Ghosts of Yorkshire

by Karen Perkins

  ‘I need no retribution, Your Grace. I only wish to serve our Lord in the company of my sisters.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Becket said. ‘Both myself and Pope Alexander are most grateful that you have chosen to leave the convent to assist us.’

  The lights switched once more. Paul had now been joined by Ed playing the role of young Henry – the King’s eldest son.

  ‘Prepare yourself, boy, this is a great honour.’

  ‘Yes, My Liege,’ Ed said, playing a bewildered boy terrified of a tyrannical father.

  Henry adjusted the ermine cloak his son wore, then looked up in fury as Sarah walked into the light.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he roared.

  ‘I am a royal princess, Sire, daughter of King Stephen and your cousin. Your closure of the ports could not stop me attending the coronation of young Henry.’

  ‘I see,’ Henry said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Have you brought Rome’s blessing?’

  ‘Indeed I have not, Sire. I hold papal decrees for Archbishop l’Évêque, Bishop Foliot and Bishop Salisbury,’ Sarah said, producing three scrolls bearing the intersecting circles of the seal of Rome. ‘They are forbidden to continue with this coronation in the absence of the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  ‘Ah, so Thomas still thinks he has power over me, does he?’ Henry said.

  ‘Indeed not, Sire, only over the bishops who are subordinate to him,’ Sarah – as Mary de Blois – said.

  ‘Hah,’ Henry shouted. ‘Becket holds no power in a land in which he is too cowardly to set foot. The bishops are subordinate to me!’ He grabbed the scrolls and ripped them, throwing the pieces back into the nun’s face. ‘The coronation shall proceed. My son shall be proclaimed the Young King this day.’

  The stage plunged into darkness and Helen stood, applauded carefully as the lights came back on – grateful her pot had finally come off – and shouted, ‘Well done, guys. Sarah and Ed, you could both be a little more relaxed on the night, but well done!’

  Helen sat back down and turned to Donna. ‘What do you think?’

  Donna sighed. ‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Both the main guys had spirit with them – I’ve never seen spirits so close to a living man before. They didn’t just stand behind or to the side, they walked in.’

  ‘Walked in?’

  ‘Yes. Almost blended with the men. Have you ever seen a trance medium work?’

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘It’s quite remarkable to witness. The spirit of the medium withdraws and gives permission for another spirit to enter – at least temporarily.’

  ‘That sounds . . . frightening,’ Helen said.

  ‘No – it’s done with permission and great respect, and the trust is never betrayed. The disembodied spirit needs the full approval of the medium. But here . . .’ she paused. ‘This is something else. I’ve never seen anything like it. The auras of both the main men—’

  ‘Paul and Charlie,’ Helen said.

  Donna nodded. ‘Their auras changed as soon as they started speaking. Even their appearance changed, did you notice?’

  Helen stared at her hands and did not speak.

  ‘When they finished . . .’ Helen looked up at Donna, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. ‘The spirits withdrew,’ Donna continued, ‘but not completely, they’re still attached by their auras.’

  ‘Is that bad?’ Helen asked.

  ‘It isn’t good,’ Donna said. ‘Especially as I don’t think the guys are even aware of it. I think this is without their permission and they’re being violated.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We hold another séance and ask the spirits to leave.’

  ‘And will they?’

  ‘That depends on how strongly and faithfully Paul and Charlie tell them to go.’

  ‘Faithfully?’

  ‘If it’s a deep and genuine wish to be left alone.’

  ‘And we need their cooperation and belief?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They don’t believe.’

  ‘That they want the spirits to withdraw?’

  ‘That the spirits exist in the first place.’

  ‘Then we really do have a problem,’ Donna said.

  Chapter 41

  ‘Okay, let’s pick up from where we left off yesterday,’ Helen said. ‘We have a few days left, let’s make them count. Places everyone.’

  Paul and Charlie walked on to stage, Charlie taking Becket’s place to the right, Paul to the left. The rest of the cast settled into their seats to watch, Dan sitting as far away as possible from his wife and Mike.

  Helen turned to the sound and lighting booth to give Alec a thumbs up. ‘From the top.’

  Charlie’s spotlight focused its glare on to Thomas Becket. He sat at a table, scroll in hand, and paused as he read, then looked up to the audience, stood, and brandished the parchment.

  ‘By God, that man shall drive me to apoplexy! His son is crowned – crowned – and by a hand other than mine! The lion of justice? No – a rat of betrayal! He shall be the death of me, by God, I swear it.’

  Becket approached the front of the stage and lowered his voice. ‘But I shall not submit to his tyranny. Yes, tyranny! Once my good friend, he has become a caricature of himself – of a king. I shall bring him back to actuality – bring him back to himself, the good man he once was. I shall save him if it is the last thing I do.’

  Becket returned to his chair, picked up a quill from the table and began writing on parchment. The spotlight dimmed and Henry’s blazed into life.

  ‘Damn that man!’ Henry shouted, both fists clutching sheaves of parchment. ‘Will he never do my bidding? Look at these, look at them!’ He thrust the parchments towards the auditorium. ‘Papal mandates, letters of interdict from Becket and Pope Alexander! They’re threatening excommunication. Imagine, me, Henry, King of England, excommunicated! It’s unthinkable!’ He threw the parchment into the air as he stamped his foot, grabbed fistfuls of his hair and cried out as if in pain as he doubled over.

  Straightening, he calmed and his hands dropped to his sides. ‘I have no choice. I must extend peace to Becket and bid him return to England. That should take care of these.’ He kicked at the scattered parchment. ‘At least in England he shall once again be within my reach.’ He smiled in cunning.

  Becket’s spotlight came on and the men met centre stage and embraced as the lights dimmed to nothing.

  ‘That was great, guys, well done,’ Helen called to the stage, standing and clapping. The other Castle Players did the same.

  Helen turned to give Alec a clap too, the complicated lighting sequence having been executed perfectly, then spotted another audience member at the back of the theatre. ‘Donna! What are you doing here?’ Helen said as Donna stood and moved to join her.

  ‘What’s she doing here, again?’ Dan called and made his way to join the rest of the crew. ‘Come to do an exorcism?’

  Donna shook her head. ‘No, no exorcism, you’re not possessed by demons, but are being attacked by spirits. That’s very different.’

  ‘So why are you here?’ Helen asked.

  Donna gave her a strange look. ‘You invited me, don’t you remember?’

  Helen looked puzzled and glanced at Sarah, who shrugged.

  ‘After I called Richard Armitage and told him what was going on.’

  ‘You did what?’ Sarah said.

  ‘Don’t worry, he didn’t believe me. Sarah, what have you done to your face?’

  ‘Ask my husband,’ she snapped.

  Donna looked around at everyone, eyes settling on Dan, who looked furious. ‘Can I have a word in private?’ she asked Helen.

  ‘Uh, yeah, I suppose so.’ Helen looked to the others and they all drifted towards the stage and Paul and Charlie.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Donna asked Helen. ‘Has Dan been hitting Sarah?’

  ‘Only a couple of times, but they’re staying well away from each other now. Well, at least when they�
�re not on stage.’

  ‘Has she been to the police?’

  ‘The police?’ Helen looked blank. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? She’s a victim of domestic abuse.’

  ‘I didn’t really think about it like that, they’ll sort it out between themselves.’

  Donna stared at her in a moment. ‘Oh my God, you’ve got one too.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I’m fine.’

  Donna lowered her eyes and looked up at Helen through her lashes. ‘No, you’re not. You have a man standing in your aura – too close. He’s in mail so is another knight. Hang on, I’m trying to get his name. Brought, rock, something like that.’

  ‘You mean Broc? Ranulf de Broc.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Who was he?’

  ‘The Lord of Saltwood. He hosted the knights and rode to Canterbury with them, then smoothed the waters with Henry.’

  ‘So he was the man behind the scenes? The director?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Helen said.

  ‘As are you.’

  Helen said nothing.

  ‘We have to hold another séance, ask the spirits to leave.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We open on Saturday. You saw the guys, they’re good. Better than good, they’re great! It could be Becket and Henry up there.’

  ‘It is Becket and Henry up there! Don’t you understand? We have to make the spirits leave, they’re too strong, and they’re still increasing their hold on their hosts!’

  ‘Not until after the show.’

  ‘That may be too late! Look at what’s happening to you all – Dan and Sarah, Mike, you’re always in the pub, and I heard your two leading men were arrested a couple of weeks ago. Your lives are already being affected, and they’re getting stronger. Things will only get worse. You have to cancel the show!’

  ‘No. We’re not cancelling.’

  ‘But Helen, don’t you see? The spirits have such a strong hold I’m afraid they’ll only leave when they right the wrongs that were done to them in life.’

  ‘We’re not cancelling the show.’

  ‘But anything could happen. It’s too dangerous to go ahead!’

  ‘You heard. We’re not cancelling the show.’

  Donna looked up to see that the rest of the Castle Players had rejoined them and stood as a pack in the aisle. She turned to Helen again, but realised by the set of her jaw and folded arms that the woman wasn’t listening.

  ‘Oh God,’ Donna said. ‘Oh my God. It’s already too late.’ She hurried out of the theatre.

  Chapter 42

  October 1171

  ‘How do you consider Tracy fares?’ Brett asked.

  Morville shrugged and FitzUrse said, ‘Probably hasn’t reached Rome yet.’

  ‘What will happen to him?’

  ‘Pope Alexander will no doubt hand him over to the Dominicans,’ FitzUrse said.

  ‘No! They would torture him, even burn him!’

  ‘We don’t know what else the Pope would order, unless it be serving at the pleasure of the Knights Templar. Percy said that Henry and Rome are on better terms these days, so I doubt he shall be given to the Dominicans. The Pope will not burn Tracy, that would necessitate taking strong action against King Henry too. He will no doubt be ordered to the Holy Land as the King suggested.’

  ‘You think so?’ Brett asked, his youth evident in his shaking voice.

  Morville held up a hand to forestall FitzUrse’s probable brutal reply. The boy needed encouragement, not fear. ‘It is sure to be so, Richard. Do not fret, William will live, and no doubt welcome his penance, his conscience was deeply troubling to him. This is the right course of action for him.’

  Brett nodded. ‘Then why did we not travel with him?’

  ‘Bah! Prostrate myself before the Church, throw myself on Pope Alexander’s mercy? I’m not minded for that course of action. Let us regain King Henry’s favour, then he will help us with Rome,’ FitzUrse said.

  Brett nodded again.

  ‘Begging your pardon, My Lord,’ Mauclerk interrupted them, speaking from the door to the great hall. ‘Sir William de Percy has arrived.’

  ‘Percy? Again? Well, show him in, Hugh,’ Morville said, then glanced at Brett and FitzUrse. No words were said, but all thought the same: What now?

  Percy strode into the room, wasting little time on greetings. ‘I am here on the King’s business,’ he said, holding up a scroll bound with ribbon and Henry’s distinctive double-sided seal.

  He handed the scroll to Morville then helped himself to wine. He winced at the rough Spanish vintage; he much preferred the far superior Rhenish.

  ‘We are bid come to Ireland,’ Morville said. ‘We must leave at once to join King Henry’s expedition.’

  ‘Is there unrest, William?’ FitzUrse asked Percy. ‘With Dermot dead and Strongbow’s surrender, I thought all was well.’ He glanced at Morville and Brett. ‘After the débâcle with the tournament, I took it upon myself to employ a number of my men-at-arms as messengers.’

  ‘Messengers or spies?’ Percy asked.

  FitzUrse stared at him. ‘News bearers, to ensure I keep abreast of events.’

  ‘What has happened to occasion an expedition?’ Morville asked in an attempt to defuse tempers.

  ‘Strongbow is above himself. Yes, he surrendered but with the condition that he is granted the fiefdom of Leinster.’

  ‘That is on the east coast is it not?’ Morville asked, unwilling to admit to Percy that he had no idea what trouble Strongbow – Sir Richard de Clare – had caused to necessitate a surrender.

  ‘Yes,’ Percy replied. ‘Too close to England’s shores for a man with such recent aspirations as King of all Ireland. Richard de Clare is far too strong in an unruly land, Henry does not trust him, despite his promise to turn over the key ports and castles to England. Henry wishes to show Clare who is king, and to leave nothing to uncertainty.’

  ‘And he has requested our assistance?’ Morville asked, pleased at the portent of this.

  ‘Most assuredly,’ Percy said to beams of relief from the three other knights. ‘He has lost much this past year. The Charter of Clarendon and the reform of clerical courts – a charter you were witness to, were you not, Hugh?’

  Morville gave a small nod, saying nothing, wishing people would stop reminding him. No smiles were evident now.

  ‘Then of course the favour of Rome, which he has had need to address with the Charter of Reconciliation. A turn of events most embarrassing and expensive to him. He wishes to keep you close so you can cause him no more harm, nor gold. The restitution he is required to make to Canterbury in particular would have paupered most nobles.’

  Morville, FitzUrse and Brett glanced at each other in unease.

  ‘We did as we were ordered . . .’ FitzUrse started, but Percy held up a hand to forestall him. ‘That is between you and King Henry. In this instance I am a mere messenger. We ride to Harewood to join Courcy at dawn tomorrow then on to the west coast. A ship awaits us.’

  Morville rose. ‘We shall be ready in good time. We are King Henry’s knights, it is a great honour and we shall put our all into battle for our king.’

  ‘Á King Henry,’ FitzUrse and Brett chorused.

  Percy gave a wry smile, but gave no opinion. ‘Very well. I shall return at dawn with my men. Good eve to you.’ He drained his goblet and strode out of the hall, leaving the three knights to stare at each other, wondering what this augured for them.

  Chapter 43

  It had been a hard ride, conducted mainly in silence, and every man in the party – baron, knight, man-at-arms alike – was relieved to see the gleaming blue strip of sea and smell salt on the air. Every attempt at conversation on the week-long trek had failed, and all were eager to see a change in circumstance.

  The men, led by Courcy and Percy, rode on to the beach and loaded themselves, their armour, weaponry and what was left of their supplies into the small boats waiting for them.
/>   ‘Do you think this means we are back in favour?’ Brett asked, the three knights having managed to board the same boat without Courcy, Percy or any of their men.

  ‘Sure to be,’ FitzUrse said, full of confidence as ever. ‘Henry would not have asked us to join his endeavour should he not value us.’

  ‘Unless he means to rid himself of us under the guise of war,’ Morville said.

  ‘Damn and blast, Hugh, why do you always look at things so darkly? King Henry cannot denounce us without denouncing himself, I tell you.’

  Morville shrugged. ‘Very well, I hope you speak true.’

  ‘Sure to be,’ FitzUrse said. Brett said naught, but did not appear encouraged.

  The Spirit of Aquitaine grew closer as the sailors pulled on their oars, and with some trepidation the knights regarded the vessel to which they would be entrusting their lives over the next stage of their journey.

  She was of a good size, more than fifty feet in length, and near a quarter of that in breadth. With a single mast and large sail, she had fighting platforms fore, aft and aloft. There were no cabins. This was a warship, built for everything but comfort.

  Once the goods, men and horses were loaded, there was barely space for the sailors to work. Brett, never a good sailor, ensured that he had a place against the side, knowing he was likely to spend the voyage across the Irish Sea hanging over the rail, and hoping he had picked the right board. The last thing he, or any of his fellows, wanted was a youngster vomiting into the wind.

  At last the anchor was hauled up, the sail loosed, immediately catching the wind, and The Spirit of Aquitaine started her voyage west. To glory or humiliation, no man knew, but every man aboard determined to believe in glory.

  *

  ‘I don’t understand why King Henry is invading Ireland,’ Brett said, clinging on to the side of the ship. ‘What are we facing?’

  FitzUrse heaved a large, dramatic sigh, as if in exasperation, but said nothing.

  Morville suppressed a smile. He realised The Bear didn’t fully understand either but was loath to admit it. ‘All I know is what Percy told us,’ he said, then started as Mauclerk joined them.