Ghosts of Yorkshire

by Karen Perkins

  Courcy and Percy solemnly shook their heads.

  ‘Panic-stricken,’ Courcy said.

  ‘I have never heard such lengthy lamentations,’ Percy said.

  Plantagenet nodded, then braced his elbows on the table once more and regarded the knights. The hall, filled with near two hundred men, was silent, every ear turned to hear the Earl’s words.

  ‘Panic. Lamentation. Yes. He then fell into a stupor, gentlemen.’

  The knights winced. Whether at the news or the insult of ‘gentlemen’ was not clear.

  ‘He fell into a stupor,’ Plantagenet repeated. ‘Took to his bedchamber and naught was heard nor seen of him bar his groans of grief and constant prayers for the safekeeping of Becket’s soul.’

  As one, the knights paled and stepped back at this most dreadful news.

  ‘He would admit no one, nor any succour; no flesh of any kind. And you know how my brother enjoys flesh.’

  The lords at the table laughed, banging their fists on the wood. Henry had an appetite befitting a king; he loved his food and his women, and could never have his fill of either. This was serious.

  The knights stayed silent.

  FitzUrse glanced behind, but the door to the great hall was closed, with pikemen stationed to either side. There would be no escape that way. Just as there had been none for Thomas Becket.

  ‘What say you to that, gentlemen?’

  Morville fell to one knee, followed by Tracy, Brett and, after a pause, FitzUrse.

  ‘My Lord, I am grievously wounded to hear such news. The King demanded vengeance on the Archbishop, our only aim was to obtain that for His Majesty.’

  ‘He demanded action from Mandeville and Humez!’ Plantagenet roared, leaping to his feet. ‘He gave you no such instruction!’

  ‘But My Lord . . .’ Morville faltered as Plantagenet raised his eyebrows and scowled.

  ‘The eve of the Great Council,’ FitzUrse broke in. ‘At supper, the King demanded vengeance from anyone who had the courage to obtain it. We had that courage. My Lord,’ he added, casting his eyes down once more.

  ‘Courage? Courage, is that what you call it? Stupidity to the utmost degree, say I! You broke the sanctity of Canterbury Cathedral! You killed an archbishop on his altar steps. An archbishop armed only with a hair shirt! How is that courage?’

  A hair shirt? All four of the knights blanched. He was pious after all?

  ‘My Lord, we attempted to take him peacefully,’ Morville ventured, swallowing the lump in his throat at the unwelcome news. ‘We did so without arms and without mail. He laughed at us and laughed at the King.’

  ‘He laughed at the King?’ Plantagenet asked.

  ‘He did, My Lord,’ FitzUrse said. ‘So we regained our arms and returned for him. He refused to leave the cathedral, made it impossible for us to remove him, and taunted us. By taunting us, the King’s men, he taunted the King. We could not permit that.’

  ‘I see.’ Plantagenet retook his seat. ‘I see, well, that does shine a different light on things.’

  ‘It does?’ Tracy asked, speaking his first words since entering the hall.

  ‘Well, it would had Ranulf de Broc not already made that clear.’

  ‘My Lord?’ Morville asked, confused.

  Plantagenet laughed. ‘It has been said that had my brother not been high-born, he would have made an excellent mummer, is that not so?’

  Courcy and Percy looked at their trenchers and made no reply.

  ‘Oh come now, My Lords, I hear the talk, we are amongst friends here. I ask you again, is that not so?’

  Courcy relaxed and nodded. ‘Yes, it has been said, My Lord.’

  ‘Excellent. And what say you, do I have some of his skill?’

  ‘Worthy of a prince,’ Courcy said.

  The knights glanced at each other in confusion, unable to understand what was happening.

  ‘Oh stand, My Lords, stand.’

  The knights regained their feet.

  ‘My brother has to put on a show. He must appease the Pope, do you understand?’

  The knights nodded, yet still appeared uncertain.

  ‘Before he secluded himself, he sent messengers to Rome, and included details of his seclusion within his missives.’

  The knights glanced at each other, now starting to understand. Or at least, they hoped they did.

  ‘As long as Henry’s messengers reach Pope Alexander first, this unfortunate incident shall be brought to an amenable close.’

  ‘And if they are not first?’ Morville asked.

  ‘Well, then all Hell and the fury of Christendom shall descend on your souls.’

  Chapter 10

  Jack, the head steward of Cnaresburg Castle, placed dishes of thrice-cooked pork, onion and beans on to the lord’s table and the hungry knights speared large pieces with their eating knives. For a while, all was silent as they sated their hunger and thirst.

  FitzUrse was the first to sit back, signalling for more wine. ‘That was quite a welcome,’ he said. ‘I thought it would end with our heads on pikes on the towers of the gatehouse.’

  ‘I fear it was a near thing,’ Morville said. ‘Let us hope that the King’s messengers are the first to give Pope Alexander the news.’

  ‘They had me in fear and no mistake,’ Tracy said, emptying his goblet which was immediately refilled.

  ‘Am I to understand that you . . . killed the Archbishop, husband?’ Helwise de Morville said.

  ‘Hush, child.’ Morville swept his hand to the side, catching Helwise on the side of her face and rocking her back in her chair. Her face reddened and her eyes filled, but she gave no other outward reaction.

  ‘Hugh!’ her brother, William de Stoteville, exclaimed in her stead from her other side and placed a comforting arm around his sister’s shoulders.

  Morville leaned forward and pointed his eating knife at him. ‘Do not you disrespect me at my table, William, as does your sister.’

  Stoteville gritted his teeth together to prevent his retort, knowing his sister would likely pay for it later.

  Helwise shrugged his arm away and patted his knee with a small smile. Twenty years Morville’s junior she had been his wife seven years, since she was nine, and although Morville had only taken his marital dues in the last couple of years, she already knew to recognise his moods and behave accordingly.

  Despite the coldness in their marriage, she was glad of it; it had enabled her to not only remain in Cnaresburg, but run the castle and care for her town during her husband’s absences, which were frequent and lengthy.

  ‘Why do you think the lords did not remain to sup with us?’ Brett asked, gallantly coming to his hostess’s rescue. He gave her a small yet kind smile as soon as Morville’s attention was turned.

  ‘I fear they would withhold any outward show of favour until they hear of Pope Alexander’s reaction,’ Morville said and took a large gulp of wine.

  ‘What shall we do should Alexander condemn us?’ Tracy said, panic lacing his words.

  ‘He shall not,’ FitzUrse said with confidence. ‘He would be condemning King Henry should he do so and would not risk making such a powerful enemy.’

  ‘He may already view King Henry as an enemy,’ Morville said. ‘Remember I witnessed the Charter of Clarendon? It took away the freedom of the clergy and made them accountable in law to King not Church. Henry crowed about how he had beaten Alexander. I doubt the Pope took it lightly. He may see this as an opportunity for revenge.’

  ‘God’s wounds,’ Tracy muttered, emptying another goblet; an action repeated by his fellow knights as they considered the possible implications of their deeds. ‘No wonder the lords departed so hastily for Spofford.’

  ‘Calm yourselves, Percy is past his prime, eighty years and more has he not, Helwise?’ Morville turned to his wife who gave a curt nod. ‘An old man enjoys the comforts of his own home.’

  ‘And they’d supped their fill at your table, Hugh.’ FitzUrse roared with laughter.

 
‘Indeed,’ Morville said, spearing another slice of pork.

  ‘At least we need not explain ourselves further to them,’ Brett said. ‘And can rest and dine well after our ordeal.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Morville repeated and raised his goblet in a toast. ‘Comfort, safety and sanctuary.’

  The knights drank, as did Helwise and William, albeit reluctantly. They shared a quick glance acknowledging the hypocrisy of the toast to sanctuary.

  A serving girl leaned between Morville and Helwise to place a pie of apple, damson and dates before them. Helwise ignored her husband as he – heading into his cups – fondled the girl’s leg and rump at length.

  ‘That will be all, Mable,’ Helwise said, and the girl scurried away. Morville glared at his wife.

  ‘Now I see why you insisted on coming to Cnaresburg, Hugh,’ Tracy said, his words becoming slurred. ‘Such a beautiful and young wife.’

  Helwise glanced at him, grateful he had commanded her husband’s attention.

  ‘My wife is beautiful too,’ Tracy confided very loudly. ‘Although no longer young.’ He laughed and drank again, then leaned forward to look past FitzUrse and Morville and addressed Helwise.

  ‘She is with child,’ he said, his face a picture of pride. ‘Borne me two fine sons already.’ He paused. ‘Olion and Oliver, both knights themselves now. Fine men, the pair of them.’

  ‘They are indeed,’ Brett said. ‘I last saw Oliver in Normandy before we departed for England. He has grown so strong, he bested me at a wrestle in no time at all.’

  ‘Verily. A fine warrior,’ Tracy said, holding his goblet up to toast but spilling most of its contents on to the sleeve of his tunic.

  ‘Pomperi,’ he said, oblivious, ‘my beloved wife. I hope to see her again.’

  His face fell, then he looked up. ‘I will see her again, will I not, Reginald?’

  ‘Without a doubt, William. Without a doubt.’ FitzUrse pulled a passing serving girl on to his lap. ‘Until you do, there are plenty here who would enjoy your attention, is that not so?’ He nuzzled the young girl’s neck.

  ‘Of course, My Lord,’ she squeaked before extricating herself and scampering back to the kitchens.

  The table of knights roared with laughter. Even Tracy smiled, drained what was left in his goblet then stared at the table in morose silence.

  Chapter 11

  Helwise was awoken by fingers fumbling beneath her shift. Her heart sank as she realised her husband was already awake and had recovered from the excesses of the previous evening.

  He had fallen asleep as soon as he’d lain down, but Helwise’s relief had turned to irritation as the volume of his snores did not diminish throughout the night hours. She felt as if she had only just fallen into slumber and was not yet prepared for the new day.

  She did not move or indicate she was awake, and kept her legs still and heavy, resisting her husband in the one way open to her. On occasion it had worked, but not this morn. Hugh de Morville would not be denied his wife.

  With a groan of frustration, he flung aside the bed covers, rose and knelt over Helwise, pushed up her shift and forced her legs apart.

  Helwise remained still and silent, taking no part in the act, then cursed herself as her body responded, despite her wishes and his sour breath.

  She clasped her legs around her husband with a moan, who reacted in both strength and vigour until they cried out together.

  Morville rolled away and levered himself off the bed. He poured a little water into a bowl, splashed his face, then pissed into the fireplace before donning hose, smock and cote.

  ‘Hurry yourself, Helwise. I wish to hear the progress made on the tower and ditch and view the work done in my absence. You would be my guide.’

  ‘Very well, husband,’ Helwise said, reluctantly climbing out of bed. She wished for another hour or two of slumber, but knew this would hold no sway with Hugh.

  She dressed in a long chainse with tight-fitting sleeves, then chose a dark-blue bliaut. It fitted snugly under her breasts, the voluminous skirts draping to the floor. She adjusted the sleeves until they were comfortable; closely tailored from shoulder to elbow then draping to the same length of the skirts.

  After donning a coif to cover her hair, then adding the face-encircling barbette that Queen Eleanor had made so popular, she added a fillet around the top of her head to secure everything in place. She fastened her emerald-green cloak at her neck and hurried down the spiral stairs to join her husband at the south tower.

  *

  Helwise found Morville in the inner bailey, surrounded by smiths, ropewalkers, carpenters and wood-turners. He turned to study the complete towers of the east, north and west gates, then stared to the south. No gate here at the top of the cliff, but the new defensive watch tower was less than half the height of the completed structures.

  ‘I had thought it to be raised higher by this time,’ he said.

  ‘The weather has been inclement,’ Helwise said, ‘making the quarrying difficult, affecting the mix of the mortar and turning the scaffolding treacherous. The masons have done well in the circumstances.’

  Morville harrumphed and led the way through the doorway to climb the spiral staircase, then scrambled out on to the scaffolded platform at the top.

  ‘My Lord,’ the mason said in surprise, finished tamping down the stone he had placed, then laid down his tools. ‘I bid you welcome.’

  Morville nodded. ‘How goes progress?’

  ‘We are making the most of the break in the weather, My Lord.’ He nodded towards the treadmill. ‘That was damaged in the last storm, but as you can see is working once more.’

  Morville said nothing, but watched the two men inside the contraption walking the wheels around. Presently, a plank carrying a load of sandstone rose over the edge of the platform and was manhandled on to the platform to be sorted by colour. The strongest dark-grey stone would be used for the facing and structure of the wall, which would be infilled with the reddish and softer yellow stones, giving great strength to the thick defences.

  Morville ran his hand over the faced stone of a completed section and nodded in satisfaction at its smoothness.

  He peered over the edge to examine the ditch below. More quarry than dry moat at this time, it was abustle with activity; men quarried stone, the rhythmic clanging of the masons’ chisels facing the blocks for the inner and outer skins as well as the steps for the spiral stair was as effective as a drummer marking time for rowers or marching soldiers.

  ‘It is quite a distance down, is it not, Hugh?’ Helwise said at his side.

  ‘It is indeed,’ Morville said, happier now despite the lack of height of the tower. Any attacking force would be more than daunted by the height of the cliff and depth of the ditch, and even at this low elevation, he had a view of the valley for miles in all directions. Although there was plenty of ammunition for siege engines about the quarry, there was no flat ground for them to be situated and used against him. Cnaresburg Castle was in no danger from the south.

  He glanced up at the sun, then turned to his wife. ‘It is near time for dinner, Helwise, let us re-join our guests, see how they fare this day.’

  ‘I am concerned for Sir William, Hugh. He seemed ill at ease last evening.’

  Morville made a sound of disgust. ‘He is weak of heart, blaming all but himself for his present circumstances.’

  ‘He misses Pomperi,’ Helwise said.

  ‘Bah. He has two fine sons yet continues to bleat about his wife and the child she carries. It is unnecessary.’

  ‘He is concerned, Hugh. It is good to witness.’

  Morville glared at her, and she spoke no more but followed him away from the construction of the tower and back to the keep and great hall.

  Chapter 12

  19th June 2015

  ‘Thank you, everyone, for coming,’ Helen said. ‘I know our last rehearsal was a little – strange – and am relieved none of you have given up on our production.’

  ‘To b
e honest, Helen, we’re all a bit freaked out,’ Paul said. ‘We can’t explain what happened, and the possibility it was real scares the shit out of me, and I think everyone else, right guys?’

  He got a few nods, but not from everyone, yet pushed on regardless. ‘Was it worth dabbling in things we don’t know, and to be honest, shouldn’t know or have contact with in this life?’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Paul, and apologise to everyone – I had thought the spirit board was a way to allow you to tap into your psyches and your creative cores, to channel your characters, and become them when you’re on stage. I honestly did not expect what happened.’

  ‘How’s your arm?’ Alec asked.

  ‘Broken wrist. It could have been a lot worse. Was anyone else hurt?’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said, ‘just you.’

  ‘Okay then, shall we start?’

  Helen sat in the middle of the front row of seats; no gods, no boxes, no circles, just rows of seats on one level, more like an assembly hall than a theatre, yet it hosted a wide variety of acts and plays.

  ‘We need to plan the sets – they’ll take the most time to create – as you know it’s mainly a two-hander between Henry and Becket, and they’re rarely together geographically so we have to get creative.’

  ‘Huh? How will that work?’ Dan said.

  ‘We need a set to represent a castle in Normandy for Henry’s scenes, and Canterbury Cathedral for Becket’s – and of course, most of their arguments and fallings out happened when they were separated by the English channel, and done by messenger, but that won’t work in a play.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ Ed asked.

  ‘One set split into two. The left-hand side as the audience looks on will be a Norman castle’s great hall, the right-hand side Canterbury Cathedral. Most of the play will focus on these two locations – often at the same time.’

  ‘But how will that work?’ Sarah asked. ‘We can’t have two locations on stage at the same time.’