Knight of Betrayal: A Medieval Haunting (Ghosts of Knaresborough Book 1)

by Karen Perkins

  ‘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, b
ut 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.

  ‘It appears Strongbow was sent to represent King Henry’s interests,’ Mauclerk said. ‘But then allied himself with King Dermot, insisting, or forcing, that he be made his heir. Dermot died, and sure enough, Strongbow was named. The high king, Rory O’Connor, did not accept that, but Strongbow routed him on the battlefield.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ FitzUrse demanded, his distaste of Morville’s clerk clear.

  ‘I ask questions, My Lord. And I listen to the answers,’ Mauclerk replied, staring at FitzUrse.

  ‘Continue, Mauclerk,’ Morville said, disinterested in FitzUrse’s dislike of his most loyal man.

  ‘King Henry ordered Strongbow home to England, but he did not obey, so the King placed an embargo on supplies to Ireland – including men.’

  ‘What did Strongbow do?’ Brett asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Mauclerk said.

  ‘And Henry will not have a baron call himself king, of any land,’ Morville said. Mauclerk gave a small nod. ‘And so he mobilises his knights into an army and we take Ireland.’

  Mauclerk nodded again.

  ‘Some army,’ FitzUrse said, watching Percy and Courcy, ‘when two of Henry’s most trusted lords avoid all unnecessary time in our company.’

  The four men stared at the two nobles, chilled by the fact – hitherto unremarked – that they had made a place for themselves as far away as possible in the confines of the deck of The Spirit of Aquitaine.

  *

  ‘Ugh, the wind’s getting up,’ Brett said, hauling himself to his feet then being violently sick over the rail. Thank goodness he’d chosen the right board, the wind blew at his back and the contents of his stomach were swept away from the ship, deck and gathered knights.

  ‘Umm,’ Morville said, the tang exacerbating his own distress as his stomach disagreed with the more urgent lurch and wallow of the ship’s motion.

  ‘Oh calm yourselves, it is a gentle breeze, is all,’ FitzUrse scoffed.

  Morville jumped to his feet and joined Brett over the rail to empty his stomach. He sat back down and could not resist a glance at Percy and Courcy. They appeared to have found a subject of much merriment; Morville feared he knew the cause.

  The wind continued to increase as The Spirit of Aquitaine fought her way west. As she did so the waves deepened and the warship may well have been a cork navigating rapids. Within minutes, knights and men-at-arms alike were spewing. The horses, gathered and tethered amidships, squealed their terror, their hooves threatening to stave in the boards of the stinking deck.

  One – Hugh de Morville’s finest destrier – reared, snapping the rope securing him, and the men closest to those flailing hooves screamed in alarm, having no weapons to hand and no room to run.

  The stallion’s distress increased the fear in the rest of the herd, and soon the waist of the ship was a mass of panicking men, horseflesh and blood, as the frightened animals kicked out.

  Morville, FitzUrse and Brett stared in astonishment, with no idea how to calm the beasts in such confined quarters.

  ‘Clear the way,’ a voice roared, and men-at-arms and sailors parted to let Sir William de Percy through.

  He stepped forward, drew the edge of his sword against the throat of one destrier, then plunged the tip into the chest of another.

  He kept going, and in seconds, every horse lay dead or dying on the deck.

  ‘Heave them overboard,’ Percy said. ‘Our king needs us. Not horse nor man would delay us.’

  Chapter 44

  ‘The Emerald Isle,’ FitzUrse said as they waited to disembark. ‘Ha, the greenest things in sight are the pair of you!’

  Morville and Brett ignored him and looked forward to setting foot on terra firma once again; whatever their reception by Henry may be.

  Staring ashore, the town of Waterford was visible in the distance, but before that all traces of green had been commandeered by Henry’s camp.

  Hundreds of gaily coloured tents stretched for near a league in each direction, knights and men-at-arms milling between them; the one almost indistinguishable from the other in the basic living conditions. Each lord’s entourage was marked by colour. Blue and yellow for Leicester, red and white for de Lacy, blue and white for Tyrell; every combination of colour was represented.

  The sea of canvas was broken up by a mesmerising array of siege engines: mighty trebuchets towered over smaller catapults and ballistas, each of them capable of hurling enough rock and iron to batter down any curtain wall, not to mention more creative payloads such as beehives or hornets’ nests; the bloody carcasses of soldiers felled in battle; or the worst of the lot, Greek fire. A substance brought from Hell, it would stick to any unfortunate until it burned out; not water nor sand would dowse it, the only chance a man had was for his friends to piss on him as copiously as possible. Of course, it would only help if they had also pissed on him, at least twice, before he’d been hit by the sticky flames. Morville shuddered. He had seen its effects more than once. The very sight of a siege engine had given him chills ever since.

  The highest point of the camp was taken by the most magnificent marquee. Adorned in the red and gold of Plantagenet, it was a palace of canvas. King Henry’s quarters, along with his household.

  The three knights stole a brief glance at each other, the only betrayal of their anxieties, then followed Courcy and Percy down the gangplank and set foot on Irish soil.

  The party of five, followed by a gaggle of men-at-arms and retinues, marched through the narrow alleyways formed by rows of tents towards Henry’s abode.

  Morville, FitzUrse and Brett kept their heads high and their feet moving, refusing to react to the stares of every man they passed.

  ‘Assassins!’ someone hissed. ‘The traitorous assassins.’

  Morville caught hold of FitzUrse’s arm and heaved him forward. ‘It is King Henry’s opinion that is important, once we know how he holds us, then all else will too. Brawling on our first audience with him in four months would not endear us to him.’

  FitzUrse controlled himself with clear difficulty, his face flushed and fists clenched white, then gave a curt nod and continued to move forward. He faltered for one pace on seeing Courcy smirk, then continued onward, staring at the Lord of Harewood until he turned his back and marched forward.

  Morville and Brett glanced at each other in consternation. Morville had used the word audience, but in truth it felt more like they were about to attend their own trial and execution.

  *

  At long last,
they reached the brow of the hill and were admitted to King Henry’s presence. All five knights dropped to one knee and bowed their heads in deference to their king.

  ‘Ah, I have been wondering when you would arrive, I bid you welcome,’ Henry said. Dressed in his habitual hunting clothes of hose and short tunic he strode over to the group of kneeling knights. The knights rose, the relief of Morville, FitzUrse and Brett almost palpable.

  Henry grasped the hand of Courcy then Percy, wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and led them to the high table, laden with meats and delicacies. ‘How went the voyage? I hear the Irish Sea was rough today.’

  ‘We fared well, Sire,’ Courcy said.

  ‘Some better than others,’ Percy smirked.

  Morville glanced at FitzUrse and Brett to see a look of consternation on their faces, no doubt mirrored on his own. Their king had ignored them.

  ‘What think you of my siege engines? An impressive sight, no?’

  ‘Indeed, Sire,’ Courcy said. ‘Strongbow and O’Connor will be in no doubt of your intentions.’

  ‘Ha! Strongbow has already capitulated, he is due soon to pledge fealty. That upstart shall never call himself King of Ireland.’

  ‘Indeed not, Sire. He has shamed himself and his house by his actions here.’

  ‘Verily,’ Henry said. ‘Far too many do the same.’ He glanced at Morville and the others. ‘Now, be seated and feast while I deal with these three reprobates.’

  He turned back to the three knights, each of whom now dreaded his attention.

  ‘So, you saw fit to ignore my instructions. Only Tracy had the good sense to depart for Rome?’

  ‘We fully intend to join him, Sire,’ FitzUrse interjected.

  ‘Once you learn of his punishment and not before, I suspect?’

  ‘No, Sire. We had heard of the difficulties Strongbow has been causing you . . .’

  ‘Strongbow? Show some respect. He is Sir Richard de Clare, ensure you address him as such in future.’