Knight of Betrayal

by Karen Perkins

  Percy came on, drew his sword high, then slashed at the animal’s throat, immediately backing up his courser to avoid the fountain of blood.

  In silence, the hart fell to its fore-knees, his frightened eyes already dulling, then collapsed to the ground to the cheers of the gathered noblemen.

  Morville was the first to congratulate Percy on the kill. ‘It will make a fine course tonight, Hugh,’ Percy said. ‘I hope your cook can do it justice.’

  Morville swallowed at the insult – etiquette dictated that the man who made the kill should host the resultant feast; they should be dining at Spofford Castle tonight not Cnaresburg – but he refused to let any sign of it show on his face or in his voice. ‘Adam shall make a fine job of it, My Lord. Will you be gracing us with your company?’

  Percy nodded. ‘I shall.’ He wheeled his courser around and cantered in the direction of Spofford Castle, leaving Morville to preside over the unmaking.

  Screven stepped forward, unsheathing his knife, and began the job of dissecting the beast, starting with its guts before skinning it.

  Once the hart had been unmade and the haunches of bloody meat and the proud head piled on to the small cart that had followed the nobles, Screven began the curée to reward the hounds.

  He soaked stale bread in the blood of the hart, then mixed it with the intestines and pushed the resultant porridge into the gaping hole of the hide.

  The dogs ran in excited circles, but their base instincts had long ago been beaten out of them and they held back until the sound of Screven’s horn gave them permission to eat.

  Morville watched the mêlée with interest – the deer carcass under the roiling mass of hungry dogs having a strange fascination – before he pulled the head of his courser around and led the way back to Cnaresburg Castle. He caught and rode past Helwise with no acknowledgement, and she fell in beside her brother, William de Stoteville.

  Stoteville reached over and placed a hand on his sister’s arm. He held no regard for Morville as a man, yet had a great deal of respect for his titles, in particular the barony of Burgh-on-the-Sands.

  ‘Do not fret, Helwise. He will not be here long. There have been no repercussions to his deed and he will surely re-join King Henry in Normandy before too much time passes.’

  Helwise smiled at him. ‘It cannot come soon enough, Brother.’

  He gave her arm another squeeze, then withdrew it. They both knew well the realities of marriage. Helwise would have to bear her husband’s presence – whatever his demands – for as long as he chose to remain in Cnaresburg. Then she would be free to enjoy her position as Lady of the Castle until Morville deigned to return once more.

  ‘William, what’s happening?’ Helwise asked, sitting straighter in her saddle and looking about her at the near empty High Street. ‘Where is everyone? It’s market day.’

  William said nothing, but nodded his head towards the marketplace ahead. The townsfolk stood in silence, watching Morville and the others parade towards the imposing towers of the northern gate to Cnaresburg Castle.

  One or two people smiled at the Stotevilles as they rode past, but there was none of the usual welcome. Whilst Morville was accepted as overlord, the Stotevilles were loved here, having lived amongst and advocated for these people for generations. Helwise was used to greetings, cheers and even the occasional posy of riverside flowers when she was about Cnaresburg. She looked to William in consternation.

  ‘It appears that the news has reached Cnaresburg,’ he said, his face grim as rotten fruit was thrown at the mounted noblemen ahead. Morville pulled his horse up and shouted at the assembled crowd.

  ‘Murderer!’ a young boy shouted. ‘You murdered the Archbishop! May you rot in Hell!’

  Morville jumped off his courser and forced his way into the crowd, reappearing with his fingers clasped around the ear of a young boy.

  ‘Robert Flower!’ Helwise gasped. ‘Oh no.’ Robert was a strange young boy – wiser than his years – whose outspoken ways often got him into trouble, yet Helwise – and most of the town it had to be said – had a soft spot for the young tearaway. Whatever trouble he got into or caused, there had always been good reason – at least in the boy’s mind – whether it was stealing bread to give to a starving family or stealing cloth from Tentergate to present to his mother for a new gown. The people of Cnaresburg held him in a kind of exasperated regard.

  Morville struck the lad, hard, and he fell to the dirty cobbles. As Morville made to kick him, the townsfolk rushed forward as one; the crowd becoming a mob.

  FitzUrse grabbed his friend, pushed him to his horse and the four galloped to the castle, ignoring the pedestrians who fled from their path.

  ‘Come on, Helwise,’ William urged, spurring his own courser into a gallop.

  Helwise screamed as a stone glanced off her skull, and William wheeled around, putting himself between his sister and the people gathered about the prone body of Robert Flower.

  Screven placed himself on his mistress’s other side as they galloped to safety.

  Helwise took a last look around before the portcullis clanged down and the drawbridge over the ditch rose, relieved to see a dazed Robert Flower sit up just before he was lost to sight.

  William reached up to help his sister dismount. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Helwise shook her head, then grimaced at the pain. She put her hands to her skull, then looked at her reddened fingers.

  ‘Come, I’ll help you to your bedchamber,’ William said. ‘Where is your husband?’ he added, his face colouring with fury. ‘He has not even paused to see if you are safe.’

  ‘What do you expect?’ Helwise asked. ‘He has concerns only for himself.’

  After a short silence, William said, ‘I am sorry, Sister, you must prepare yourself. If Cnaresburg has reacted with this fury, the rest of Christendom must feel the same. I fear your husband will be present here for some time.’

  Helwise said nothing.

  ‘I shall stay here with you as much as I am able,’ William added. ‘I will not leave you alone with these men.’

  Helwise nodded, then grimaced again. ‘My thanks, Brother, your company will be most welcome.’

  William glanced at the door to the hall at the bottom of the keep, then helped his sister up the narrow stone stairs to the bedchambers. The sound of the night’s anger carried clearly up the steep round stairwell and his heart sank. Difficult times lay ahead.

  Chapter 18

  At first glance around the great hall, nothing seemed amiss. Fires blazed in the three large fireplaces. The candles of the chandeliers and candelabra flickered with flame, adding to the uplifting spirit of celebration.

  Morville and Helwise sat at the centre of the lord’s table with the knights and lords, from Sir Reginald FitzUrse to Nigel de Plumton, arranged to either side in order of status – other than William de Stoteville, who had ensured that he sat beside his sister in defiance of the higher titles of FitzUrse and Tracy. Lesser nobles, such as Pulleine of Fewston and Bilton from Hampsthwaite, sat at the centre of the low tables along with Thomas de Screven and other important local men, the richest merchants, and the parish priest. The rest of the available seats were occupied by the various vassals and men-at-arms of the gathered nobles.

  Music was provided by a flautist, and tuneless but well-wetted voices grew louder and merrier with each jug of wine or ale.

  Morville glanced around the gathered throng once more. There was no sign of William de Percy or any of his men. Morville grimaced in annoyance. Not only had Percy insulted him earlier by taking the mort, then issuing no invitation to feast at Spofford Manor – whilst Percy insisted on calling it a castle it was in reality no more than a large manor house, but Percy – one of King Henry’s favourites – had not deigned to join the knights for the feast of venison; an unforgiveable insult.

  Meat was a rarity – banned by the Church on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays – and with Lent imminent a feast such as this night’s was something to savou
r. Yet it was all ruined. Not only by the events of the afternoon and Percy’s absence, but each course was slow in being brought to the table, and the larks, one of which he had just demolished, had been cold long before they had been placed before him and his guests. He threw the small bones on to the table in disgust and shouted for his steward, Jack.

  Helwise stared at the half-eaten bird – one of the many caught by herself and the merlin – a feat of which she was proud with such a young bird accompanying a full hunt for the first time. A pity about the incident with her husband . . . She glanced at him as she remembered his near panic when he’d felt those talons at his head. True, the bird could have had his eye out, but it was the highlight of Helwise’s day.

  Morville caught her glance and smile, and scowled. She looked away and fell into conversation with her brother, sitting to her left.

  ‘Is there any news of young Robert?’

  He shrugged. ‘The boy is fine, although a little dazed still. And recounting his narrow escape from Becket’s murderers with some zeal.’

  ‘Enough!’ Morville roared, slamming his fist on the table. ‘Do not mention that boy’s name in this castle! And never, ever, refer to myself or my fellow lords as murderers, or you shall drive me to commit that very crime. Do you understand me?’

  Stoteville lowered his head in acquiescence while a terrified Helwise grabbed his hand under the table.

  Morville stared at his brother-in-law a moment longer then took hold of his wife’s chin, tilting her head and pushing her hair and fillet away from her forehead to expose the now ugly bruise and gash on her pale skin. ‘That is what those rogues did – to their lady! The lady who cares for their troubles, feeds the poorest and most wretched, and advocates for their needs. This is what they did!’ He thrust Helwise’s face away, ignoring her cry of pain and the tears that had escaped her lashes.

  ‘You are hurting her, My Lord,’ William de Stoteville said, his tone low and calm.

  Morville stared at him a moment and let go of his wife’s face. ‘Steward!’ he roared. ‘Where in Christ’s name is the venison?’

  Jack leaned forward to speak in his lord’s ear. ‘Begging your pardon, My Lord. Many of the cooks and servers were at the market today. Not many have returned to the castle.’

  Morville stared at him. ‘Ensure that they are replaced forthwith,’ he eventually said. ‘And bring out that bloody venison.’

  ‘Yes, My Lord,’ the servant said, bowing and taking the half-full platters of leftover pork and skylark down to the lower tables to be gnawed over.

  The venison arrived half a dozen goblets of wine later. Morville was morose, FitzUrse and Tracy loud and belligerent – mainly with each other, to the relief of everyone else present – whilst Brett gazed around him with unfocused eyes and a vague smile.

  Nobody spoke to Morville, FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett except Morville, FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett, and the only ones who noticed were Helwise and William de Stoteville. Stoteville caught the eye of his vassal, Nigel de Plumton, Lord of the Manor of Plumton, who looked worried. Stoteville would have given anything to hear the opinions and words of his peers, but was reluctant to leave his sister’s side when her husband was in such foul spirits.

  She leaned into him, knowing her brother well enough to guess where his mind had turned. ‘Go and join them,’ she whispered. ‘With my husband so hated, we must strain to retain good relations with our friends.’

  William nodded and moved to stand but was stilled by Morville’s roar.

  ‘Hated? How dare you speak of your husband as such?’

  The chatter and music silenced and the entire room of near two hundred souls stared at their lord and lady. Helwise wisely said nothing, knowing any attempt at appeasement would result in more ire.

  ‘Am I not your friend, wife?’ Morville asked.

  Helwise nodded.

  ‘Then do not betray me.’ The words were uttered calmly, so calmly that Helwise only understood them when her husband’s fist connected with her cheekbone and she fell, screaming from both the pain at the blow, plus fear at the crack she heard on its impact.

  William stayed silent, but pulled his dagger as he climbed on to the bench and threw his entire weight at his brother-in-law.

  Helwise crawled to safety as the other knights jumped to their feet. FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett attempted to heave Stoteville away from Morville, and the local nobles tried to heave FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett away from Stoteville.

  Soon the entire hall was at odds with each knight’s men fighting their master’s rival’s men. Staring at the carnage, Helwise was reminded of hunting hounds fighting over a kill. She alone witnessed William de Percy, favourite of King Henry, enter the hall, stare around him in contempt, then abruptly turn, his scarlet cloak swirling, to leave the troublesome knights to their brawl.

  Chapter 19

  11th July 2015

  ‘Dan, no, I have a headache.’ Sarah wasn’t quite sure if she’d spoken the words aloud, she was still more in sleep than out of it, and Dan didn’t stop. He rolled her unresponsive body on to her back and her entire focus was on keeping her legs together.

  He persisted. There was no sensuous touching, no loving caresses, just fingers between her legs, trying to force them apart and gain access.

  Sarah forced herself awake to again grunt, ‘No,’ then rolled back on to her front. She despaired when she felt those same fingers still seeking the depths of her body. She held her legs together, determined not to be used like this.

  She tumbled back into dreams, thinking she was safe, then jerked awake as she was intimately touched.

  ‘No, Dan, stop, let me sleep,’ she mumbled, curling up into a ball.

  ‘Oh come on, Sarah, it’s been ages,’ Dan said and smacked her backside.

  Sarah started awake – properly now – sat up, and pulled both covers and legs up.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you, Sarah? I thought we were doing better lately.’

  ‘I’m not against a little morning glory, Dan, but I was asleep and woke to you mauling me. I feel like a piece of meat.’

  ‘Is it so wrong for a husband to desire his wife?’

  ‘Of course not, if the husband takes the time to turn his wife on, so that she wants it too, rather than just taking what he fancies.’

  ‘You make it sound like rape!’

  ‘Well, to be honest, waking up like that kind of feels like rape.’

  ‘But you’re my wife!’

  ‘Yes, and I love making love with you. But not when I’m asleep!’

  ‘You bitch. You are shagging Mike, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Sarah rested her head in her hands. ‘For the last time, I am not having an affair with Mike. I wouldn’t do that to you.’

  ‘How can I believe that? You don’t even want to have sex with me any more.’

  ‘Of course I do, I’d just like to be an active participant, that’s all!’

  ‘There you go again with the rape accusation.’

  ‘I didn’t say that, you did.’

  ‘But how can a man trying to have sex with his wife be rape?’

  ‘Are you kidding me? What, are you living in the Middle Ages now? You do not have an automatic right to my body. It’s my body. And if I want to say no, then you respect that.’

  ‘You are sleeping with Mike, aren’t you?’

  Sarah stared dumbfounded at her husband. How many times could she deny an accusation without foundation? ‘No, Dan, I’m not,’ she said, weary.

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘No one. And unless you can trust me, not you.’

  ‘Fucking bitch!’ He bent over her as she lay whimpering in their bed. ‘Going off sex is the first sign of cheating,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘I know you’re being untrue. I know it.’

  He jerked back and stormed naked out of the room, fists clenched. Sarah stared after him, knowing she’d had enough and wondering how she could separate their lives in a divorce. And where the hell could she
go?

  *

  ‘Hi Helen,’ Sarah said as Helen stood to embrace her friend.

  ‘How are you?’ Helen asked. ‘I’ve been worried about you.’

  The women both sat and Sarah shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s got into Dan lately. He was jealous after that love scene with Mike in the last play, but nothing like this, it’s exploding out of him now.’

  ‘Exploding? What do you mean? Has he hit you?’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ Sarah shook her head, then paused. ‘Not yet. No more than the slap he gave me in the pub the other week, anyway.’

  ‘Not yet?’

  ‘No. No, sorry, I’m being silly. I didn’t sleep well. There is no yet. Dan isn’t like that.’

  ‘He did a damned good impression in the Bailiff,’ Helen pointed out.

  Sarah stayed silent for a moment, then said, ‘I’m going to the bar, what would you like?’

  ‘No, I’ll get them, you need a bit of TLC.’ Helen reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand, aware that Sarah’s eyes were glistening.

  ‘Large dry white wine, please. Thanks Helen.’

  ‘Anytime.’ Helen stood then sat back down. ‘You know if it gets too much and you need some space, you’re very welcome to stay with me.’

  ‘Thanks, but things aren’t that bad. He’s my husband and he’s clearly going through something. You know what men are like, he’ll tell me what’s going on eventually.’

  ‘Yes, when it’s all sorted.’ Helen laughed, then went to the bar.

  ‘I got a bottle,’ Helen said, and stepped aside for the barman to put it and two glasses on the table. There were some advantages at least to having a broken wrist. ‘I have a feeling this is going to be a long lunch.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘You know me so well.’ She picked up the bottle and poured two large glasses, while Helen sat down.

  ‘He does like you, you know.’

  ‘Who, Dan?’

  ‘No, Sarah. Mike.’