarplers to a Spaniard based in Bruges. According to the law of England, all the wool sent overseas by the Staple – I should explain, ladies, that the Staple is the corporation of merchants who are licensed by royal charter to trade abroad in wool – according to the regulations of the Staple, all wool has to be sold in Calais where there is a fixed levy on the money made on the sale of each sarple. But though I sent my sarples of wool to Calais, I arranged for my Spaniard to send some of the money to London, thus avoiding the tax levied in Calais. I will be damned if I will have my hard-earned money being taken from me to support the extravagance of the court and the greed of the Woodvilles. Not only was I mostly paid in London, but I always exaggerated the weight of each sarple I sent to Calais. Then, lest the officials of the Staple discovered what I was up to, I produced a doctored account book in which the carefully adjusted figures served to explain the extra sums I was receiving in London. There is an art to rigging an account book. But that is the easy part and it is only the beginning…’

  ‘That is also the end,’ says Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie. ‘I order you to leave this house now.’

  Having curtly thanked the women for the wine, John Chapman hurries away.

  ‘I wish I had not heard that. I liked the story of the two dreams much better,’ says Anthony sadly and Mary agrees.

  ‘I will have my men arrest him and he will end up in prison with his ears cut off,’ says Edward, wh
o is very angry.

  ‘For not telling a proper story?’ Mary is shocked.

  ‘For cheating me of my revenue,’ says Edward.

  At this point, Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie explains to Jane and Mary that they have been entertaining the King, Lord Hastings and Earl Rivers. She has recognised them from the funeral of the Dowager Lady Rivers. So that was why she seemed so familiar to Anthony! She was the lady in crimson who stood on the edge of the mourners.

  No sooner has Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie finished identifying the guests than her hand flies to her mouth.

  ‘The dog! We have forgotten about the dog!’ she cries. ‘Fetch it Jane.’

  Jane looks reluctant, but she does as she is told and soon she emerges from the main part of the house carrying a white bratchet which is barking furiously.

  The dog is tied by a cord to one of the pillars of the courtyard, and once this is done, Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie sets about whipping it. She weeps as she does so and Jane and Mary also start to cry. For a while the men look on, silent and paralysed by deep mystery. Soon bloody welts appear on the back of the howling dog. At length Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie throws the whip away in despair.

  ‘I have failed,’ she cries and she unties the bratchet and picks her up, and heedless of the blood that is staining her dress, she cuddles the animal.

  Suddenly Edward comes to a decision and he stands up.

  ‘We have seen enough,’ he says. ‘The evening which began with so much merriment has turned dark and sour. We thank you for your hospitality, but we cannot endure it anymore.’

  Edward seems to speak for all the guests, for they all rise and make to follow him out of the courtyard. Jane asks to accompany the King.

  ‘You are most welcome, Mistress Jane.’

  ‘My full name is Jane Shore,’ she says.

  Mary is so shocked by what she has seen that she has difficulty in speaking, but she places her hand on Anthony’s arm and says, ‘Come, my lord.’

  Anthony wants to follow Mary, for he senses that something horrible is about to happen. There is a gathering smell of death about the place, but yet he wants the mysteries of the house to be explained. The evening is an unfinished story. So he is slow to follow the others and at the gate he is stopped by Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie.

  ‘You must stay,’ she says. ‘The owner of the house is coming soon and he has a surprise for you.’

  Anthony shrugs.

  Seeing that he is not going to follow them, Mary turns to Anthony, ‘My name is Mary Fitzlewis and I presently lodge with my uncle in Westminster in Paternoster Square.’Then she follows the rest out of the courtyard.

  So now Anthony is alone with Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie. She pours them out some more wine.

  ‘It is better that Mary is gone, for she has a soft heart and I would not like her to be a witness to a man’s execution.’

  Coiling snakes of cloud drift across the face of the moon. It is still hot and Anthony fancies that it is the heat of the moon that is making him sweat. How will the night end? What has she planned? Anthony dares not ask for fear that he will hear something that displeases him. Instead he says, ‘Nobody liked to see that poor dog whipped,’ he says. ‘Chapman better deserved that punishment. I believe that a man who has no faith in coincidences, in truth has no faith in God, for coincidences are God’s way of stealthily working in the world. The Bible tells us: “There are many devices in a man’s heart; nevertheless the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand”.’

  Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie says nothing, but sits looking at Anthony as she drinks.

  Anthony tries again, ‘What was the purpose of the gathering this evening?’

  ‘Jane and Mary wanted men. As for myself, I wanted to know what it would be like to be outside stories and listening to them being told. Besides, storytelling would help to pass the time of waiting until the master came.’

  ‘But why was the dog whipped?’

  ‘Be patient. All will be explained.’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  ‘We are waiting for the coming of the master of the house. But enough questions. Be patient.’

  After a while there is a faint knocking on the gate. Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie goes to open the gate. Anthony is suddenly alert, for he thinks that the master of the house has arrived. But no, it is a skinny-looking boy with tousled hair and freckles, and after a few whispered words with Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie, he goes to sit in a corner of the courtyard. The bratchet limps over to sit with him. The waiting continues.

  At last the gate swings open and Ripley enters. Can he be master of the house? But then in the next instant Anthony sees that Ripley is being forced into the courtyard at swords’ points and he recognises the two men who hold the swords. One is the man, who after the siege of London by Fauconberg, introduced himself to Anthony as Piers and the other is Anthony’s double. Anthony notes that the double carries a sword that is identical to his own Galantine.

  The double salutes Anthony ironically and says, ‘You missed nothing by not going to Jerusalem. It is no longer a Christian place – if it ever was.’

  ‘What happens now?’ asks Ripley, yet he says this in such a manner as to suggest that he neither wants nor needs to know what happens next.

  ‘You are going to release Jacquetta de St Pol’s soul from the bratchet.’

  ‘You are mistaken. Jacquetta de St Pol’s soul is no longer in this world. The dog is just a dog. It has no soul.’

  ‘I watched you at the funeral and saw you push the dog into the grave. That was a sorcerer’s trick to trap the lady’s soul. You thought that you could force the bratchet to lead you to fairyland.’

  But Ripley insists that he is a scientist and no magician and what happened beside the grave was a pure accident. Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie replies that he is the supreme merchant of fictions and lies and she threatens to whip the lies out of him. Ripley makes the counter-proposal that she, Piers, the double and the boy in the corner should all re-enter his stories, as the leper has done. Once they are back in the stories, he guarantees that they will be well-treated. Yet Ripley’s denials and promises are delivered without force or conviction. It is as if he is pretending to debate with her. While they are arguing, Piers has produced a bundle of ropes and sets about tying Ripley up in such a way that he is forced onto his knees in a painful position with his arms tied back to his legs.

  With some difficulty Ripley turns to Anthony, ‘Now you have met Mary Fitzlewis. She is of good lineage. She is the daughter and the sole heiress of Henry Fitzlewis of Horndon, Essex, and on her mother’s side she is a granddaughter of Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset. What is more, she will soon become your loving wife and later your grieving widow.’

  Then seeing the look on Anthony’s face, ‘Why so surprised? You did not think that you were going to live forever, did you?’

  (Strangely enough this was what Anthony had thought for most of his life.)

  Ripley continues, ‘Now, this is my last story. A man was walking down a street in Baghdad, when he noticed Death looking at him in a most curious fashion. Thinking that Death might have just singled him out as his next victim, he decided to flee Baghdad in all haste and go and hide in Samara. But when he arrived in Samara he found Death waiting for him there and Death said, “I was surprised to see you in Baghdad, since I knew that shortly we had an appointment to meet here in Samara”. End of the story. Everything that happens here will happen in order to be put in a book and that book will be found in the Secret Library. You are going to watch what will happen here and do nothing. I know that. I should ask you to save me from my creations, yet I know that you will not and cannot help me. The Talking Head told me how my end shall be. As follows. She threatens to flog me, but she cannot force me to free Jacquetta de St Pol’s soul from the dog, since it is not there. So then they will kill me. Once a man knows what fate the Talking Head has decreed for him, then there is no
escape from it, no matter how he may try. I asked the Talking Head what your end would be…’

  At this point Anthony should have covered his ears. But he does not think fast enough and he will regret this to his dying day, for Ripley continues tonelessly, ‘Very shortly the King will appoint you as governor to Prince Edward and send you both out of London. You will be Prince Edward’s guardian and tutor. Then, when the King dies, you will set out with the Prince to London where he should be crowned. But at Stony Stratford you will be intercepted by men in the service of the Duke of Gloucester and Lord Hastings, and after a few days you will be summarily executed. It has been all set out in a book in the Secret Library.’

  ‘Now that you have told me this, I will do none of these things,’ says Anthony. ‘I will refuse the governorship of the Prince. I will not leave London. I will be on my guard against Gloucester and Hastings. I will do none of the things that have been foretold.’

  ‘Yes, you will,’ says Ripley calmly.

  Again Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie is threatening to flog Ripley in order to force him to release Jacquetta de St Pol’s soul. When he says that she is evil, Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie replies, ‘You made me so.’

  Then a new debate begins when Anthony’s phantom brother declares that it is well known that, ‘The enchantment dies with the enchanter’, for then there is the argument about which of them must kill Ripley. Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie declares that the double should use his sword to cut the man’s head off, but the double replies that he is unable to do this, since he has been made perfectly virtuous, and Piers in his turn asserts that there is nothing in his character that would allow him to commit a murder. It will have to be Dame Discipline de la Chevalerie who does the deed. Or, no, let it be Anthony. He has so many crimes on his conscience that one more will not matter. Besides, Jacquetta de St Pol was his mother…

  Ripley is impatient, ‘Let it be done quickly is all that I ask.’

  And then a loud gravelly voice breaks in, ‘I must kill him.’