by June Francis
‘Does it look as bad as James said it does?’ he asked.
She jumped when Guy spoke, and raised her head to see his face. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’ Her legs felt weak, and she had to force herself to be busy with the cloth and water.
‘I have some goosegrease salve.’ Beatrice handed her a tiny jar, and Philippa sank down on the edge of the bench, and with shaking fingers smoothed it on the cuts while Guy rested his head on the back of the chair.
How tired he looked! His eyes flickered open and met hers, and warmth flooded her.
‘Pour some ale, there’s a good lass!’
She filled the two cups near at hand and gave him one. For a second he gazed into its depths and then raised it in a salute before taking a long draught that emptied the vessel. Then he handed it back, asking her for more. The servants came in and set food on the table.
‘I could not find your uncle.’ Guy dug his spoon into a mound of rice and diced chicken in an onion sauce.
‘You asked for him by name?’ Philippa took a mouthful of food. Rice was an unexpected treat!
‘I asked after him where I could,’ he said, hesitating. ‘All the lawyers and students had fled. I did not know where else to seek him after this second time, but I could try other places tomorrow. James knows several people who might help to find him. I am very sorry.’
‘The blame is not yours.’ Aimlessly Philippa pushed the food round the bowl. ‘Thank you for trying, but it seems hopeless. As hopeless as my desire to find Rose.’
‘Don’t give up, Philippa.’ Guy covered her hand with his, pressing it gently.
‘What shall we do if we cannot find him?’ Her fingers quivered under his, soothed, even as his touch sent a thrill through her.
‘Then we shall have to go to Yorkshire.’ He removed his hand.
‘What of Rose?’
‘We cannot search for a maid who might not even have reached London. How could she have kept up with the men?’
‘I — I never thought of that,’ she said slowly. ‘But she is strong in body and spirit, and could do it. Did not I almost walk to London? She could come later.’
‘Perhaps. But the sooner you are safely delivered to Hugo, the easier it will be.’ His expression was stern, with no hint of the warmth that had been there a moment ago.
Her appetite deserted her. What a foolish chit she was to want more from him! She was merely his brother’s betrothed — and he wished to be rid of her as soon as he could. The emotions that he stirred within her must be quashed, for there was no future in dreaming that there could be anything between them!
Chapter Six
Philippa sought for words to fill the sudden silence, and to take her mind from her dismal musings. ‘We saw smoke in the west, and were anxious. Do you know what caused it?’
‘The Savoy was set alight.’ Guy grimaced lopsidedly, tearing a lump from the bread.
‘John of Gaunt’s palace?’ She stared at him, her green eyes wide with dismay. The Savoy stood about a mile outside the western walls, where fields and gardens sloped down to the riverside from the Strand that linked London to Westminster. It was said to be furnished from the plunder of France.
‘Did you say the Savoy was destroyed?’ Beatrice’s voice broke into her thoughts. Guy nodded. ‘James, why did you not tell me? What a waste! It was such a beautiful place. How could they do such a thing?’
‘Because they hate Duke John, that’s why, my love. They feel they have an ancient score to settle with him. It’s not only the peasants rioting — they have been incited to greater violence by the rabble in London. They’ve set light to those new houses and shops in Fleet Street, which seems utterly senseless to me.’
‘What is the council going to do, James? They must do something, surely,’ she said indignantly.
‘They’ll probably be deciding at this moment, love, but you must not fret. Now give me a smile, and as soon as supper is over we’ll go to bed. Likely we mightn’t get much sleep, but we shall rest more easily there than waiting for something to happen.’
‘That is a good idea.’ Beatrice forced a smile as James kissed her cheek before turning to Philippa.
‘I am sorry we could not find your uncle. Perhaps tomorrow?’
‘Perhaps — I hope,’ returned Philippa, smiling slightly, before rising to her feet. Always it was tomorrow and she did not intend that the men should get an early start on her. If they were to go out, she would go also. ‘I think I shall go to bed now.’
‘You have had enough to eat?’ asked Beatrice, gazing at her worriedly.
‘Enough, thank you.’
‘I’ll escort you up.’ Guy got to his feet, taking a candle from the table.
‘It is not necessary, thank you,’ said Philippa in a stiff voice. ‘I know the way.’
‘I’m tired too,’ he said softly.
She nodded. Probably he was more than tired. Perhaps his head hurt? But she had no desire to be caught up in a senseless debate over whether it was safe for her to go out with him or not. She would rise earlier than he and be ready and waiting when he got up.
The candle set shadows scurrying up the narrow staircase. Guy’s arm brushed hers and she was intensely conscious of the excitement such contact caused. What was it about this man? Needing to break the silence that seemed to wrap them round in a strange intimacy, she rushed into speech. ‘Do not feel you have to go out for my sake, Guy. I don’t want you to take risks.’
‘Don’t you?’ She caught the glint of his teeth. ‘Yet you would take risks yourself.’
‘There was little risk. You faced more danger than I,’ she flashed.
‘I’m a man, and there’s the difference.’
‘I know the difference! But when it is my affairs you are about, I don’t see why I can’t come with you. Was it any different when we ran before the peasant army?’
‘That was necessity,’ he replied impatiently. ‘It is worse out there now. Tomorrow I go out on business other than yours. There is a ship due from Calais, but it has not arrived yet. I have hopes of finding a passage to Kingston-on-Hull, and thence home.’
They came to her door, having passed through his chamber.
She tried a different tack. ‘I have never been aboard a ship.’ Her back was to her door. ‘It should be safe enough at the waterfront for me to come with you.’
‘Dammit, Philippa, doesn’t anything frighten you?’ He ruffled his hair with a jerky movement.
She hesitated, then said, ‘Ay! And my fear is made worse when I am left behind waiting — waiting. When I see smoke … ’ She swallowed, unable to go on.
‘I understand.’ He touched her hair lightly, then his fingers brushed the curve of her cheek. ‘I pray that the ship will be there. My one thought is to get you away from the dangers here in the city. Despite sea voyages having their perils, I want us to take that ship. You have spoken such good sense on several occasions, Philippa, so speak it now. Accept your limitations as a woman.’
‘They are only limitations that men have set on us,’ she said unsteadily, experiencing again a jumble of emotions.
‘For your own good,’ he said quietly.
She made no answer, knowing that some of what he said was true, and that there was little point in arguing about the rest. To say that she had a yearning to make her own decisions would sound like madness to him. Most men thought women utterly incapable of doing so.
‘Thank you for tending my wounds.’ He handed her the candle. ‘Good night, Philippa. If anything disturbs you, just call, and I shall hear.’ He turned away.
For a moment she stood there, staring at his retreating figure, then she fumbled for the handle and went into her chamber, undecided what to do.
*
‘Philippa!’ Beatrice’s call sounded loud in the room, causing her to sit up swiftly. She yawned, and peered bleary-eyed at the older woman. Dressed in blue linen, and with her hair neatly bound up in a net, she yet managed to look jaded.
‘W
hat is it? Did you not sleep well? What has happened?’
‘Does it show?’ Beatrice gave a mirthless laugh. ‘The men have already gone out. They were up at dawn! I could not bear my own company any longer, so, selfishly, I came and woke you.’ She sat on the bed.
‘They have gone already? How could I have slept so long!’ Philippa snatched up the white shift and green gown lying on the bed. ‘He knew I wanted to go with him,’ she stated vehemently.
‘Guy?’ Beatrice’s brow wrinkled. ‘He might have taken you with him, only a message came for James saying that the king is meeting with the peasants at Mile End this morning. Some of the other aldermen are going with him in the hope that they can come to an agreement with the peasants and persuade them to go home.’
‘Oh!’ Moodily she hunched her knees, resting her chin on them. ‘I don’t think that will happen.’
‘It is possible. Perhaps they will listen to the king. According to Guy, they have a great affection for Richard, believing he can put right all the evils in the country.’ There was a note of hope in her voice.
‘They have not come all this way to be so easily persuaded!’ Philippa pushed back the bedclothes and pulled on her shift before getting up. Going over to the window, she flung back the shutters, gazing out on the new day. It was going to be hot. ‘They will make demands that perhaps Richard cannot concede.’
Beatrice’s smile faded. ‘You’re right, of course. But at least they are talking. I would that life could return to normal,’ she said gloomily.
Philippa went over to the washstand. What was normal? Her normality had ended a few days ago, and now she felt like a leaf drifting down-river to the sea, waiting for the waves to reach out and take her into further experience. Waiting? Already she had altered from that girl who had trembled in the hall waiting for her father. Inside her, fear still lurked, but also there was a core of steel that made her face that fear.
‘If you have a mind for work, Philippa, I would appreciate your help in repairing a tapestry,’ said Beatrice, handing her a towel.
‘Work?’ Her eyes were shadowed. ‘I’m not sure … Did Guy say he was going down to the river after … ’
‘Why do you ask?’ Beatrice’s voice was wary.
‘He just mentioned that he might — that’s all.’ She picked up a comb.
‘If that’s all, I’ll leave you. Follow me when you are finished. I’ll be in the garden.’
Philippa nodded vaguely, staring into the metal mirror, grimacing at the freckles on her nose. Nothing seemed to dim them. Would she be able to get out of the gates? Why could Guy not see she had an interest in what happened at Mile End? How strange she had felt when he had been hurt. It still pained her to think of how his face looked. She frowned. He was devious — he could have woken her! If they thought it safe enough for the king, it was safe enough for her. He just did not want her with him. And she — she must stop her wayward thoughts dwelling on his attractions. Without more ado she braided her hair and left the room.
*
‘No! It would be more than my job was worth to let you through again,’ said the guard determinedly, his fingers tightening about his pike.
‘All right! I don’t want you to lose your job.’ Philippa forced a smile and turned to walk back towards the house and thence to the garden at its rear. She had not really thought he would let her out but had wanted to convince herself that it was worth the try. Truly, though, she did not want to be out on the streets alone — yet she hated the thought of Rose perhaps being out there seeking her and not knowing where to find her. Neither of them had given proper thought to the difficulty of searching for someone in London. But then everything had been done in such haste.
Beatrice was sitting on a bench near the dovecot at the far end of the garden, sewing. Looking up, she smiled. ‘For a while I was anxious.’
Philippa felt guilty. ‘There is no need for you to worry over me.’ The air was sweet with a heady fragrance that soothed her restlessness, yet she could not keep still for long.
Beatrice had left her sewing and was snapping off a dead rose-head. ‘I do understand how you feel, you know. Waiting is terrible.’
‘Perhaps the guard would let you out with me?’ suggested Philippa with a mischievous smile. ‘Why should we always be left behind like children.’
‘I know! Yet what could we do at Mile End, but be squashed by a crowd, perhaps? And I doubt we could see much. It might all be over now.’ She paused. ‘If so, they should be back soon.’
Philippa nodded and sauntered over to the dovecot. As she put out her hand to one of the birds, a scrabbling noise drew her attention to the wall, and her heart seemed to climb into her throat. A hand, then a leg clad in tattered hose, was visible. Next came a face — a moment, and the man was sitting astride the wall, looking down at them. Swiftly her eyes went to Beatrice, whose face was a mask of disbelief. Then the older woman picked up her skirts and fled towards the house.
The man’s darting glance followed her movement before jumping at Philippa as he slid slowly from the wall. Just as another man appeared on top of it, he advanced towards her. She backed away until she felt the hard wood of the bench behind her knees. Her fingers sought the tapestry that Beatrice had worked, found it, and flung it at the man as she came to her senses. Then she ran.
Through the doorway she went, turning swiftly to shoot the bolt, only for someone to fling themselves against the door before she could shoot it fully. An arm appeared, and she pressed against the door hard. There was a harsh grunt. Whirling round, she raced up the short passage to the kitchen. It was empty! Beatrice must have warned the maids. Philippa picked up a knife from the table almost at the same instant that the guards burst into the kitchen.
‘Down the passage!’ she yelled. Her relief was overwhelming, for they could have been raped or had their throats cut. Her fingers felt the edge of the blade and she rammed it in her girdle, gaining a sense of security from it. Peasants tumbled into the kitchen, stopping warily at the sight of the men.
‘Out of here, mistress!’ One of the guards seized her arm and thrust her through the doorway into the hall. It was closed firmly behind her, and she was glad.
‘A goblet of wine, Philippa.’ Beatrice’s voice was firm, but her hand shook as she handed the vessel to her.
‘Thank you.’ She sat down abruptly on a bench before taking a deep gulp of the liquid.
‘Well! It seems we aren’t safe even in our own house,’ muttered the older woman. ‘Who would think of them climbing the wall — the height it is!’
‘None of the men did. It was fortunate that we were out there,’ stated Philippa, taking a more cautious sip of the wine, and listening with half an ear to the grunts and yells coming from the kitchen.
‘Was that man armed?’
‘There was more than one; two at least. What did they think to gain?’ She was feeling better now.
Beatrice shook her head and looked towards the kitchen. The two maids who had been preparing dinner sat at the far end of the bench, their interested gaze on the kitchen door as it opened and a serving-man entered.
‘Shall we lock them in the cellar, mistress? Only four of them, and scared that we’ll run them through! Said they came looking for food — and drink. Skinny-looking bunch, who’ve not eaten much for days … so they say.’ He shook his head dubiously. A big strapping fellow, who reminded Philippa of Adam.
‘Certainly lock them in the cellar, and give them something to eat,’ said Beatrice after a moment’s hesitation, before turning to Philippa and saying almost apologetically. ‘I don’t think they are all bad.’
‘No,’ she murmured, ‘not all.’
They both fell silent, drinking their wine, and Philippa remembered that she had had no breakfast. Her stomach felt hollow, yet she had no desire for food. If men could get inside the house, what could they be up to outside at Mile End or on the streets? Getting to her feet, she crossed the hall towards the front door.
Beat
rice rose swiftly and followed her, her goblet still clutched in her hand. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Just to look … to see what goes on outside the gates.’ Beatrice nodded and slipped her hand in her arm. ‘We’ll go together.’
Philippa smiled soberly. ‘Don’t you trust me? I’m not such a fool as to go out alone, even if it were possible!’
‘It is possible. The guards are in the kitchen or the cellar.’ Determinedly Beatrice stuck with her as Philippa strolled to the gates.
From the distance, shouts and an indistinct murmur of activity could be heard. A sudden hideous cry split the air, making them exchange swift glances. There was nothing much to see outside the gates, despite their apprehension.
Philippa breathed more easily. There had been a terribleness in that cry that had caused her blood to chill. ‘Let’s go back.’
Beatrice nodded, but just as they turned away, there came the tramp of feet. Then shouts and jeers, catcalls and chanting.
‘John Ball for archbishop! Let all be held in common! Down with all traitors!’ As if pulled by a thread, both women faced the gates again. Beatrice screamed, but Philippa’s mouth went dry and she could not speak.
Carried on pikes were several heads. Fists were shaken at the women or kisses blown, as the marching men passed, but no move was made to assault the gates.
‘It’s Archbishop Sudbury,’ whispered Beatrice, crossing herself rapidly. ‘And old Lyons, the treasurer.’
‘Were they at Mile End, I wonder?’ croaked Philippa.
‘Surely not! They would know the mob would be after their heads!’ Beatrice put a hand to her mouth and hurried back to the house.
‘Oh sweet Jesu!’ Philippa eased her aching throat, then followed stiffly as though her limbs had turned to wood. Then suddenly, as she reached the hall and there was no sign of Beatrice or anybody else, she began to run. Up the stairs she went until she came to her bedchamber. There she flung herself on the bed, clutching feverishly at the covers.
