“Aye well, God bless his soul and good riddance to bad rubbish.” The first old woman looks at me. “Are you looking for aught, mistress?”
“Oh, I, er, have travelled in to visit the church. I thank you.” I turn back to the soldier. “These Scots, are they… allowed any food at all from outside? Or are they starving as they deserve?”
The soldier glances round to see if anyone else can hear him. “Well mistress, there’s been a number of people tried to send…”
The second old woman interrupts him. “You’d never credit it, lady, but the vicar’s sister tried to take in food when she heard they were starving. Just fancy that, sending good food to Scots instead of to honest English folks like us as needs it.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Well, best get on. God grant your prayers in the church, mistress.”
“Aye. God bless.” They both nod to me and move away.
“And you, mistresses.” I watch them go, then move Universe a little closer to the soldiers. The cart jolts over the stones. The two men look at me curiously.
“Are the Scots allowed visitors at all?” I ask lightly. “Suppose a mother or sister of one of them arrived?”
The first soldier frowns. “I can’t rightly say, mistress. They’d likely be locked up as well.”
His companion steps towards me. “And what would your interest be, lady?”
I ignore him. The first soldier is clearly a better bet. I clank the bag of coins at my waist. “I don’t suppose they pay you very well, do they? Would you be interested in doing a few little jobs for me when you’re off duty?” I keep my voice cool. “It’s just a spot of casual work.”
The first soldier shakes his head, though he looks regretful. “Nay madam, it isn’t allowed. The captain would have me flogged.”
I sigh in irritation, then realise that the second soldier is leaning towards me.
“I’ll do it, lady.” He tries an experimental leer, then thinks better of it as I give him my coldest stare. “I’ve a wife back home and kiddies to feed. Captain doesn’t scare me.”
“Well…” The first soldier seems to be reconsidering.
“Nay, I’m doing it. You had your chance.” The second soldier frowns at him. “And I’ll kill you if you tell on me.”
The first soldier straightens up and stares away righteously into the distance.
“I can use you both.” I wonder if I am making a mistake here. The first soldier is clearly not as corruptible as I had hoped, though once corrupted he might prove more reliable than the second. I hold out a silver coin to each of them. “Here’s half a crown as a gesture of good faith. There will be ten gold sovereigns each if you prove satisfactory.”
Their eyes widen. Ten gold sovereigns is as much as they would normally earn in five years.
“Let’s arrange where we can meet when you’re off duty, and I’ll explain what I need doing.”
Chapter 14
I walk Universe round the side of the castle and stop at the stile to the church. It is peaceful here. The sun warms my back. I loop the reins round a fencepost and leave Universe to crop the grass. So Robert is under the Well Tower – close enough to hear me if it had not been for the walls and solid earth between us. I decide to approach it from the far side, by continuing on round the castle. The soldiers will not see me here. I have no wish for them to suspect my plan before the money is dangling temptingly before their eyes, to silence them.
I take a small piece of paper from my pocket and check the knife at my waist. I walk fast and silently. There is no one about.
The wall below the Well Tower is dark and sheer. I stand at its base, looking at the place where the stones enter the ground. Somewhere below here is Robert.
“Robert,” I say out loud. Around me is silence. There are no birds singing. Robert. I think his name with all the power of my will. I press my palms and forehead to the cold wall, and remember the look and feel of him. I remember his skin and eyes and hands. I remember the spirit of him, imprinted into the stones of Barrowbeck. He will be alive there when he is dead here.
I take out the fold of paper on which I have written the lines of an ancient blessing for those in extremity, copied from a faded inscription on the east wall of the lady chapel in our church at Wraithwaite. I use my knife to dig a crevice next to the wall, then ease the paper into it and press it in deep with the blunt side of the knife, down into the earth which holds Robert. I say the words in my head as they are written:
I tell thee thou forespoken toothe and tonge,
hearte and hearte raithe,
three thinges thee boote moste,
the father sonne and holighuoste.
I remain there for a while with my head against the stones, then stand up and walk back, along by the fence. Beyond it is the church’s small sanctuary house. If only Robert and his companions could have reached that. I have heard of them having twenty or more in there at a time, before now.
Universe is fidgeting, but I am unwilling to leave Robert yet, and I have an hour to wait before the soldiers come off duty. I climb the stile and walk past the front of the church, looking down towards the Roman ruins and the river. A fair town indeed, but not so fair from the end of a rope. As I climb back on to the cart I can see Gallows Hill a ghastly mile away across the valley. On it stand five gibbets, twigs on the skyline.
Back at the George I leave Universe to be fed and watered. The landlord greets me like a long-lost friend. It is now mid-afternoon.
“Have you a room, Master Postlethwaite?” I ask when he brings me a small goblet of ypocras.
“We do, mistress, and welcome. Drink’s on the house.”
“I thank you. I’d like to stay the night then.” I start coughing at the strength of the drink. He nods approvingly. “That’ll warm your cockles, mistress, and it’s a good cure for the melancholic humours too, if you should happen to suffer from them.”
I take off my coat and hat. “I wonder, would it be possible to borrow a cloak or shawl, Master Postlethwaite? I want to walk along by your beautiful river for a while, but I would prefer not to be conspicuous.”
The landlord nods. “Aye mistress. I daresay the wife’ll be glad to oblige.”
He leaves me briefly and returns with a knitted black shawl of impressive proportions. I thank him, wrap it round myself and walk out into the cooling afternoon. Once out of sight I draw the shawl up over my head and wind it about me more tightly.
Despite my attempt at invisibility, I realise that, as a stranger, I am being watched as I stride along Chiney Lane, past the Mare Maid where the smell of ale nearly floors me, and down Bridge Lane to the river. The water is sucking at the riverbanks with the turning of the tide.
The men are there already, by Weary Wall. I can feel my hands sweating as I hold on to my pocket of money.
“Good day again, good sirs.” I make an attempt at briskness. “The work I have for you requires secrecy. Can I trust you?”
The two men glance at one another. “Let’s see the money first, mistress,” says the second soldier.
I hesitate, then show them the money briefly before returning it quickly to the folds of my shawl. It seems little enough, suddenly, to ask men to risk their lives for. They nod. “Aye. Right,” says the first soldier.
“I need you to get a Scot out of the Lancaster Dungeon.” I look at them, and wait.
They draw back from me. Their eyes stay locked on mine for a moment, then the first soldier whispers something to the second, and is gone. I’m shocked at the expression of disgust which I saw on his face. The second soldier gives me what is clearly intended to be a reassuring smile. “He knows I’ll kill him if he tells,” he says. “Well now, anything can be done. Course, if I’m doing two men’s work, I’ll be wanting two men’s wages. Half of it now.” He holds out his hand, moving closer. He stinks of ale.
“You’ll get it when you’ve done the job.” I hold the money tightly against my stomach. “Tell me how you will do it.”
His ey
es narrow. “There are ways. At night. It means greasing a few palms. Buying a bit of blindness. Mebbe a heavy drinking session for all the lads afore they go on night duty. Can’t be done without money though, lady. When do you want him out?”
When do I want Robert out? Can it be this easy?
“Tonight?”
“Aye, tonight’s best. The captain and sergeant are both away tonight.” He holds out his hand again. A passer-by gives a whistle. I open my pocket.
“One gold sovereign now, the rest later.”
“Two.”
“One, take it or leave it.”
“Is he your lover, this Scot?”
“One now, the rest later.”
“You’ll get no one else to do it, lady. Two, or I’m off up the hill to tell on you.”
“Look, I don’t want to be unreasonable, but if I give you two now, you might be tempted just to pocket them and not risk doing the job.” Is this man open to reason?
He thinks for a moment, then holds out his hand again. I place one gold sovereign in his palm.
“Be at the back of the Well Tower, near the sanctuary house, at first light, lady. He’ll be there. Failing all else, you can get him into sanctuary. Which one of the evil bastards is it?”
“His name’s Robert Lacklie. Tell him Beatrice sent you.”
“Beatrice.” The soldier regards me appraisingly. “Well, Beatrice, there’s one more thing. If he’s dead already, I still get half the money you promised. I’ll still have tekken half the risks.”
“Agreed.”
Shockingly, then, the soldier kisses me. I can hardly believe what is happening. He presses his mouth to mine, and grabs my backside in both hands, one still bunched with the money. I recoil, gasping in horror, and he strides away, laughing, up the alley away from the river. “Can’t be fussy, if you’ll have a Scot,” he shouts over his shoulder, and vanishes from sight, still laughing.
It seems a long way back to the inn, even running as fast as I can. I expect every moment to hear sounds of pursuit and shouts of “Treason!” The landlord meets me once more in the doorway of the George.
“All well, mistress?” He looks at me more closely and I realise how dishevelled I must look.
“Yes. I thank you.” I control my voice and steady my breathing and remove Mistress Postlethwaite’s black shawl. The innkeeper leads me through the dim public bar, and I see to my surprise that the young captain who escorted the Scots south is there, drinking alone. A few other drinkers are sitting on benches round the room, talking and laughing. A mangy dog snores by the fire.
“Captain.”
The young man looks up sharply and rises to his feet. “Madame?”
“I saw you when you passed through our village with your prisoners.”
The landlord looks at me, doubt suddenly in his eyes. He must think I am trying to pick this man up. I need to re-emphasise my respectability. It’s vital that I retain his co-operation. “I’m… I’m… er… the parson’s wife from a village in the West Moorland.” I glance sideways at the landlord to see if this does the trick.
The captain bows. “Enchanted, madame. Captain Foreman.”
I see out of the corner of my eye that the landlord has relaxed. Presumably parsons’ wives are expected to go round being friendly to everyone. “It must have been a long, difficult journey for you, with your charges, captain,” I sympathise.
The captain nods. “Indeed it was. We serve Lord Ravenswyck, and he lends our services to the queen. We’ll be glad to go home in April.”
“I’m sure of it.” I sit on the edge of a table, and the captain resumes his seat. Everyone else in the tavern now appears to be listening to our conversation – two strangers talking about unusual matters. The landlord pours us both a goblet of wine and sits down too. A vast woman with her skirts tucked up to reveal her underskirts, and her head wrapped in a white cloth, comes out of the back room to hear better. I smile at her, and thank her for the loan of her shawl, then turn back to the captain. “I hear the Scots are not to be tried until March. Will they last that long, do you think? They looked in pretty poor case when they were passing through our village.”
The captain shrugs. “We lost one on the way, a young lad, and the jailers say another died last week.”
“He’d be one of the older ones, would he?”
“No madame, another young lad. There’s some choking sickness going round them.”
Is Robert a young lad? He’s older than I am, though not by much. I suppose to the captain he might seem a young lad. “How did you come by your prisoners, captain?”
The captain leans back expansively in the room’s one upholstered chair, and smiles, looking around, sure of his audience. “We rounded them up from all along the border. Most of them were captured when they were on raiding parties.”
“Were none just wayfarers? Maybe trying to get back to Scotland? Might some be innocent Scots and not raiders?”
He laughs. “Innocent Scots, madame?” He looks round the room for supporting laughter. There is a ripple of merriment.
I persist. “It’s well enough to laugh, captain, but do you not feel we encourage these raids to continue by treating captured Scots so badly? It might be better to use them as a political bargaining tool.”
“Political bargaining tool…” He says it in a deliberately understated tone, then bursts into even louder laughter. “Well you’d better try telling that to the queen, madame.” He shakes his head and raises his eyebrows at his audience.
I rise to my feet and smile tightly at the landlord. “Could we have a word somewhere, please, Master Postlethwaite?”
He looks at me curiously. “Aye. Come with me.” He gestures to his wife. “Will you get this lady’s room ready, pet?” In a lower voice he adds, “Put a spot of wormwood down.” My spirits sink as I wonder what form of infestation this heralds – fleas, lice, bedbugs, or maybe all three. The innkeeper leads me to a room at the back, where casks of ale are stacked. “Come behind the casks, mistress. It’s right private there. Now, what can I do for you?” He looks as if strange requests were commonplace for him.
In a whisper, I tell him what he can do for me. It takes some time. “And I shall need my horse and cart ready before first light, sir. I shall pay you now for both my board and for your trouble. Here is the other money to hold for me. Are you willing to do this? Can I trust you? I feel I can. I hope I have not misjudged you.”
The landlord holds out his hand. I give him two gold coins and a tightly tied drawstring purse which clinks heavily as it changes hands. He says nothing, but touches the coins to his forehead, and bows. As we return to the public bar he says under his breath, “For my own sake I’ll not be seen as favouring you, mistress.”
I nod. “I’ll take the air in the courtyard until my room is ready.”
It is a gusty evening. On the hill a bell tolls, the sound loud then soft with the strength of the wind. When I first see Meadowsweet, I cannot at first make sense of it. “Aye sir,” the stable boy is saying to someone on the far side of her. “In the tavern, sir. Oh, thank you, sir.” I stand motionless just outside the inn doorway, as Meadowsweet is led away, and John and I come face to face across the courtyard.
“Beatrice.” His voice is controlled but his face furious.
“Ah! Hubby’s arrived then, has he?” It is the captain, reaching a not-too-taxing conclusion, in view of John’s attire.
The landlord appears. “Room’s ready, mistress. My wife will show you up.” He looks surprised when he sees John. “Ah, parson sir, welcome. We didn’t realise you’d be joining your wife.” He glances at me uncertainly, and I can see he is wondering if my husband knows of the unorthodox duties for which I am paying such large sums of money. “It’s a good big room, anyhow,” he adds. “You’ll both be comfortable.”
“Indeed we shall. Thank you, landlord. We’ll go up to it now.” John takes my arm in a tight grip, nods to the captain and landlord, and leads me indoors. We follow Mistre
ss Postlethwaite upstairs. She barely fits her bulk betwen the leaning wooden walls of the stairwell. At the top a partly open gallery leads to the sleeping chambers, which are ranged along a dark landing. The stables are across the yard below the gallery, and I can hear Universe’s distinctive whinny. John glances over the rail towards the stables.
“Will you be wanting food, my loves?” the landlady asks as she shows us into the first room on the corner of the gallery and the landing. It is low-ceilinged, with two truckle beds, a table and bench, two cushioned chairs and a muddy, rush-covered floor. I reply before John can voice an opinion, which I imagine from the look on his face would be negative. I am hungry and tired, and moreover I fear we might need some distraction.
“Yes please, Mistress Postlethwaite. Have you a pie or something like that? Some mulled wine too? Maybe some pickled cabbage?”
“Aye, certainly mistress.” She wheezes out and we are left alone.
John takes off his cloak and half sits on the table, one booted foot on the floor and one swinging. I look at how beautiful he is, and I wonder if I am slightly unhinged to be risking losing him, for a Scot.
“Well, Beatrice? What on earth do you think you’re doing? I’ve searched all over Lancaster for you.”
I stand with my back against the door. “I left you a letter, John, to explain…”
“So you did. Very well written it was, too. I’ve taught you well.”
I straighten up at his savagely sarcastic tone. “So why are you here? I think it was perfectly clear, wasn’t it?”
John takes hold of my shoulders. “How could you, Beatrice?” he asks in a raised voice. “How could you come here like this?”
“I’m rescuing Robert!” I hiss under my breath. “For God’s sake be quiet!”
“Rescuing Robert? Rescuing Robert? Have you any idea how sick and tired I am of this sodding Scot?” He is ignoring my plea to lower his voice. “Do you really think I want to talk about him day in and day out, and know how you feel about him? Now you have some mad idea about getting him out of the castle? Beatrice, this desperate foolishness has got to stop.”
North Side of the Tree Page 10
