FitzUrse was the first through, followed by Brett and an assortment of their men-at-arms and retainers, all looking weary but relieved to have arrived. Tracy followed, escorting a cart, in which Morville was surprised to see a woman holding two newborns. He guessed this must be the wife Tracy had been bleating on about when in his cups. Finally some good news – Tracy had healthy twins.
‘Reginald, William, Richard, welcome! It is good to see you again, my friends. How was your journey?’
‘Long,’ FitzUrse said. ‘The less said the better.’ He looked behind him at the gates, still open. ‘I was surprised by Cnaresburg’s welcome. It appears things have changed.’
‘They have. I am in favour again, at least in my own town.’
‘Although not to the extent of leaving the gates open,’ FitzUrse interrupted.
‘No harm in a little caution. How went it with you?’
‘Difficult,’ FitzUrse said. ‘The bastard masons tried to charge me at least triple, the carpenters more still. I refused. Tracy fared the worst, insisted on funding three churches, the fool. They’ve left him near penniless, but at least the weeping and wailing when he’s in his cups is reduced to bearable proportions, although he cares about naught but his wife and the babes now.’
Morville laughed, put an arm round each of FitzUrse and Brett’s shoulders, and addressed Tracy as he guided them to the keep. ‘Come, your old bedchambers are ready for you. I’ll have baths prepared, then rest awhile and I’ll have Jack organise a feast for dinner. Plumton and I took a venison a sennight since. It’s well hung and will serve.’
‘Jack is back?’
‘Yes, as are they all, down to the serving girls. Sheepish and eager to please, just how I like them.’
The men guffawed and climbed the narrow stone stairs to their respective bedchambers, Tracy solicitously aiding his wife.
*
‘Ah, I am ready for this,’ FitzUrse said, striding to the lord’s table. ‘Those bastards at Teston virtually besieged me in the manor house, it has been some time since I sat at table like this.’
‘You should have paid them what they wanted, Reginald,’ Tracy said. ‘Ease tempers rather than inflame them.’
‘Ah, but then I would not have been able to make a loan to you, William.’
Tracy coloured and glanced at Pomperi, who diplomatically turned to Helwise with a compliment about the stones-and-roses decoration on the walls of the great hall.
‘It is but small and temporary,’ Tracy said.
Morville interrupted before tensions rose higher between the two knights. ‘And what of you, Richard, how did you fare?’
The young man shook his head and grabbed his goblet to drink.
‘Sir Simon barred the gate to him,’ FitzUrse answered in Brett’s stead. ‘Refused to acknowledge him. The boy lived as an outlaw in Sampford Brett, despite the place carrying his name. Sir Simon only admitted him once the first stones of the new church had been laid.’
Lost for words, Morville drained his own goblet and called for more of the fine Rhenish wine.
FitzUrse grabbed the serving girl as soon as she deposited full flagons on the table, and pulled her on to his lap. ‘This is better, Hugh, too much hard muscle on a man-at-arms to be serving table.’
Morville’s men, seated below the knights in the body of the great hall, roared with laughter, every one of them relieved to be sitting to dine rather than cooking and serving.
‘Beyond Teston,’ Morville said with a glance of frustration at FitzUrse, ‘our favour appears to be growing once more.’
Tracy and Brett nodded. FitzUrse ignored the jibe and wrenched a huge mouthful of venison from the joint before him.
‘Yes, England is becoming friendly again,’ Tracy said with a fond look at his wife. A smile flitted across Pomperi’s face and Morville wondered at the strain apparent on her countenance. He glanced at his own wife and for the first time recognised the marks of a similar strain on her features.
‘And not before time,’ FitzUrse said, the words fighting their way out around the half-chewed meat in his mouth.
Morville forgot his inspection of the women and reconnected with his train of thought. ‘I think it’s time to call on that favour and grow it further,’ he said.
‘What do you have in mind, Hugh?’ Tracy asked.
A slow smile spread on Morville’s face and he paused before answering, judging his timing well. ‘A tournament,’ he said. ‘Tourney for the nobles and a fair for everyone else.’
‘God’s wounds, Hugh, a tourney! Just what I need. But a real one, a proper joust of war and a mêlée. If we do this we do it well.’
Morville grinned. ‘Just as I was thinking, Reginald. A real spectacle, something for all to enjoy.’
Brett clapped his hands together with a grin.
‘Is that wise?’ Tracy asked. ‘We have risen in favour due to repentance, would not holding a tournament risk losing it again, especially from the Church?’
‘Nonsense, William. Why, even the parish priest attended at Harewood. The Church’s position on tournaments is posturing, naught else.’
‘Maybe so, but remember what else happened at Harewood,’ Tracy persisted.
‘How could I forget?’ FitzUrse said, and pointed a half-gnawed bone at Tracy. ‘One tourney unmade us, another will remake us. Nothing gladdens a noble’s heart more surely than a tournament done correctly, with proper ransoms and every opportunity to shine. Now, to business. Where would be the best place to host the mêlée, Hugh?’
As the men plotted, Helwise and Pomperi held each other’s eyes for a moment, the despair in each clear enough to require no accompanying words.
Chapter 39
September 1171
‘Fortune has smiled on us,’ Brett said. ‘It is a good sign the sun has joined us.’
‘Yes, and soon so will the nobility of England,’ Tracy said.
‘You have decided this tournament is a good thing then, have you, William?’
‘Yes.’ Tracy couldn’t quite meet FitzUrse’s eyes. ‘It looks as if the townsfolk are enjoying the fair already.’
The others squinted into the morning sun. The field ahead was filled with striped tents of every colour. Blue and yellow, red and green, orange and white. Morville counted the peaks of the apexed canvas ‘roofs’. ‘Over a score. Good, and plenty of people too.’
‘Any knights?’ Tracy asked.
‘Not that I can see, but they will still be on the road, I don’t expect the nobles to arrive until afternoon.’
The knights entered the fair grounds and dismounted, leaving Mauclerk to see to the securing and well-being of their palfreys.
The noise and activity of the fair gave them a moment’s pause; each recalling the occasions they had been shunned, by commoner and noble alike. The sight of so many people gathered together at their behest was welcome indeed.
The local tradesmen had erected tents – butcher, baker, candlestick maker amongst them – and minstrels and stilt walkers added to the chaotic atmosphere, each desperate to bring custom to their benefactor’s tent of wares or goods. The more their benefactors sold this day, the more they would themselves earn.
The knights walked past a small enclosure where a group of children were pitting their cocks against each other – the youngsters almost as raucous as the birds.
‘A quarter-penny on that one.’ Morville indicated a bedraggled-looking bird missing a sizeable quantity of feathers.
‘Hugh, are you crazed? It’s barely standing,’ FitzUrse exclaimed.
‘Are you taking my wager?’ Morville asked.
‘Assuredly. Let me see.’ FitzUrse scanned the birds, ignoring the expectant faces of their young owners. ‘That’s the one.’ He pointed to the largest, preening its feathers.
Morville accepted the wager and both men gave quarter-pennies to Tracy to hold.
As the children chased down their cocks to place them in the fighting circle, Morville remarked, ‘It looks li
ke this is the first fight for yours, Reginald.’
‘Yours looks like it’s lost every fight it’s engaged in.’
‘To me, he looks like he’s come out of a good scrap still standing.’
‘We shall see,’ FitzUrse stated. ‘I stand by my choice.’
‘And I mine,’ Morville said.
Both cocks were released and FitzUrse’s brute charged Morville’s scraggy favourite. It uttered a loud squawk, jumped in the air, clipped wings flapping, and met Brute’s challenge with extended talons. Another squawk and beating of feathers made it clear Scraggled’s tactics were effective. FitzUrse said nothing but looked a little worried. Scraggled did not back off but continued his offensive, jutting his sharp beak into the side of his opponent, yanking out feathers with every peck.
‘Come on, Brute, fight back damn you!’ FitzUrse roared above the noise of the children’s insulting encouragements to both birds.
Scraggled was remorseless. A veteran of many cockfights, as Morville had rightly assessed, he knew well the only way to avoid pain and injury was to inflict pain and injury. And he did so, remorselessly and unflinchingly. Within minutes, Brute lay near dead and bleeding in the fighting circle, the victor strutting and preening even fewer feathers.
‘Well done, Hugh.’ FitzUrse made an exaggerated bow to the victor, and Tracy passed the two quarter-pennies to Morville, who in turn flicked them both to the boy who had gathered his prize cock in his arms.
‘Well done, boy, you breed them well.’
‘Thank you, My Lord,’ the boy said, his embarrassment at being addressed by the controversial Lord of the Manor of Cnaresburg evident in his red cheeks.
Morville glanced at the boy staring at his unmoving prize cock. ‘Here, lad,’ he said, and flicked another quarter-penny in his direction. ‘Let this be a lesson to you, the quality of the warrior is not evident in his armour, but in his strength of heart and his will to win. Look for those qualities in the next cock you bring to fight.’
‘Thank you, My Lord,’ the boy squeaked, scrabbling in the dirt for his piece of coin. ‘I surely will.’
‘Percy,’ Brett said, interrupting them. The other three knights looked up to see William de Percy striding towards them.
‘He doesn’t look happy,’ Tracy said. ‘And why is he on his own?’
Morville and FitzUrse glanced at each other, both aware that this did not augur good tidings.
‘Greetings, My Lord Percy,’ Morville said. The formality of his welcome was not lost on anybody present and even the cocks seem to hush their squawking.
‘Greetings,’ Percy replied, but gave no smile. ‘What were you thinking, Hugh?’
‘In what regard, William?’ Morville replied, incensed at being called into question within the hearing of the children and citizens of Cnaresburg.
‘A joust of war? Really? You are in need of King Henry’s favour, so why flout his ban?’
‘Ban?’ Morville asked, his heart sinking.
‘Yes, ban. Jousts of war are banned in England, and have been for some time.’
‘But . . . Harewood? And Riche Mont?’
‘Special dispensation from the King and jousts of peace for the practice at the quintain and ring,’ Percy said.
‘I, uh, we were not aware,’ Morville said.
‘I told you it was a bad idea,’ Tracy said, and FitzUrse elbowed him so hard he staggered to keep his feet.
‘You know you are out of favour, why did you not ascertain the current state of affairs before sending your invitations?’
‘Why did you not advise us when you received yours?’ FitzUrse said. ‘It was a fortnight since, yet you only advise us now.’
Percy turned and stared at The Bear. ‘I have only last night returned from Normandy. Enjoy your fair, My Lords, but there shall be no tournament. When Henry hears of this, and no doubt he has by now, you will be even further in disgrace. Good day to you, and good fortune, you are all in dire need of it.’ Percy turned and strode away. The four knights stood, rooted to the spot in shock, unable to voice a sound.
*
‘I told you it was a bad idea,’ Tracy said again. ‘I told you. We were making good progress, and now look, we’ve defied the King. Ruined, we are all ruined.’
‘Hush, William!’ FitzUrse shouted, his face red and fists clenched. ‘Stop your whining, or by God I will stop it for you!’
Tracy stepped back, partly in surprise at FitzUrse’s reaction, partly in fear.
‘Calm yourself, Reginald,’ Morville said. ‘This is a time for clear heads.’
‘Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve endured, and now we’ve gone against the express wishes of the King,’ FitzUrse shouted. ‘He shall not forgive this easily.’
‘He will understand,’ Brett said. ‘We were ignorant of his ban, he will understand that.’
‘Understand? What the devil makes you think King Henry is understanding? Do you know nothing? He is a man who does not need to understand, he is King! Events are as he decrees, no matter the truth of them. He sent us to silence Becket, which we did, and look how we’ve been treated since. Has he taken responsibility for his part? No. It has fallen on us, his loyal servants.’
‘If his character is as you say, then why has he left us here to live? Surely it would serve him better to have us dead!’ Tracy said.
‘Care what you say, William. He may well yet decide on that course of action.’
‘But, but, we were acting at his behest!’ Tracy protested.
‘What does that matter? A year ago Becket was a troublemaker, an impious archbishop intent on sedition. Now he is a martyr and will no doubt be canonised. We killed him in his cathedral, before his altar. When his body was prepared they found his hair shirt, so he is no longer impious. Now he is a devout man whom we killed in God’s sanctuary. When we dealt with him he was hated. Now he is loved. Where we were loved, now we are hated.’ FitzUrse stopped, overcome by his passion and words.
Tracy gaped at him. Morville and Brett looked on, both silenced by FitzUrse’s analysis of their situation.
‘What are we going to do?’ Brett whispered, his querulous tone betraying his youth. Morville felt sorry for him: he had not yet seen his twenties, but had dealt the killing blow and Morville could see no future worth the pain of living ahead of him.
Silence, then: ‘We go to the Pope. We throw ourselves on his mercy and take what punishment he decrees,’ Tracy said.
‘By God, no,’ FitzUrse shouted. ‘It is Henry we need to appease, not the Church.’
‘We are excommunicated. Our souls are damned for eternity,’ Tracy said. ‘By your very admission, King Henry does not need to understand, he will do what is most propitious for himself. If we are pardoned by Pope Alexander, we will be pardoned by King Henry.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ Morville said. ‘From what I have learned of our king these past months, I feel he would consider himself injured if we put the approval of the Pope over his own.’
‘Yes, you speak well, Hugh,’ FitzUrse said. ‘I am in agreement.’
‘I am not.’ Tracy drew himself up to his full height. ‘And I will no longer follow your lead, Reginald. You led us here. I will leave for Rome to prostrate myself before His Holiness Pope Alexander. I will prepare Pomperi and the babes, escort them to Bovey Tracy, then take my leave of England. Will any of you accompany me?’
Morville said nothing, Brett would not meet Tracy’s eyes. FitzUrse was the only one to speak, once again holding the fate of his companions in his hairy fist. ‘You are on your own, William. We shall take all necessary steps to regain King Henry’s favour before we attend to Pope Alexander.’
Tracy drew in a sharp breath. ‘Very well. I bid you good fortune and hope our paths shall once again cross.’ He walked away, slowly but deliberately, having finally chosen his own path, at the age of thirty seven.
Chapter 40
30th July 2015
Paul stood stage left, spotlighted and dressed in purple
tunic, hose and crown, a short cloak slung about his shoulders. Helen smiled – that faux fur had been a wonderful find in the charity shop, and Paul looked every inch the medieval king, strutting in his leather boots.
She looked up as Donna sat in the seat next to her. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘Not at all. Thanks for coming. We’re just building up to the final scene.’
‘Ah, England’s fine shores,’ King Henry proclaimed. ‘ ’Tis good to be treading her fertile soil once more. Come, Henry,’ he called offstage to his son. ‘This will all be yours one day, ’tis time to claim your rights as my heir.’
The light on Paul doused, and a new spotlight shone on Charlie, sitting stage right, dressed in a brown monk’s habit and with a table of papers before him.
‘Ah, Henry, my old friend, you test me so,’ Becket said, reading a scroll. ‘You insist on insulting my Church and my Pope – not to mention my good self. What to do with you? How to bring you to heel?’
The lights switched once more, illuminating Henry standing, legs apart and arms akimbo. ‘This is my kingdom. I rule here and no other. My son shall be crowned as my heir and I shall brook no argument. Close the ports!’ He swept his arms wide. ‘Becket can stay in France, cowering from my wrath. He shall not oppose me in this too.’
He turned and began to pace the distance of the lighted area. ‘With the ports closed, neither he nor any messenger can defy me. Not even communiqués from the Pope can be brought. I shall have no interference from the Church in this matter.’
Back to Becket, now joined by an uncomfortable-looking Sarah dressed in a nun’s habit.
‘Mary de Blois, my dear Princess, you are my only hope.’
‘Archbishop, I am pleased to serve you, Your Grace.’
‘I have a task for you. A task only you can succeed in, and you shall have your retribution against Henry for the unholy marriage he forced upon you.’
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