The Woodville Connection

by K. E. Martin

  With naught to do but wait and shiver, I allowed my thoughts to stray to the complexities of familial ties since it struck me that family was the common thread binding the lives of those that dwelt at Plaincourt. An orphan almost from birth, I knew nothing of normal family relationships. I had heard of the bond said to exist between siblings but could conceive of no stronger bond than the one that existed between Dickon and I, though it was formed of love, trust and fidelity rather than blood.

  At Plaincourt, blood ties seemed to count for nothing. While I could not know if there had been true affection between Stephen and his brother William the fact that Stephen had plotted to bring about the death of William’s only child made it seem unlikely. Perhaps it was naïve of me but I imagined that a man who had loved his brother would feel at least a diluted measure of that love for that brother’s offspring.

  Thoughts of siblings brought me to Matthew and Cuckoo, half-brother and sister by dint of their bastard Plaincourt blood. They lived and worked side by side yet I observed no particular closeness between them. Matthew was mildly protective towards her, I could tell, but no more than had she been any other village girl.

  Perhaps this was because Cuckoo was not an especially loveable person. Yet why should this be? She was unfairly despised by her adoptive father but at least she had a mother who cared for her whereas Matthew had no one. Raised on charity, he had known no mother’s love, nor any other kind come to that, yet he had grown into a fine young man, cheerful, compassionate and unexpectedly agile of mind. So far as I could discern, Cuckoo was possessed of none of those admirable qualities.

  I was unclear as to where these musings were taking me but I pursued them all the same, thinking again of Matthew and Cuckoo’s fine half-brother, their master Stephen Plaincourt. Though their relationship with him would never be recognised, it existed nonetheless. Could I see aught of Matthew in Stephen’s character? No, try as I might I could not envisage the good-natured cook’s boy plotting to end his nephew’s life. I knew Plaincourt had felt no compunction when it came to disposing of Geoffrey. Did that tell me that blood ties meant nothing to him, or simply that money and status meant more?

  Status brought me to Blanche who craved it so badly she had committed murder in pursuit of it. Had her father not died, had her mother not consigned her to the care of strangers, had some suitable knight been prepared to overlook her lack of dowry, might she then have become a different person? I wanted so much to believe the answer to those questions was yes but if so, it suggested that our natures were decided by the circumstances of our upbringing. Yet surely Matthew’s goodness in the face of a miserable childhood suggested otherwise.

  Thus my thoughts ran on, spinning round and round in my head but reaching no resolution until my temples ached most abominably. It was with no little relief then, that just after darkness had fallen my ears detected the lightest of footsteps stepping through the undergrowth and I knew they could belong to none other than Blanche.

  I was fully glad to see her, not only because my long period of inactivity had tested my patience to the limit but also because, as I was only now able to acknowledge to myself, I had not been entirely certain that she would come. During her confession I had recognised the sincerity of her desperation, her fear that Plaincourt meant to be rid of her just as soon as he was able, and I believed she understood that in leaving with me she had her best chance of survival. Yet during the long hours between dinner and our rendezvous she might have had time to reflect that the possible danger she faced by remaining at Plaincourt was outweighed by the reward if her fears proved groundless. Fortunately for my mission, this gamble had not occurred to her or if it had, she had decided not to take the risk.

  When she stepped into the clearing behind Lynet’s cottage I gave an involuntary gasp at the fairy-like figure she cut. Tiny, swathed in a dark hooded cloak and holding a small bundle in one hand and a lantern in the other, she put me in mind of a forest sprite from the stories Fat Nell used to tell when Dickon and I were small. I would hang on her knee, enraptured as she spoke of the Wee Folk who crept through the woodlands at dead of night, working mischief against humans wherever they could. I could never get enough of these stories and always begged for more but she paid me no heed until Dickon, who I knew was far less enamoured with the tales than I, would add his voice to the clamour and then she would comply.

  Covering my surprise with a cough, I took her bundle without a word and secured it to the rouncey’s saddle. She grabbed at my wrist then, compelling me to look at her face.

  “I was followed,” she hissed, her eyes flicking nervously around the clearing.

  Before I could answer, heavy breathing and breaking bracken confirmed her words.

  “Here thee be, master,” Matthew announced cheerfully as he broke into the overrun garden. “Mistress,” he added, nodding politely at Blanche who was still hanging on to my arm.

  “What is he doing here?” she snapped at me. “The boy’s an imbecile.”

  By the light of Matthew’s lantern I could see that he was untouched by Blanche’s harsh words but all the same I was not prepared to let them pass.

  “He’s far from that,” I said shortly, gratefully retrieving my precious lute and other belongings from the youth.

  When I had stowed them carefully I lifted Blanche onto the saddle and then turned to Matthew, instructing him to return to the manor with all speed.

  “And remember my promise,” I added as he made to go, “I will see you are rewarded, you have my word as to that.”

  At once, and to my horror, I heard the sound of many booted feet crashing through the vegetation. At the same time the darkness was sundered by spikes of bright, flickering light that bobbed eerily up and down as they moved inexorably towards Lynet’s cottage.

  As I stared, transfixed by the light, Matthew shoved me abruptly.

  “Best get gone, master,” he urged. “Thee’s got company an’ it looks like company thee doosnt want.”

  I saw that he was right. A rabble of men, numbering more than a dozen by the look of them, were heading towards us, coming from the wasteland that lay behind the ruined cottage. Without further delay I leapt onto the rouncey’s back and with a curt command to Blanche to hold tight, kicked the animal into action.

  We made it as far as the main track and then found our progress impeded by John and Walt Tench, the extravagantly bearded brutes who had delivered my beating. It was my intention to ride them down but the cursed rouncey checked itself, startled by the unexpected obstruction created by the men. As we slowed one of them caught hold of a fragment of Blanche’s cloak and tugged on it, pulling her from the horse. She shrieked in pain as she toppled to the ground, leaving me little else to do but to jump down and defend her.

  Still I thought all was not quite lost. If I could overcome the bearded ruffians and get Blanche back on the horse before the mob at our back arrived, we might yet make our escape. Easing my rondel dagger from its place of concealment in my boot, I planted myself in front of Blanche’s supine figure and waited for the Tench boys to advance. Instead, to my chagrin, one caught hold of the horse while the other lunged at Matthew who had just made it from the clearing and put him in an armlock, holding a knife a hair’s breadth from his throat. Reluctantly, I slid the dagger back into its hiding place, grateful at least that the ruffians had not appeared to notice it.

  “Thee’s going nowhere, pretty boy,” the bigger of the two said mockingly to me. “Not wi’out a few words from a friend of thine.”

  Laughing insolently, they gestured for me to lead the way back to the clearing behind Lynet’s house. A piteous yelp from Blanche told me that she was being manhandled behind me while a mild reproach from Matthew to his captor reassured me that he was also being brought along. Then all thoughts vanished as I cleared the narrow path and discovered the rabble awaiting us in the wreckage of Lynet’s garden.

  “Well now, Master Cranley,” I heard a familiar voice say, “didst thee think to le
ave wi’out saying a farewell?”

  With the eerie lights resolved into a blazing pool of torchlight, I saw Jem Flood standing at the head of a cluster of Plaincourt servants and villagers. Several of them I recognised, among them grooms, messengers and, I noted, even the kennelman whose fortuitous arrival yesterday had put a stop to the thrashing I’d been taking. He saw me looking at him and answered my enquiring gaze with a slight, apologetic shrug.

  Then I was seized by rough hands and a knee in the back propelled me face down onto the ground. The bearded Tench brothers were back in action, eager to be laying about me once again. At least it means they have let go of Matthew, I thought, and the rouncey also. That information might prove useful if I could somehow contrive to overpower the assembled company, assist the injured woman onto the horse and arrange for the kitchen boy to go unmolested back to the manor. Snorting sardonically at the sheer impossibility of the situation, I braced myself for further blows.

  When they failed to materialise I squinted up at Flood and saw that he had raised a hand to halt the onslaught.

  “Thee mussen mind Walt and John,” he declared. “When they didst give thee a belting afore it were at master’s order. He favours them for they be big strong lads what he can be sure dost allus do his bidding, no matter what. Yet for all that, they be true Plaincourt men and true Plaincourt men dost stick together, unlike that sneaking Matthew I see here.”

  As he named his kitchen boy he threw the lad a disapproving glare which would have quelled a lesser youth but Matthew, I noticed with approval, appeared unabashed.

  “As for now,” Flood continued, “there beant no reason for them to lay hands on thee. We dost have no quarrel with thee, Master Cranley. Thee’s free to get on thy hoss and ride away. ‘Tis the trollop we’ve come for.”

  Blanche cursed loudly and endeavoured to scramble to her feet but found she could not, for some bone had cracked when she had been pulled from the horse. No sooner did she make to stand than her legs crumpled and she collapsed back onto the grass, panting with pain and exertion.

  “Thass right, witch,” Flood spat at her, “stay in’t dirt where thee dost belong.”

  The villagers murmured their approval and Blanche shrank into herself, too terrified to speak. With Walt and John no longer restraining me, I seized the opportunity to regain my feet.

  “This is madness,” I said angrily, striding towards Flood. “This woman is many things but she’s no witch, I promise you. Now let me be about my business. I am taking her to the Duke of Gloucester to answer for her part in the murder of Geoffrey Plaincourt. If you attempt to prevent me you shall answer to him, also.”

  As I invoked the Duke’s name, the kennelman and one or two others looked anxious but Flood’s hide was too thick to let him be easily cowed and he carried the majority with him.

  “Thee’ll not be taking the witch anywhere, minstrel, for the lads an’ me dost mean to punish her,” he answered. “So thee best not think thee can turn us from our purpose with thy fancy words.

  “Ever since she didst come to Plaincourt, full of how she were raised by th’old hag Jacquetta, we’ve known her for a witch. The evil bitch that stood trial for witchcraft, thass who reared our fine Mistress Blanche! Then up she dost come to Plaincourt wi’ her chests of filthy potions and her black heart intent on slaying Master Geoffrey.

  “We didst suspect what she were about soon as she didst arrive but we’re nowt if not fair. Proof was what we didst need. Well now we have it. We know she didst slay poor Master Geoffrey wi’ her black arts.”

  Mention of black arts brought terrified murmurings from the crowd and a flurry of movement as several individuals made the sign of the cross. Again I had cause to realise that though they had been too cowardly or inert to attempt to help him themselves, in their own way the villagers had cared for Geoffrey and had been concerned for his welfare. I understood their anger yet I could not allow them to thwart my scheme to take Blanche back to Middleham, and not just because Dickon would need her if he was to bring Rivers to justice. Though Blanche was a confessed murderess my feelings for her were prodigiously confused and I found myself more than half-inclined to accept her protestation that she had only killed the boy to give him a merciful release.

  “Listen to me,” I said hurriedly, hoping to reason with Flood who seemed to be the villagers’ leader. “Listen, I understand why you think her a witch but you are wrong.”

  “It’s thee that’s wrong,” Flood interjected, “and thee dost know it. The girl Cuckoo didst overhear the witch telling you all. ‘Tis how we didst know to seek you here. Cuckoo didst hear the witch say as how she put a devil’s potion into Geoffrey’s ale to kill him.”

  So Cuckoo had been lurking in shadows again, eavesdropping as Blanche unburdened her soul to me. Yet I was certain that I had been thorough when I searched the passageway after the pigeon had disturbed us.

  “The store room, the one adjoining my still room,” Blanche moaned through clenched teeth. “The wretched little spy hid there. The walls are thick but there’s a small iron grille connecting the rooms. Our words would have passed clearly through it. How could I have been so heedless? I knew well enough that the grille was there but believed it was safe to speak freely for the simpletons are so afeared of my physics, I thought none would ever dare venture so close.”

  Aye, afeared, I thought, but jealousy and fury can lend courage to the meekest individual. With no little dismay I was beginning to comprehend that by spurning Cuckoo’s advances I had turned her into a dangerous adversary.

  “You should not believe all that ignorant chit tells you,” I flung at the cook. “Poppy juice is no devil’s potion, it is a known physic which has been used by learned men in the East for centuries past.”

  Flood smirked triumphantly at these words.

  “Well that dost prove it then,” he stated, “for nowt Christian ever came out o’ those Eastern parts. Enough now, minstrel, the boys an’ me, we dost have work to do. Plaincourt folk are God-fearing, and knowst what must be done with witches. They must be purged from the earth with fire.”

  “Jesu save me!” Blanche shrieked, scrabbling desperately to raise herself off the ground.

  Swiftly and viciously, before I could intervene, Flood swung his booted foot into her face and she crumpled like a broken flower. Still enraged, he crouched beside her and yanked fiercely on her hair which had tumbled free from her headdress.

  “Mention the Lord’s name agin, thee sinful doxy, and I’ll remove thy blasphemous tongue and feed it right back to thee!” he bellowed at her.

  Lest he should strike again I hastily moved myself in front of Blanche’s inert form and searched my mind for ways to save her. Casting about me, I noticed the shadows from the torches leaping against the crumbling back wall of Lynet’s hovel.

  “Lynet!” I shouted in relief. “Lynet was accused of witchcraft but her life was spared. If her, why not Blanche? She will be punished for her crime, I give you my word on that, but it must be done properly, according to the law.”

  I noticed that more of the villagers were beginning to look uneasy but a few, including Flood and the Tench brothers, remained resolute.

  “Lynet were one of us,” Flood intoned, echoing the words Matthew had said to me just a few days before. “She were one of us and she were mad with grief. More’n that, no one didst blame her for wishing to harm Sir Thomas. Even so, we didst thrash her for her wicked intention and send her away, for Plaincourt folk wilst have no truck with witchery.”

  I tried to speak again but the obstinate man interrupted me.

  “Thee mawt as well save thy breath,” he remarked casually. “We dost know full well not to harken to owt thee dost say, for Cuckoo’s told us of the love spell the witch didst put on thee. From thy own lips, she heardst tell that thee’s so consumed with passion for her thee cain’t lie with no other.”

  At first I could not comprehend the man’s meaning and then enlightenment reached me. When I had refused Cu
ckoo’s advances I had softened the rejection by telling her that I was in love with another to whom I had sworn to be faithful. In her feverish jealousy, the foolish girl had taken Blanche to be the object of my affections when the truth was that if I had been thinking of any woman at the time, it had been my lovely, sweet-natured Margaret.

  “Why do you suddenly attend so closely to that miserable child’s whispered half-truths?” I roared at Flood. “How is it that yesterday you could barely bring yourself to look at her yet today her every twisted word is holy gospel to you? She has gulled you for her own devices, you fool! Use your sense, man, and stop this madness at once!”

  My efforts were to no avail. Pushing past me, Flood took hold of Blanche’s arms and began yanking her into the cottage. She had been lying mercifully senseless for sometime but was awakened now as her body was jarred and jolted across the uneven ground.

  “Help me, Francis, I beg you!” she called to me, her voice distorted by the cruel kick Flood had delivered to her face.

  I sprang after Flood and was heartened that the crowd separated to allow me through, yet as I was nearly upon him I was grabbed from behind by Walt and John. Maddened by anger, I threw them both off but they recovered swiftly and came back at me. Drawing my dagger, I lunged at the one called Walt and he immediately dodged to my right. Holding him at bay, I span round and saw John sidling up behind me. I made a feint at Walt in an attempt to hold him off but the sight of his brother coming at me had renewed his courage. He ventured a low blow to my belly which I deflected with a deep bite from my dagger into his upper arm. As he recoiled from the wound I turned to deal with his brother.

  Alas, I was too late. Perhaps my thrashing the day before had convinced Matthew that I was no match for the Tench brothers, for he had weighed in to assist me. As I parried with Walt, he had leapt onto John’s back to prevent him from aiding his brother. They grappled thus for a few heartbeats and then the vicious dog spun about at such great speed that Matthew was startled into loosening his grip. His arms came free and he fell backwards, his head thudding onto the ground. Not yet content with his work, Tench lurched abruptly towards the cottage, his meaty arms clenching Matthew’s long legs tight about his middle. The kitchen boy’s head and shoulders were dragged along the ground but as the brute reached the hovel he gave a might heave which lifted them clear of the ground and then he smashed them with ferocious force into the wall. There was a sickening sound as the lad made contact with the cottage and then he was still, his head lolling at an unnatural angle.