My Lady Deceiver

by June Francis

  At last Guy rose, giving a helping arm to the other man, who was much the worse for drink. Stumbling and swaying, they climbed the stairs in front of Philippa, singing a bawdy song. Guy even saw the pardoner to a spot at the far end of the room before moving away to a place not far from the door. Philippa felt vexed with him, and taking the blanket without a word, settled herself on the none too clean straw. More fleas! was her last thought before sleep took her. Guy lay beside her, his hands behind his head, his eyes half-closed, the smallest of smiles lifting his mouth.

  *

  Why were they tying her wrists? Ever since she had been a child, she had avoided Tom, Rose’s brother. He liked his own way too much, and whenever he had discovered her alone, in the stables, the hall or the garden, he treated her with a scornful disrespect. She had never told her father, because Rose might have suffered. But why did he have to be so rough with her now? She was grown, and he had no right! Where was her father? An icy hand clutched her stomach. There was a man standing in the shadows of the storeroom, watching her. She felt she should know him, but could not see his face. Why did he not come to help her? A rope was being flung over a beam, which burned, even as the cord tightened about her wrists. They began to drag her along the ground towards the burning house. She screamed silently, and struggled, trying to dig in her toes so that it would slow her down, but it did not stop the fire from looming closer. It was raging, and now she saw the men, their faces distorted and made horrible by their hatred. Then she gazed at the man, and she did know him, but however hard he ran towards her, he seemed to be going further away. Now the men had their hands on her feet and shoulders, and she was being swung back and forth, back and forth. They were chanting her name, whispering it over and over, and their fingers were hurting her shoulder. She gasped and whimpered, clawing her way up through the darkness, and suddenly she was awake. Someone was holding her!

  Philippa opened her mouth to scream, but a hand was swiftly placed over it. An arm about her waist lifted her to her feet. The nightmare still gripped her and she was unable to see in the darkened room. Her teeth fastened on a finger. She heard clearly the hiss of indrawn breath, but the hold on her did not slacken, and she was hurriedly bundled out of the chamber, her heart beating so loudly that she thought she would suffocate.

  Chapter Four

  Once the door had closed behind them, the hand was taken from Philippa’s mouth.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ hissed Guy, keeping hold of her arm.

  ‘Why didn’t you say it was you?’ Philippa came fully awake. He made no answer, only hushing her, and pulling her down the stairs with some haste. ‘Guy?’ she whispered.

  He pulled open the door that led to the stableyard, before facing her. ‘Can’t you ever do as you are told?’ he muttered. ‘Who did you think it was? Your teeth nearly went through to the bone!’ He sucked his finger.

  ‘I was having a dream,’ she murmured, shivering as her bare feet touched the cobbles. ‘How could I tell it was you!’ She ached all over, and was in no mood for such a conversation. ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘No questions.’ His tone was a little gentler. ‘Put your shoes on,’ he handed them to her.

  ‘Guy, I’m too stiff to walk today. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Nobody’s asking you to,’ he surprised her by saying. ‘Just put them on, and be quiet.’

  ‘What is this all about?’ Philippa asked in a low voice.

  ‘Why do women always want to know everything? Just do as you’re told. I won’t be long.’ Guy disappeared into the stables, reappearing only a few moments later, leading a horse.

  ‘Who does … ’ she began.

  ‘Don’t ask! Just get up!’ Guy commanded impatiently. ‘You’ll have the whole inn awake! Do we have to have a conversation at this time of morning, and in this way?’ His hands were on her waist, and before she could speak another word she was sitting sideways, clutching at the saddle, while with some stealth Guy led the horse out on to the road. He shot the upstairs window a glance before climbing up before her. ‘You had better make yourself more comfortable, as we are going to ride fast, I hope!’

  Philippa clutched the back of his doublet as the horse’s pace increased, and for at least half an hour she did not speak, all her attention on not relaxing her hold on Guy. Eventually they slackened speed and she loosened her grip, realising as she did so how tense she had held herself since they left the inn, expecting at every moment a shout of ‘Thief!’

  ‘Whose horse is this?’ she asked, although she had already guessed.

  ‘Does it matter?’ There was amusement in his tone.

  ‘The pardoner’s?’

  ‘Why ask, if you know?’ He began to sing softly.

  ‘You didn’t like the man?’ she insisted, realising that he had deliberately made him drunk.

  ‘What do you think? I considered our need greater than his.’ He eased his shoulders and rubbed his neck. He had slept little, and was as stiff as Philippa claimed to be.

  ‘So you stole his horse. How will he get away?’ She did not really care.

  ‘He’ll walk. His trade can wait. And I didn’t steal it. We struck a bargain when he was in his cups. Not that I think he will remember when he wakes with a splitting head. Perhaps he will think it a miracle that his horse has been replaced by a silver ring studded with garnets red as any blood spilt by the saints,’ said Guy in an uneven voice.

  ‘And I thought … ’

  ‘Thought what?’ He twisted his neck and glanced at her. ‘That I wasted my time talking to his kind? I hate his sort: selling forgiveness; tricking the poor. Perhaps he’ll think it’s retribution catching up with him, and change his ways. I had to do it. I knew you couldn’t walk to London.’

  ‘No,’ she said quietly, experiencing an unexpected glow. ‘Thank you.’

  There was a hint of warmth in his blue eyes before the long dark lashes swept down, masking his expression. When he spoke, his voice was toneless. ‘Taking care of you is my business, and we must get to London before the peasants.’

  Philippa felt suddenly depressed. To Guy Milburn, she was only a piece of baggage that he wished to dispose of as soon as possible. How she wanted the journey to be over! Nervously she glanced behind her, for her fear of the peasants was very real. Fear bred hatred, without needing a just cause for such strong emotion … although she did have enough cause!

  ‘Do you think there is a chance of the peasants entering London?’ she asked abruptly, pushing back a dangling braid that tickled her cheek.

  Guy hesitated before answering; he had been wondering the same thing himself. ‘I hope not. It will surely be known in the city that they are marching this way and they will be making preparations. When I was there last week, the unrest in Kent and Essex was the main topic of conversation in my friend’s home, although James seemed to think that there are those in the city who would welcome the rebels. It is not only the serfs who resent the poll-tax and those who lord it over them. Apprentices and journeymen are dissatisfied with their present lives.’

  ‘I — I did not think of you having friends in London. Are you in the city often?’ If he could be in London often, what about Hugo?

  ‘At least twice a year on business. I come with the wool — for it to be inspected and taxed, and to go with it to Calais,’ Guy explained. ‘I have been doing so only since 1377, when it became worth my while to bring the packhorses south.’

  ‘Were you in London during the coronation, then? I looked for Sir Hugo among those about the Duke of Lancaster, but I could not see him.’ She remembered her disappointment. A young squire in the livery of Lancaster had smiled at her, but that was all, and she had gone home dejected.

  ‘We were both there. My wife was one of the ladies in the Castilian Duchess Constancia’s train,’ he added after only a momentary hesitation. ‘Hugo did not go to Westminster with the procession.’

  ‘Your wife? I did not think … do not remember your being betrothed.’ Philippa suf
fered a peculiar sinking feeling in her stomach.

  ‘We weren’t betrothed,’ he said in a noncommittal tone. ‘I remember that even Lancaster was cheered in London then. It was a happy occasion. Wine flowed from fountains, and the houses were decked with cloth of gold and silver.’ There was a pause.

  ‘Did you see the ceremony?’ Her voice bridged the awkward silence. Or was it only she who noted the unexpected tension in the air? A wife! Why had he not mentioned a wife before?

  Guy nodded. ‘He looked so young, yet beautiful in his white robes, swearing to preserve and maintain the laws of the realm … to do justice and show mercy. All those that had disagreed laid down their quarrels that day. But … ’ He shrugged.

  ‘Richard is only fourteen now, so one cannot expect … Given time, though, he could be as great a soldier as his father,’ she insisted.

  Guy shook his head. ‘The king is more like his mother — Joan, the fair maid of Kent. The days when his father and grandfather won victory after victory in France are over. He will not bring them back.’

  ‘You sound very sure,’ said Philippa stiffly, easing herself into a more comfortable position and a little away from his back.

  ‘Warfare has changed, but the council don’t seem to understand that. How long is it since foreign ships sailed up the Thames and sacked Gravesend?’ He twisted in the saddle and looked at her. ‘You live in the south and surely know of the events that have occurred? We have the Scots in the north — you have the Spanish and French.’ His mouth twisted and his eyes were slightly apologetic. ‘But this isn’t talk for women. Do you not wish to speak of something else?’

  ‘Just because I am a woman, I don’t shut my eyes to such matters,’ she protested, her face serious. ‘Besides, the danger was averted. My father told me how our seafaring men from the coast fought off the enemy … Even John Philipot, a London grocer and a member of parliament, fitted out a squadron at his own expense and captured fifteen Spanish ships — and their Scottish commander — recovering many lost prizes!’

  ‘I swear you would have liked to have been there,’ murmured Guy, amused. ‘James is a grocer, and a member of the victuallers’ guild. Some of his property was involved, and he and I went with John Philipot. It wasn’t really exciting. I’ve had better fights against pirates in the Channel!’

  ‘You make being a wool merchant appear almost as hazardous as being a knight. Is it so dangerous?’ She wondered if his wife worried about him when he was not at home. Did he have children? A son, perhaps?

  ‘It can be risky, and if the pirates win the day and carry off our wool — costly.’ He shrugged. ‘So far I’ve been fortunate in that it has not happened to me. But I am thinking, because of the risk and having to pay taxes every time I export, of having my wool woven in England. Already there are a number of Flemings in this country who weave in their own special way, and soon our own folk will learn that craft.’

  ‘Flemings in Kent grow hops, to make beer,’ said Philippa. ‘It might be worth your while to visit them.’

  ‘I have.’ He fell silent, and so did she, and they both became wrapped up in their own thoughts.

  *

  It was getting on towards late evening when at last they stood on the south bank of the Thames amid the houses and gardens of Southwark. Across the river they could make out the walls of London, the houses packed tightly inside. To the right, on the far bank, was the Tower. It did not look so far away.

  ‘The cattle are only now being driven in from the fields,’ said Guy, urging the horse in the direction of the bridge.

  ‘Thank the saints, we have come in time,’ murmured Philippa, easing herself awkwardly on the horse, almost light-headed with the alleviation of her anxiety.

  On the other side of the Thames, Guy dismounted and turned to stare back across the water. His hand rested on the horse’s mane, and for a short while they stayed there, watching the drawbridge being pulled up.

  ‘I never thought we would arrive! Well, yesterday I didn’t,’ said Philippa in a dreamy voice. ‘Even though you walked the feet off me. You were a bully — but it worked! I never thought I had such strength.’

  Guy smiled up at her. ‘As a woman, you truly amazed me. And whenever I thought you were bound to pause, you put on a spurt. My brother is a fortunate man.’ His fingers curled about her hand and he lifted it to his lips. ‘I salute you, Philippa.’ His mouth brushed the palm of her hand before he dropped it. Seizing the horse’s bridle, he led her away from the river.

  Philippa could not understand her overwhelming desire to burst into tears, but she did not give way to her emotions while she gazed about her. The shadows were deepening beneath the solars that projected on wooden pillars above them. Women with handcarts still cried their wares, offering eels, pewter pots and meat pies. A tipler stood at a corner trying to sell drinks from tiny flasks to passers-by. Guy did not pause, but turned right at a corner, and instantly Philippa was confused.

  ‘This is not the way to the Temple,’ she declared involuntarily.

  He looked up. ‘No, but we can’t spend the night in the streets, and it is too late to search for your uncle now. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I am taking you to the home of my friend James Wantsum. It’s not far.’

  It was still warm between the houses — stifling, in truth. Town life had never appealed to Guy, and the year he had spent in London with Catalina several years earlier had made him vow never to do so again. He felt a yearning, almost painful, for the fells of his northern country, although he did not relish the idea of taking Philippa with him. If he could find the uncle, maybe he could accompany them so that they would not be alone together so much.

  ‘This friend — does he have a wife?’ asked Philippa, staring down at his dark head coated with dust. She was a little anxious about meeting Master Wantsum.

  ‘James is wed to my cousin Beatrice, and they will both make you welcome.’ He glanced up at her. ‘She will provide you with a change of clothing — probably a gown she has grown out of. You won’t go hungry under Beatrice’s roof!’

  He made her sound a woman of ample proportions, and he had already said that his friend was a grocer. Philippa remembered her father telling her about the corruption that was prevalent in London. Many of the aldermen used bribes to gain power for themselves and their guilds. The victuallers was one of the most powerful, and included vintners, fishmongers and the grocers. Because they had the sole right to sell foodstuffs, they were often known to inflate prices when certain goods were scarce, thus making huge profits.

  ‘Here we are.’

  Guy’s voice roused her, and she glanced at the high walls, then towards the gatehouse. A guard, dressed in livery, nodded at Guy.

  ‘Master’s out, sir, at a council meeting. It’s rumoured that the peasants will be at the gates of London any day now. Never thought I’d live to see such a happening!’ He shook his head dolefully.

  ‘The bridge is closed to them, so you should be safe here,’ responded Guy.

  The guard nodded, but a crease worried his pleasant, blunt face. ‘There’s still ways and means, sir. A few boats could bring them over here. There’s many inside these walls who would welcome them.’

  ‘They would need more than a few boats!’ Guy lifted Philippa from the horse, and she leaned against him. His arm stayed about her waist, and she was glad of its support.

  ‘A lot of them, are there?’ The man scratched his nose, gazing openly at Philippa. He had not seen Master Guy with a woman since his wife died. ‘Well, even if they manage to get inside London town, and I doubt they will, they won’t get inside these walls. Shall I see to your horse, sir?’

  Guy nodded, and then led Philippa through the gates and across the courtyard towards a building standing four square at the far end. A light shone from a window on the ground floor.

  Guy knocked before entering, ushering Philippa before him into the hall. Blinking in the light of so many candles, her eyes focused on a woman seated on a settle, busy wi
th sewing.

  Mistress Wantsum rose swiftly, her hand going to her well-formed bosom. Then she smiled and came forward, both hands outstretched. ‘You have arrived safely, Guy! James will be so relieved. All the talk is of the peasants in Kent and Essex. He is at the council now, arguing the matter, I shouldn’t wonder. He says too many of the council members are for caution,, for not provoking the peasants, since the king’s uncles are out of the city.’ Her voice was warm and low, with the slightest Lancashire accent.

  Taking both her hands in his, Guy kissed her rosy plump cheek. ‘I beg pardon for arriving at such an hour, Beatrice. Also, I have brought you a visitor.’ He brought Philippa forward. ‘This is Mistress Philippa Cobtree … Philippa, my cousin, Mistress Beatrice Wantsum.’

  Mistress Wantsum took her hand and pressed it warmly. ‘You are welcome, my dear, but you look very tired. Was the journey arduous?’

  ‘Arduous!’ Philippa flashed a smile at Guy.

  ‘Arduous is not the word!’ he said, and proceeded to tell Beatrice what had happened. ‘But we made the journey to seek Philippa’s uncle William in London.’ He yawned.

  ‘What am I thinking of!’ Beatrice clapped a hand to her head. ‘You must sit down — and I shall get you something to eat and drink. Mistress Cobtree, please, do sit down.’

  Murmuring her thanks, Philippa sat gingerly on the edge of a settle, watching her hostess as she bustled over to the table. Smaller but plumper than herself, she had dark brown hair, braided and contained in openwork casing each side of her pretty round face. Her scarlet silk gown was cut low at the neck, and a gem brooch sparkled on her bosom. She poured wine and brought it over to them. Guy took the cup and sat down beside Philippa.

  ‘I shall leave you a few moments to go and tell the maids to bring some food. I shall not delay.’ Beatrice bustled out of the hall, leaving the two travellers wearily contemplating their surroundings.