by June Francis
‘Please think again!’ Beatrice jumped up and clutched her arm. ‘Or at least ask one of the guards to go with you.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Philippa in a soft voice, prying her fingers loose.
Beatrice nodded. ‘Do be careful.’
‘I shall.’ Impulsively she kissed her cheek and then left the chamber swiftly.
The guard stared at her in amazement. ‘Let you out, mistress? Is this some kind of jape? The master said we were not to open the gates for nobody but himself and Master Guy.’
‘He meant not to let anybody in, fool!’ she snapped, impatient to be on her way. ‘Now open up and let me through. I have urgent business to attend to at the Temple.’
The man still looked doubtful. ‘I’m not too sure about that.’
‘Of course that is what he meant! You are not to let any peasants or unruly elements through the gates. That is if they do get into London, which is unlikely. Now let me through!’ she commanded imperiously.
‘I suppose you’re right. Perhaps one of the other men can go with you.’
‘Thank you, but no!’ She flashed him a smile to soften her words, pleased to have got her way, but she had no fancy for having one such as he dogging her heels. As he opened the gate she was through swiftly and running up the street before he could change his mind and come after her.
Philippa soon slowed down, her feet too sore to keep up such a pace, and the crowds in the streets impeded her progress. The Temple was beyond the Ludgate to the west, so she had some way to go, and she wanted to find her uncle and return to the house as swiftly as possible. She fretted at the delay the crowds caused. As she gazed about her, there was no sign of that hunger and fanaticism that had marked the faces in Canterbury, so perhaps everything would be all right, after all!
But as she neared the river she heard a great roar, similar to the sound in Canterbury cathedral, which caused her to stop in her tracks. For a moment she was unable to go on, then easing her shoulders and swallowing her fear, her feet took her in the direction of the noise. Worming her way through the crowd, she made the most of her small stature to force her way through the narrowest of spaces as far as the river bank.
At first the sun dancing on the surface of the Thames caused her to shut her eyes briefly before she could take in the full impact of the sight. The vision of colourful barges pulling away from the far bank and the mass of men on the other side burst upon her as she opened them again. It was true, then — they had arrived at Blackheath! Was that some of them in the barges? No! By the saints, it appeared to be Richard and several of his chancellors! Because of the din, she could not hear what was being said. Had some settlement been reached? Not according to the arrows that were winging their way across the water to the barges!
Where were Guy and Master Wantsum? Were they in this crowd? For the first time she thought of what Guy might say if he found her here, and her spirits quailed. Then, remembering her reasons for taking such a chance, she began to push her way back the way she had come until the crowd thinned.
The Ludgate was almost in sight, and she was just congratulating herself on getting so far without too much trouble when the thought struck her that the gate might be closed. What should she do? Continue or go back? Had Guy and Master Wantsum thought of that? Had he just soothed her with words to keep her quietly waiting in the house? Had he gone elsewhere with his friend and was not looking for her uncle at all? No! Surely he would not lie to her! She would go on and find out for herself.
So caught up was she in her thoughts that she did not heed the men coming alongside her. An elbow caught her sharply on the cheek, and she gasped in pain. The man turned and looked at her, and seized her shoulder before she could back away.
‘Why, if it isn’t Mistress Cobtree? Who’d have believed it possible to meet you here — and dressed for the rebellion, I see!’ mocked the sneering hateful voice.
‘Let go of me instantly, Tom Carter!’ she said coldly, wriggling under his hard fingers, trying not to show her fear.
‘I’ll be damned if I will!’ The arrogant unshaven face was thrust close to hers. ‘Where’s my sister?’
‘Rose? She isn’t with me.’ She wrenched her shoulder from his grip. ‘I thought her with you.’ Her eyes were like chilly flames.
‘No, the stupid bitch ran off, saying she was going to find you.’
‘At least she has a sense of loyalty!’ Her heart lifted momentarily.
‘Loyalty!’ He spat in the dust. ‘I told her she was a fool and no sister of mine. You talk of loyalty, but what of hers to me — her own brother?’ His brown eyes hardened, and he grabbed her arm cruelly. ‘I’ve lost a sister and gained a mistress!’ He roared at his own joke, his nails digging into her skin through the fabric as she stared at hint, not struggling, although her knees were shaking. Suddenly he pulled her, so that she fell forward on her knees. ‘You’d best come with me,’ he snarled. ‘You need someone to take care of you.’
‘None of that now, Tom! Let her go!’ A man in a grey tunic pushed into the space next to her as a crowd began to gather. He took her other arm and pulled her up, despite Tom’s angry glare.
‘Adam!’ Philippa gazed at the ruddy face of the smith. He was a big man, much taller and broader than Tom, a freeman who had rented land from her father. Never had she understood why he had sided with the peasants. ‘I never thought to see you here!’
‘Nor I you. Best get away from here — could be a heap of trouble,’ he said calmly. ‘Don’t reckon you should be involved.’
‘Why don’t you mind your own affairs, Adam Smith?’ hissed Tom in a furious voice, attempting to elbow him out of the way.
‘’Tis my affair! Ain’t you done enough? It should never have come to killing!’ He pushed him away. ‘You run, Mistress Philippa! Get out of London if you can!’ He blocked Tom’s swinging fist, shielding her with his bulk. She hesitated only a moment, then ran back the way she had come.
Her throat was tight with unshed tears. So they had got through the gates somehow. How many of her own people were in London? What had brought Adam, a good honest man, if blunt in speech, who had argued rights and equality in the past with her father without their falling out? What had driven him to join the likes of Tom? Could it have been Rose’s brother who had killed her father? She limped along, frustrated rage surging, knowing that there was nothing she could do at the moment to bring him to justice. Rose! He had said she was seeking her, just as she had said she would. But how could they find each other in the warren of streets and alleys that made up so much of London — and in such crowds?
She was instantly aware that houses were being broken into, just as in Canterbury. Some of the citizens had even brought out barrels of ale and were bidding the peasants drink, to quench their thirst after their long march. Swiftly she quickened her pace, realising that soon the streets would not be safe. The peasants would soon be roaring drunk and even more dangerous than now.
It was like a miracle to find the Wantsums’ house untouched by the happenings elsewhere, and she realised that she had given little thought since meeting Tom and Adam to what Guy would say if he had returned before her.
The guard greeted her with some relief and the news that the men had returned. Trepidation clutched at her stomach as she slowly went up the path to the house.
Both men stood listening to Beatrice’s rather breathless voice explaining where she had gone. As she entered the hall, Guy whirled around, his expression one of relief, before a scowl darkened his face. ‘Where the devil have you been?’
‘I’m all right,’ she insisted, limping over to them.
‘You don’t look all right!’ He stood in front of her, staring down at the bruise on her cheek.
‘I’m tired, that’s all.’
He touched the bruise and felt her quiver. ‘That’s all? How did you come by this?’
‘It was an accident … an elbow.’ She wished Guy did not look so grim.
‘Are you c
ertain it was an accident?’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Nobody hurt you?’
Her bottom lip trembled. ‘Why should anybody hurt me?’
‘Something’s frightened you. I can feel you trembling. What is it, Philippa?’
‘I — I saw two men from my manor, that is all.’ She swallowed. ‘One of them was Rose’s brother — and I think he killed my father. Adam, the other man, prevented him from harming me.’
‘From harming you! Then this was no accident!’ The blue eyes darkened. ‘You were mad to go outside, and you must not do so again. Not that the guard will let you through a second time!’
‘But I must go out! I have to find Rose. Out there, she could be looking for me!’ She bit her lower lip to prevent it trembling.
‘Have you lost your wits? How are you going to find her?’
‘I don’t know, b-but I have to try. You could take me with you next time you go out.’ Her green eyes shimmered as she gazed up at him.
Guy drew in a harsh breath. ‘Take you with me? I’d not take a cat out there at the moment! As for looking for this Rose, we’ll have a hard enough time finding your uncle.’
‘You did not find him, then?’ She sniffed hard, trying to stop the tears.
‘No. And I presume you didn’t?’ His voice softened.
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t get as far as the Ludgate. I thought it might be closed.’
‘It’s open, all right. The Essex peasants were let in that way.’
She felt no surprise at the news. ‘Perhaps tomorrow?’
‘We’ll try later. Not you.’ His face grew gentle, and he brought her close. ‘I am responsible to my brother for your safety. Be patient — perhaps tomorrow we can seek your Rose.’
‘I’ll try to be patient,’ she answered in an uneven voice.
‘Good lass!’ A crinkle furrowed his cheek. ‘Now go and change before we eat.’
She nodded, but before going upstairs, she apologised to the Wantsums for causing them anxiety.
‘You mustn’t be worrying, Mistress Philippa. Leave the search for your uncle to Guy and me. We shall do our uttermost to find him.’ Master Wantsum was short and stocky, with an intelligent, square face beneath a russet liripipe worn like a turban wrapped about his dark brown hair.
‘I’m sure you will, but I do not wish you to run into danger for my sake,’ she replied soberly.
‘I have no intention of doing so — but we shall take some of the men with us. We have to check the warehouse down by the waterfront, and Guy wishes to see if a ship has docked that is due any day now. There are also the Flemish weavers to see. Any trouble like this, and foreigners suffer.’ He smiled kindly down at her. ‘Now you go and change — we’ll wait dinner for you.’
Philippa thanked him, liking him, and did as she was told. Not having eaten all day, she was hungry!
*
The two women sat over their wine in the hall. The men had departed, despite Guy’s saying that he would not take a cat outside into the dangers that lurked there. It seemed that men could court such dangers, but not women. She said as much to Beatrice, who nodded.
‘It has always been so. I worry for James, for he is an alderman and could easily be a target for those seeking to settle old scores. The London commons are certain to join the peasants.’
‘When first I set eyes on Guy, I thought he had some sympathy for the rebels’ cause.’ Philippa’s voice was pensive.
‘That is likely true.’ Beatrice hesitated, then said, ‘It might shock you, Philippa, but our great-grandfather was a serf.’
For a moment she made no reply, only glancing about the hall. It was better furnished than her father’s had been: the tapestries were finer, the trestles and settles not so crudely made. ‘That does surprise me.’
Beatrice smiled. ‘Our grandfather it was who made the family’s rise possible. He was clever, and the priest recognised it and took it upon himself to educate him a little. Because of his aptitude, he was brought to the attention of the steward on the manor. It was not long before he had the bailiff’s job, although he was quite young.’ She paused, and took a drink.
Philippa rested her elbows on the table, interested in anything that involved Guy.
‘When the wars in France began, the steward went off to fight and left the manorial affairs in my grandfather’s care. Normally his wife would have taken charge, but she had died a few months earlier. Under my grandfather’s hands the manor prospered, and when the steward returned with his master, Henry of Lancaster … ’
‘The Duchess Blanche’s father?’ interrupted Philippa, her eyes bright. ‘I understand now the connection between the Milburns and the Lancasters. Their riches are legendary!’
Beatrice nodded. ‘To cut a long story short, our grandfather’s aptitude for business led him to making enough money to buy his freedom, and to rent a parcel of land. Upon that he managed to live reasonably well with his wife and two sons. One was my father, who crossed the Pennines and married a Lancashire widow. The other was Guy’s father, who went to France and met your father. Because of the fortunes of war, and the capture of certain French noblemen, who were ransomed, both came back the richer.’
‘From rags to riches,’ murmured Philippa, her face rapt. ‘It makes a good tale.’
‘It couldn’t happen today,’ sighed Beatrice. ‘The ransoming, I mean. Guy and Hugo tried it. But now Guy and James are going into business together. They are in touch with some Flemish weavers and are considering not exporting all the wool, so as to avoid paying taxes.’
‘Guy mentioned it to me. It is a good plan, and I hope it succeeds for him — for both of them.’
‘So do I! Not that I have a head for business. James’s mother did. After his father died quite young, it was she who kept their grocery business going until he was old enough to take over. One has to have a streak of ruthlessness and determination to get what one wants in this life.’
‘That is true, and I don’t know yet if I have such traits,’ murmured Philippa. ‘But then I have never had the opportunity to find out. Or even to think exactly what it is I want. Always I had to obey my father.’
‘That is how it is for most women.’ Beatrice put down her goblet and went over to the window. ‘Shall we go outside in the garden? It is such a lovely day.’
‘If you wish.’ Philippa crossed the hall to stand at her shoulder, and suddenly she sniffed. ‘I can smell smoke!’ Her hands clenched into fists.
‘They set the Marshalsea on fire,’ muttered Beatrice, going pale. ‘Let us go upstairs. From the windows we might be able to see what is happening in the city.’
‘If you think we should.’ Philippa had begun to quake inside, but she fought to conceal her fear.
When they went upstairs to the front chamber, they could see a pall of smoke in the sky over the buildings to the west. Then there came a muffled roar, and they clutched each other.
‘By all the saints, what was that?’ whispered Beatrice, her plump face quivering. It seemed to come from beyond the Ludgate, and more smoke was billowing, darkening the skyline.
‘Come away,’ cried Philippa, the colour draining from her face. ‘There is nothing we can do but pray that they will be safe. We must stay calm.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Beatrice shakily. They both sat down on the chest in the large bedchamber.
‘Have you noticed that the shouts and cries of the rioting are clearer up here?’ Her words were clearly enunciated, for Philippa was making great efforts not to panic, or to dwell on how it had been the day her father was murdered, or to think that somewhere in the area whence the smoke rose Guy might be looking for her uncle. Were more people burning with the buildings? Was Tom involved? A spurt of hatred set her pacing the floor. ‘I wish we knew what was happening!’ Hugging her breasts, she halted abruptly in front of Beatrice, then her expression changed. ‘They should be safe. They could be at the docks.’ She gave a limp smile.
‘Ay,’ said Beatrice, sta
nding up. ‘Let’s go to the solar. It will be quieter there.’
It was quieter. Philippa stared over the garden to the rear of the house, laid out with lawns and paths, borders of roses, gillyflowers, marigolds and poppies. Then unexpectedly its peace enfolded her, soothing her spirit, and she seemed simply to exist in a golden moment of quiet in the sun that winked and sparkled through the glazed windows. The only disturbance came in the shape of one of the maids, who asked whether they wanted supper laid, but dinner had been late, and both shook their heads.
It was a period out of time, thought Philippa, and the peasant army might never have existed. But gradually she found herself becoming fidgety and tired, but could not rest. Tomorrow, if possible, she would insist on going with Guy wherever he went. She must find Rose! While Beatrice dozed, she paced the floor. Dusk fell, filling the room with shadows. The door opened, and the maid entered at a run.
‘The master’s home, and Master Guy has a cut on his head, but they seem unhurt otherwise,’ she declared excitedly.
Beatrice woke with a start. ‘What’s that?’
The maid repeated her words.
‘Oh, praise the holy Virgin, and here’s me sleeping!’ she cried, moving swiftly, her red skirts swishing on the wooden floor.
‘She said Guy was hurt!’ Philippa’s hands shook as she pulled the door shut behind her.
‘But it doesn’t sound too serious.’ Beatrice pressed her hand, and went before her.
Guy was sitting in the large carved oak chair normally occupied by James. There was blood on his cheek and at the corner of his right eye, which was swollen.
‘A blow with a cudgel,’ stated James, his dark brows lowered. There was a bowl on the table, and he was squeezing out a cloth. ‘They had us hemmed in in one of the warehouses, but we managed to fight our way out and reach home.’
‘Let me do that!’ Philippa took the cloth from James, not seeing him exchange glances with Beatrice over her head, before going to sit beside her on the bench. He rubbed his chin against his wife’s hair.
She wiped the blood from Guy’s cheek. There was a long graze that must hurt, but he made no sign of it, suffering her touch. The eye was a different matter, and was already closing. She dabbed at the blood, gripping his chin with her other hand, overcome by an extraordinary calmness.
