Amongst Silk and Spice

by Camille Oster

  Amongst Silk and Spice

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright 2014 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements:

  To E. Flynn for her help.

  Camille Oster - Author

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  Camille.osternz@gmail.com

  @camille_oster

  Prologue

  * * *

  1345, Somerset, England

  A heavy pinecone pounded Eloise in the back as she buried her face to the tree trunk. "Gonna cast a spell on us? A witch just like your mother. Burnt at the stake she was. You will be, too. It's only a matter of time before they come for you."

  "You're lying," Eloise accused, yelling back at him. "You’re a liar Hugo Beauford."

  "I'm not lying. She was burnt, accused of witchcraft. You're mother's dead."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Believe what you like," Ritchie Beauford said. "It is true."

  For the first time, Eloise had doubts. Ritchie was the more somber of the awful boys from the neighboring property. "You leave me alone, Hugo Beauford, or my father will hear about your lies and—"

  "He's going to what?" Hugo with his skinny body and cracking voice said.

  "He's going to beat you until you're black and blue."

  "Earl Chanderling's marriage was annulled, the product of witchcraft—proper decree and everything, which makes you the same."

  Another acorn pelted her. "Stop with your lies," she demanded.

  "Come," Ritchie said, tugging on Hugo's arm. "I want to see how my new falcon flies."

  The assault of acorns stopped and Eloise heard the boys walk away. She hated them both and had always done so, but Hugo was the worse of them. Normally they would curtail their torment because their fathers were both friends and neighbors, even in her father had never lived with them.

  Climbing down from the tree, Eloise shook off the dirt on her gown. Madame Sommiers would be furious with the stains on it, but it wasn't her fault—the awful boys had chased her through the forest and up the pine tree.

  Pursing her lips, she willed their accusations not to be true. She didn't normally believe anything that came out of either of their mouths, they lied so much, but this was particularly nasty and Eloise felt dread creep into her stomach.

  With quick, marching steps she strode home, noticing a rip in the skirt of her gown. Madame Sommiers was going to be furious. Angrily wiping her tears, Eloise kept marching through the fields back to the manor. She couldn't stop them flowing, because although she wouldn't admit it, she was deathly afraid that they hadn't been lying this time.

  Her mother had been gone a month now since the day the soldiers had come. As they approached, she had called for Eloise with notable concern in her voice, giving Eloise a purse full of her mother's jewels and telling her to bury them in the garden. "They are yours if you should ever need them. Don't tell anyone where they are. Plead ignorance if you must."

  Eloise had run straight into her mother's arms, fearing the worry she heard in her mother's voice. "Now, child," she had said.

  As fast as she could, she had done her mother's bidding, but the soldiers were there when she got back, calling her mother out.

  Madame Sommiers had pulled Eloise away inside the house and the last time she'd seen her mother they were leading her away. Her father would fix it, she'd kept repeating, but Madame Sommiers had avoided her eyes.

  Eloise's father was one of the most powerful men in the land, close companion with the king himself. Most of the time he was fighting in France or staying in Windsor Castle with the king. No one would dare harm her mother for fear of Earl Chanderling's wrath, but then, Eloise hadn't seen her father since her younger brother had died.

  The sheep ran out of her way as she swiftly continued home, wiping away the memories of that awful day. She would write to her father, tell him of how awful the Beauford boys were to her and ask him to demand they stop their harassment. Surely, Madame Sommiers would know how to write to him.

  Eloise paused as she walked around the corner into the main courtyard. There were soldiers there again, carrying things out of the house. Madame Sommiers was getting in their way, challenging them.

  "What is to become of her?" Madame Sommiers demanded. "She is but a child—his daughter."

  "The marriage was annulled, so she's a bastard now. I hear the good lady shared her favours, so who knows whose child she is. All I know is the earl is taking his possessions back, excluding what belonged to that whore-witch—meaning the ill-begotten offspring. Out of my way, woman." The man pushed Madame Sommiers back hard enough that she fell.

  "This is a crime," Madame Sommiers yelled, but the men only laughed at her.

  "Take it up with the Earl. He might hear a petition," the man sneered. "Find me those jewels," he yelled at the men. "They're hidden somewhere in the house, aren't they? They don't belong to you. His Grace's property, they are, and he wants them back."

  Eloise was frozen where she was, her mind trying to understand what was happening. If the sight before her was true, it meant her mother truly was dead. Eloise ran into the garden and hid under the gooseberry bush.

  The whole house was stripped by the time Eloise made it inside after dark, except for the kitchen. Madame Sommiers, the cook and the other servants were all sitting by the fire when Madame Sommiers looked up and spotted Eloise by the door.

  "Come here, girl," Madame Sommiers said and Eloise complied. "Do you know what has happened today?"

  Eloise nodded.

  "I'm so very sorry. He will come around. Your father isn't a heartless man. I will write a petition in the morning. All will be right, you'll see."

  Eloise couldn't believe she was hearing this right. Her mother was dead and he hadn't stopped it, and the marriage was annulled, which meant she was no one's daughter now. "He's not my father," Eloise said coldly and turned away, withdrawing to her room up in the nursery.

  At twelve, she was perhaps a little old to still be in the nursery, but this had always been her room. It had been completely stripped, but someone had placed a straw mattress in the corner and Eloise threw herself down on it and cried.

  The next morning, while Madame Sommiers was busy and the servants were trying to put order to the house again, Eloise went out to the garden and dug up her mother's jewels. Her father wanted these jewels, throwing away anything he didn't want. Well, Eloise was not going to comply. These were her mother's and she'd told Eloise to take them if she needed them.

  As she no longer had a father, she no longer had a purpose here. Eloise would make her own way in the world, she decided. Taking the stable boy's clothes, she started walking, leaving her father's property and withdrawn patronage behind. She belonged only to herself now.

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  1357 – Twelve years later

  King Edward surveyed the soldiers' maneuvers down on the main courtyard at Windsor, feeling pleased with himself. God had been on his side and his adversary, King John, was now imprisoned on English soil. France was for the taking and Edward of Woodstock, the Prince of Wales, his son, had exceeded his wildest expectations. Edward would make a strong king when the time came.

  Turning back, he walked past the gathering of lords, laying plans for the taking and surrender of France. Soon, he would sit as the reigning monarch of both England and France. It would be easy now that they had the French king, rans
omed at a price the French couldn't pay. From what his spies told him, it was chaos in France. The nobles were fighting amongst each other and this war was drawing to its inevitable conclusion.

  Edward marched down the halls, past bowing servants to Montague's apartments. "My friend," he said when he threw the doors open. "Yet again shall we celebrate this victory. France is all but ours."

  "You have done well," Montague said as Edward noticed Chanderling sitting by the window, staring out into nothingness. "I must relieve myself." Montague rose and retreated to his bed chambers to perform as nature required.

  "Chanderling, there you are. You are tired of planning our victory?"

  "The others know my opinion."

  Edward sat down. "I hear your young son had conducted himself admirably," Edward said.

  "So I hear."

  "Then why the long face?"

  "It is nothing," Chanderling said, smiling, but Edward could still see the sadness in his eyes.

  "It is the wayward daughter of yours," Edward said. He knew it was an issue that had grown in importance for his friend as the years passed. Chanderling didn't answer, but neither did he deny it. "Are you still searching for her?"

  "There have been no new traces of her. She is not in Europe. I would have found her if she was. Venice was the last place I have evidence of her. She sold a piece of her mother's jewelry there."

  "Her absence weighs heavily on you after all these years. She must be grown now."

  "Twenty-three."

  "She could be dead," Edward said, realizing after that he might have been a bit blunt, but tact was for diplomats.

  "She might. It is the uncertainty that weighs, I think."

  "If it plagues you, my friend, perhaps it is time to find her."

  Chanderling closed his eyes. "To be truthful, Edward, I saw her so little, I would not spot her if she walked past me."

  "There must be someone who knows her."

  "The housekeeper is the only one who knew her."

  "Montague," Edward called.

  "What?" the man said from the other room.

  "What happened to that Beauford boy?" Edward called to the man coming out of his bed chamber. Turning to Chanderling, "Wasn't Beauford the neighbor to you property there in Somerset?"

  "He was," Chanderling confirmed.

  "He couldn't be much older. He would know her. Where is he?"

  "Calais, I believe."

  "Call him back. It is time to get this sorted. This has been weighing on you long enough, my friend."

  Chapter 2:

  * * *

  Sheathing his sword, Hugo spotted a messenger coming, walking over the parkland around Creminil Castle, where he was staying along with other knights from his regiment. With his tanned hand, same as his face, he took a scoop of water from the bucket held by a servant and quenched his thirst from the morning's practice. He poured the last of it over his short blond hair, cooling his head and his body as it trickled down underneath his armor.

  The messenger scurried out of the way of a rider and hurried towards the group of knights. "Who are you here for?" Oldcastle demanded, the messenger recoiling.

  "Sir Hugo Beauford," the man said, puffing from running and wary of being surrounded by men with swords drawn.

  "Here," Hugo said and held out his hand for the missive. The slight man handed it to him and walked away, toward the kitchen no doubt. Turning the missive over, Hugo saw the royal seal. Nerves tingled up his spine. Royal missives were usually trouble, and this wasn't the prince's seal, it was the king himself.

  "Open it, man," Umfrier said impatiently.

  Hugo cracked the seal and unrolled the parchment. It said the king wished to see him and nothing more. Looking up, he saw the other knights watching him. "I have to return."

  "What's it about? Are we being repositioned?" The knights hated being stuck in Calais, when the action and lucrative raids were going on further south.

  "No, it is just I."

  Walking back toward the castle, Hugo loosened the tie on his breastplate, where the mail dug in. He needed to find a smith who could sort the annoying imperfection. This missive disturbed him as he couldn't imagine a reason why the king would want to speak to him particularly. Of course, he had done his duty well; he had fought with valor during the Battle of Poitiers, and before, but so had others. Hugo's father, when he'd been alive had not been greatly favored by the king and it had limited their family's prospects. Perhaps something had changed.

  Bertholomew followed as he always did, taking Hugo's sword when they returned to his chambers. "Are we returning to England?"

  "Yes, immediately. The king has summoned me."

  "Should we take everything?"

  "I don't know. Probably not. I can always send for it. Right now, I think it is imperative that we leave as soon as possible."

  Bertholomew had saddled his horse by the time Hugo was ready and they set off toward the port in Calais, just a few hours ride away. The day was bright but brisk and they passed cart after cart bringing produce and goods to Calais to be transported across the channel to England. They kept a good pace and made it to Calais by nightfall, riding past the regiments camped outside the city, then through the streets to the castle, where women sold produce and merchants traded goods. Calais was always busy. It was the entrance gate from England for most things and the truest English town in all of France.

  A quick word with the castle guards and they were let into the large stone gate where their horses' hooves echoed along the walls of the gatehouse. There was mayhem inside, people running everywhere and knights practicing swordsmanship, while children copied their movements, and provisions were unloaded in every corner of the great courtyard.

  Hugo left Bertholomew to take care of the horses and find their lodgings for the night, while Hugo sought out the harbor master to find a vessel to sail with, preferably to London.

  The harbor master and his scribes were in the same room as Hugo had seen them last, dealing with a boisterous group of traders, and he told Hugo of a merchant ship they could take that sailed in the morning.

  After confirming passage, he sought out the great hall, crowded with diners as supper was being served. Hogget, beef and geese, enough for the nobles gathered in Calais, including the Earl of Warwick. Hugo had known these men for over a decade; had fought by their side and shared triumphs as well as defeats. But the war had turned in their favor and the men were all in excellent dispositions.

  "Are you travelling down to Gascony with the others?" Warwick asked.

  "I have been summoned to Windsor. Do you have any news what this summons regards?" Hugo asked as he sat down next to the earl.

  Pursing his lips, Warwick shook his head. "Nothing I've heard about."

  Hugo speared a portion of meat and brought it to his plate and poured some posset into a cup, feeling even more concerned. He could not think of any reason why the king would summon him. There was always the hope that his valor and loyalty would be rewarded, but Hugo didn't give himself to such dreams. There was a reason the king wanted him and it seemed he wouldn't know until he sought an audience.

  He drank wine and dined until he didn't want any more, curtailing his consumption to avoid spending the next day or so on a boat with a sore head and a grumbling gut.

  The mood was boisterous and it had been for some time. All these men, including himself, felt an end was in sight for this war. They had all gained riches and wealth to bolster their lands, some even claiming vast estates in France. Hugo's duty lay in Somerset and once the king no longer required him, he would return and make his lands productive again. It was hard to think of them as his lands with his father's death, and there was no one waiting for him now—his wife and son taken by the Black Death.

  Slowing his intake, he stayed into the night when the men were drunk and they drifted off to seek the comfort of their wenches.

  "What say you, Beauford, will this war end now?" the Earl said with glassy eyes and rosy cheek
s.

  "I hope so."

  "Not one of us are civilized men anymore. Our women won't want us home."

  Hugo closed his eyes and let the fire warm him. That was another thing he'd been putting off. With both his son's death and Ritchie's death at Guines, he no longer had an heir. It would be something he would have to address when this war was won. Perhaps marriage was the reason the king summoned him, but he suspected not.

  It was cold when they sailed in the morning. Hugo watched as they glided out of the harbour and out to the channel. This ship would sail just short of the Tower and Hugo would have to ride from there. Bertholomew fussed and served Hugo his meals, but else there was precious little to do but wonder what was about to befall him.

  Hugo slept, then waited, watched as they passed other merchant ships, then fishermen as they sailed close to shore. The white cliffs of England were a welcome sight as it had been years since he had seen them.

  The fighting in France had been brutal and longwinded, and it was all Hugo had known from the time he was just a man. What life there was after war, he wasn't readily sure, but he would welcome the change.

  London was crowded, miserable and squalid. Everything about the city stank and the muck and waste on the streets went up to his ankles. After finding lodgings at an inn for the night, they set off at dawn, taking the road west, first through narrow streets where the buildings loomed over them and then leaving the horrid streets of London behind. The air grew fresh and Hugo rejoiced at having finally returned.

  They rode at speed, changing horses along the way, to reach the outskirts of Windsor around dusk. It was dark by the time they made it there and sought out an inn just outside the walls. Bertolomew stayed in the stable with the horses while Hugo sought out a bed in the loft, drawing the curtain partitioning his cot for privacy. He listened to the raucous merriment downstairs and again wondered why he would see the king the next day.