by E. M. Powell
The bed. He ducked back into the room to scramble for it, heat battering his face and chest. He grabbed the thick, soft feather mattress and hauled it back to the window, coughing so hard his guts spasmed.
With arms that had little strength left, he got the mattress up onto the window ledge. Grasping it as tightly as he could, Palmer looked down.
Geoffrey’s mouth gaped. ‘What are you doing, man?’
‘Stand back.’ Palmer fought for breath. ‘Unless you think a bishop makes a soft landing.’
He shoved the mattress out. And went over the edge with it.
Waking in his draughty cottage on so many cold dawns, Palmer had often cursed the cold. Not anymore. He walked across the courtyard at Woodstock, enjoying every gust of fresh, clean air the wind pushed at him. The tower still smouldered, heavy with the acrid stench of smoke. Many men worked in and around it. He recognised Lewis, the overseer from the grounds, and greeted him with a nod.
‘Been at this all night?’
‘We have, sir.’ The man’s ash-streaked face was shadowed with tiredness too. ‘Did what we could with the water, which wasn’t much. Made sure it didn’t spread anywhere else. We were lucky the wind stayed calm.’ He raised his voice and called to a group that raked blackened wood from the tower door with long iron hooks. ‘Make sure there’s no sparks, you hear?’ He undid a leather bottle from his belt and gulped down several mouthfuls. ‘The stuff’s still red-hot. Can’t touch none of it yet.’
Palmer nodded and coughed hard and long. He’d not slept the few hours that had remained in the night. Not only had his blood coursed through his veins from his fight to save himself and Rosamund, but his chest stayed tight from the smoke he’d breathed in. His spittle still came black as the burned wood. ‘Have you any idea how it started?’
Lewis shrugged. ‘Like they nearly all do, most like. Candle. Fireplace throwing out sparks.’ He offered his water bottle to Palmer.
‘My thanks.’ He took a deep drink.
‘Reckon you’ll be the one getting the King’s thanks, sir. The whole place is talking about what you did for the lady Rosamund.’ He gave Palmer a careful look. ‘From her room and all.’
Palmer caught his meaning. ‘Folk can yammer all they want. I woke, saw the flames and went up to get her out.’
Lewis touched his cap. ‘I didn’t doubt that, Sir Benedict. And how you got her out. How you got out.’ He blew a long whistle through his teeth. ‘Don’t think I’d have had the balls to make that jump.’
Palmer handed him back the bottle. ‘Fire has a strange way of giving them to you.’
Lewis gave a quiet laugh. ‘Rather not get that gift, then.’
‘That would’ve been my choice too. But jump I did. And I feel like a horse has been kicking me for a month. But I’m lucky that’s all I suffered.’ Palmer lowered his voice. ‘Have you only found wood so far? I saw a couple of the guards on the way up the stairs. Both were overcome. I doubt if they made it out.’
‘We know there’s two guards missing.’ Lewis shook his head. ‘The men have already said they’ve caught the smell. Shouldn’t be long now.’
The chapel bell rang out to announce the end of Mass.
People flooded out, voices quiet. Many crossed themselves on the way past the tower. Everyone knew.
Palmer crossed himself too.
‘Palmer.’ Geoffrey made his way over, robed as usual from his time in the chapel. ‘A word.’
‘Of course.’ Leaving Lewis to return to his work, Palmer followed Geoffrey’s beckon down a nearby narrow passage between the castle’s cookhouse and brewery.
Geoffrey hauled open the door of the empty brewery. ‘In here.’
Palmer stepped in with him, expecting his thanks and wondering why it had to be done in secret.
Geoffrey kicked the door shut. Then his hand was at Palmer’s throat. ‘Explain, you cur. Now.’
His tight grip set Palmer coughing again. ‘Explain what?’ He tried to loosen Geoffrey’s hold, but his strength was still dulled.
Geoffrey shook him hard. ‘Explain every moment of your movements last night.’ He shook him harder. ‘Especially the ones that brought you to Rosamund’s bedroom, you lustful dog.’
The insult gave Palmer strength. He wrenched Geoffrey off him. ‘Touch me again and I’ll floor you.’ He coughed and coughed but glared Geoffrey down.
Geoffrey didn’t make another move. ‘The whole court saw her lovesick face for her hero knight, saw you dancing with her.’ He snorted. ‘And saw how you danced. Unluckily, a fire breaks out and she is trapped. Oh, and so are you. In your breeches and undershirt. I wonder how you came to be there?’
‘By waking up in my own room. By seeing flames in the tower, sounding the alarm. By fighting my way up the stairs through the fire.’ Palmer fought his urge to punch the glowering bishop. ‘That’s how. Faith, I thought only the empty-heads gossiped. I didn’t expect it from you.’
‘A very convenient tale, one which I have no doubt she would confirm. She might be featherbrained, but she is not stupid. Though it is a very poor tale. Could you not come up with anything better?’
‘The bell woke the whole place.’
‘A bell which could have been rung by either of my two valiant guards. My missing guards.’ Geoffrey’s jaw tightened. ‘I have prepared a message to his Grace to inform him of your conduct with Rosamund. I believe he will be seeking another bower builder. On that basis, and with his certain authority, I am dismissing you now. You can go back under whatever stone you crawled out from.’
Palmer kept his anger at the man’s prating in check. If Geoffrey threw him out, there’d be no one to watch over Rosamund. ‘Will you also be informing the King that there has been another attempt on Rosamund’s life?’
‘What fresh blather is this, man?’
‘Your missing guards are dead.’
‘An easy guess—’
Palmer stayed him with a raised hand. ‘As I went up through the tower, I found them both lying insensible on the floor.’
‘From the smoke, idiot.’
‘Yes, there was a lot of smoke. But the fire burned on the stairs above where they lay. They would have had plenty of time to move, to try a rescue. Sound the alarm.’
‘So what happened to them?’
‘I don’t know. It was too dark, too smoky. But I would wager they’d been overpowered. And that the fire was then started deliberately.’
‘Is this your way of spinning me a better tale to keep your cosy position?’
‘If that’s what you want to believe. I believe that the enemy who has struck before is within the palace.’
‘Fevered imaginings.’
‘You can send a message to the King that his mistress is still under attack. Or you can send a muddle of gossip about me and how you ordered me from here. The choice is yours.’
‘My lords.’ A respectful knock came at the door. Lewis.
Palmer stepped over to open it.
Lewis gave a bow. If he wondered what they were doing shut away in the brewery, he didn’t show it. ‘We’ve found the guards.’
Geoffrey marched out, Palmer and Lewis following.
The palace priest stood reciting prayers as two groups of guards carried covered bundles on planks of wood, making for the guardhouse. The workmen stood with caps off, respectful heads lowered.
Geoffrey took up the prayer, every word sounding dipped in anger.
Palmer crossed himself again and offered up a prayer too. He couldn’t have saved them, though he sore wished he had. The breeze stirred, and he caught the unmistakable stench of burned flesh. His stomach rebelled.
As the small procession entered the guardhouse, the sound of women keening in absolute grief rose up. Wives, daughters, left with only charred remains to grieve over.
Palmer wiped at his nos
e and more black soot came away. He’d been so close to an end like those poor wretches, an end where he’d never have seen his beloved Theodosia again. It would have been her voice raised in sorrow. And he would have broken his promise to her.
He would keep that promise. He would get home. But at the moment, he was no nearer.
Chapter Fourteen
‘People of Cloughbrook, evil is amongst us.’ Lord Nicholas Ordell’s voice rang with a thin echo in the midday air. He stood outside the metal-studded wooden doors of his great stone-built manor house, Abbot Remigius at his side.
Theodosia stood among those assembled, her hands tightening on Tom’s shoulders as gasps and mutters met the lord’s words.
Joan held Matilde on one hip and gave a loud gasp too.
‘Evil.’ Abbot Remigius pronounced his solemn agreement to another buzz of noise.
Joan’s glance met Theodosia’s, a prompt for her to react as others did.
Theodosia put a hand to her face in a poor pretence at shock. She had waited hourly for the discovery of the mutilated birds, scarcely able to settle to anything.
Joan had tried to reassure her, but to no avail.
And as Theodosia had feared, the summons had come early this morning, come for the whole village. No one was exempt. Ordell’s men had made sure they rounded up every soul on his manor for him to address, from villagers Theodosia knew well on sight, to unknown faces from the farthest edges of his lands. All stood in the courtyard, five, six deep and in a few places right up against the barns, stables and dairy buildings that enclosed it.
The lord went on. ‘There have been portents that have warned of this time. Now we see them come to pass: infected air, the seasons falling into disorder. Cattle dying, sheep dying. Even my own steward and bailiff in last winter’s pestilence.’ He blessed himself with wide gestures. ‘And now in this, the year one thousand one hundred and seventy-six from the delivery of the Virgin, hell has opened its gates once more and sent a new plague.’ He scanned the crowd, his thin face flushed. ‘The plague of sorcery.’
Cries, prayers, exclamations of horror rippled through those watching.
Theodosia met Joan’s set-jawed glance, the imperceptible shake of her head.
Tom squinted up at Theodosia. ‘What’s a plague?’
Theodosia put a finger to her lips. ‘Hush. His lordship is speaking.’
Ordell held up a hand for silence and received it at once. ‘One of my men, exercising my dogs at first light, made a heinous discovery deep in the woods. I summoned the Lord Abbot Remigius to help me review what had been found. He is in agreement. Abbot?’
‘I most certainly am.’ Remigius pursed his slack, moist lips. ‘For we found evidence of idolatry, of diabolical offerings made to the trees.’ He brought a hand to the large crucifix hanging from his neck. ‘Using the blood and entrails of many, many birds.’
The sounds of outrage surged louder, angrier.
Theodosia blessed herself. She’d had no part in any of it, but someone evil had committed those deeds.
‘Then it becomes worse, my lord!’ A shout from a nearby woman, one who peddled pegs at the monthly market.
‘Not just the death of animals.’ Another, a hard-faced strange man.
‘The shedding of their blood too.’ And another—the blacksmith, who’d made a new hinge for their door.
Theodosia saw glances shift her way. Sweat prickled her face and neck. The tide of blame could so easily turn to engulf her.
‘Worse it may be.’ Remigius’s solemn tones brought a tense silence. ‘But we fear the situation could become even more serious. Like what happened with the sorceress of Berkeley.’
‘Indeed,’ said Lord Ordell. ‘I have a copy of the true account in my own collection of manuscripts: a woman who lived over a century ago and was addicted to sorcery. She was skilled in that invention of the devil and delighted in the shedding of blood. For years, she indulged her darkest gluttonies and became the receptacle of every vice known to man.’
‘We know the mistake the good Christians of Berkeley made.’ The Abbot held up a warning finger. ‘They did not put a stop to her evildoing when they could have. Instead, they allowed her to persist.’
‘In short,’ said Ordell, ‘they were too soft.’
‘And failed in their duties as soldiers of Christ,’ said Remigius.
‘But unlike them, the good Abbot and I do not shirk away from the devil’s assault.’ Ordell scanned the utterly silent assembly. ‘And neither does my wife. As we speak, she prays in our chapel before her shrine of Saint Thomas Becket himself, hour after hour. To grant us strength.’
Theodosia met his fleeting glance. She kept her expression fully composed, as if she were still the church’s anchoress.
He moved on. ‘And so for that reason, I am ordering a complete search of the whole village and of my estate. Every home, every haystack, every ditch will be searched. We will find this evil and deal with it for good. The search will start on the morrow. I ask each of you to examine your conscience tonight. If you harbour such sin, then come forward and spare us the sorry task of rooting you out.’ Ordell thrust a pointed finger at the crowd. ‘For root you out we will. We will not finish until we have found what we seek!’
Cheers erupted.
‘Praise God for Lord Ordell!’
‘And for our holy Abbot!’
Theodosia stared straight ahead, a terrible realisation stealing over her.
‘Now, to your homes, people!’
Those gathered acted on Ordell’s command, their jostling and pushing slowed by their shouting of what they would do once they uncovered the evildoer.
But Theodosia did not pause to join in. ‘Come, Tom.’ She set off, her hurrying steps matching her thudding heart.
‘Theodosia! Slow down.’ Still holding Matilde, Joan fell into step close beside her.
‘I have to get home.’ Theodosia’s hiss was only for Joan.
‘Don’t fret, sister.’ Joan linked her arm, voice low too. ‘We’ve destroyed the eggs. There’s nothing else that Ordell and the Abbot can hold you to except the madness of their own minds.’ She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Though I grant you that is quite a challenge.’
Theodosia shook her head. ‘There is more to be found. Much more.’ She increased her stride further.
Home. She had to get home.
‘You are summoned by his lordship, Sir Benedict. He is in the hall.’
Palmer thanked the servant and hurried up the wide, carved wooden staircase at Woodstock.
Stanton was back; Palmer had seen him ride into the courtyard with his own eyes. Of course, the messenger had gone straight to Geoffrey. He’d expect that. Now he, Palmer, would find out his fate as ordered by Henry. To be sent away, like Geoffrey wanted, would do him the best service. He could go back to his family, to Theodosia. Yet his own failure would rankle at him. The King had asked him to do a job and he wouldn’t have succeeded. It would also leave Rosamund at very great risk. He couldn’t just turn his back on her.
Palmer arrived at the closed doors of the hall.
Another servant opened them up to allow him entry and closed them behind him. Geoffrey stood with Stanton in a wide, sun-filled window recess. Rosamund sat on the cushioned window seat, her long gold hair catching the light.
Palmer walked up, bowed to Rosamund and addressed the bishop. ‘You summoned me, Geoffrey?’
‘I did. His Grace would have liked to return in person but is detained on matters of the Crown.’ Geoffrey held up a letter. ‘He has sent orders with Stanton, which I have read and now need to share with the three of you.’ He opened it out and reread it with a shake of his head. ‘His Grace is concerned that there are those at Woodstock who would seek to harm the lady Rosamund. He has ordered that the lady Rosamund and only the essential members of her household be moved to Go
dstow Nunnery.’
‘A nunnery?’ Rosamund sat bolt upright. ‘Me?’
Geoffrey rolled the letter up again. ‘Apparently so. And I am to move there with you. Along with Palmer and Stanton.’
A move. But not one home. Geoffrey looked as happy as he, Palmer, felt at Henry’s latest idea, whereas Stanton gave a broad smile.
Rosamund didn’t smile. ‘But this is ridiculous.’
‘Watch your tongue, madam.’ Geoffrey tightened his hold on the letter. ‘It is not for you to judge the decisions of the King.’
Rosamund folded her arms and shot him a mutinous glance, foot tapping hard on the stone floor.
Geoffrey continued. ‘Godstow Nunnery is a place of great holiness. Henry goes there to make his regular penance as well as his ongoing penance for the murder of Saint Thomas Becket.’
‘Every week.’ Stanton nodded. ‘And when he cannot, he sends me to inform the Abbess.’
‘Thank you, Stanton,’ said Geoffrey. ‘We have all heard the King has chosen you in this task.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘While Godstow is a place of great holiness, it is also a place of great security. The King keeps the sacred vial of Saint Thomas Becket’s blood in the chapel there.’
‘So shall I be secured in the chapel also?’ asked Rosamund.
Palmer spoke up before Geoffrey could round on Rosamund again. ‘Then the King wishes me to oversee work in the grounds of a nunnery?’
‘No. He believes you can be trusted to make sure no harm comes to Rosamund.’ Geoffrey kept his gaze fixed on Palmer.
Palmer allowed himself a brief smile. ‘I am honoured by his Grace’s trust.’
‘And I am not!’ Rosamund got to her feet in anger. ‘If I am in such danger, then I should be by the King’s side, not buried alive in the countryside with only nuns for company.’ She flung an arm at Stanton. ‘I demand that he take that message to the King.’
‘You forget yourself, madam!’ Geoffrey’s sudden shout silenced her. ‘We have our orders. We follow them. And remember: whores demand nothing and get nothing.’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘Nothing.’
