by Mike Dixon
Jane Etheridge was the next to appear. The smartly dressed woman dissolved in tears when Sir Hugh produced letters to prove she was in France when her alleged conversation with Judith took place. Harald waited for further witnesses to come forward. Alice's cousin, Catherine, would be difficult to refute. But Catherine did not appear. Nor did any of the other witnesses.
The council for the defence pointed an accusing finger.
'Sir Harald Gascoigne has with threats of violence prevented true testimony to the veracity of our case, my lord.'
The judge peered at Harald. 'Do you refute this accusation?'
'I do, my lord,' Harald replied truthfully. 'I have never used violence nor threatened it against anyone.'
'You are well known as a man who eschews such practices?'
'I believe that to be the case, my lord.'
'I accept your rebuttal.'
Harald expected Roger Knowles to argue the point. Instead, he read from a letter, saying it had been written by Harald's mother.
'Madam, I would have you know that I am right worried and offended by the conduct of your daughter Judith who, although married to our son Harald, is displaying unwholesome tendencies towards certain male members of our household while our son is engaged in his studies at Oxford. I would caution and beseech you, Madam, to give mind to the terms of the contract negotiated between our two families.'
Sir Hugh turned to address the bench.
'I beg leave to inspect the document, my lord.'
The letter was handed to the clerk of the court and placed before Sir Hugh who gave it a cursory glance.
'This document neither bears the Gascoigne seal nor Lady Gascoigne's signature. I seek to have it dismissed as a forgery, my lord.'
Roger Knowles jumped to his feet. 'The seal fell off and Margery Gascoigne never learnt to write. Her sign is a wolf beneath a tree, like you see there.'
'My lord.' Sir Hugh grasped the edges of his gown. 'I seek leave to have pen and paper brought forward so that Lady Gascoigne may refute this preposterous claim.'
Writing materials were produced and Harald watched his mother write her name, forming each letter individually. She finished and handed the paper to the clerk who conveyed it to the judge. Harald hoped her writing skills would not be put to further test.
'You appear to be wrong again, Sir Roger.' The judge looked up. 'Is there any further evidence you wish to bring before I submit this case to the jury's consideration?'
'My lord.' The counsel for the defence held up a bundle of papers. 'I have here numerous examples of correspondence between Lady Gascoigne and members of my client's family. They were written by her chaplain, Sir Peter de Trent, and demonstrate beyond doubt that Lady Gascoigne frequently used the sign of the wolf when corresponding with individuals.'
'My lord.' Sir Hugh rose. 'Sir Peter is here in court. I beg permission to have these papers submitted for his inspection.'
The papers were taken to the chaplain and he declared them to be forgeries.
'Are you prepared to repeat that on oath?'
'Most certainly.' Peter reached for his bible.
'Not that one!' Roger Knowles shouted across the chamber. 'Use a proper bible like everyone else.'
A clerk produced another bible and the court fell silent. Perjury was a serious matter, particularly for a man of God. Peter placed his hand on the book and faced the jury. For a moment he seemed to falter. Then he raised his head and spoke in a clear voice.
'I, Peter de Trent, do hereby solemnly swear that these letters were not written by me and I accordingly believe them to be forgeries.'
An excited buzz swept through the chamber. With Peter's sworn testimony, the case was effectively over and the Gascoignes had won. Harald could find no comfort in that. The victory had come at an appalling price. Hugh had corrupted the court and Peter had perjured himself. He would find a confessor and pay a hefty penance for his sins. The money would end up in the church's coffers and Harald would compensate Peter for the loss. There were occasions when he sympathised with the Lollards.
Chapter 17
Gathering Storm
Richard Vowell listened to the sound of saws and hammers. It was early for the builders to start work and he wondered what was going on. He glanced at the vicar but he continued to recite the matins service as he had done thousands of times before. The service ended and Richard headed for the door leading into the abbey nave. Lanterns burnt at the far end. They reminded him of the time the masons came to remove the font. On that occasion, Billy Bradford and Bobby Hulle were there. This time it was the sacrist and a foreman. He strode up to them.
'What's going on?'
'Good Morrow, Master Vowell.' The sacrist did his best to sound friendly. 'We are here to erect a partition. Being cognisant of the inconvenience occasioned by the current building activities we have given thought to how a suitable screen might be provided for the comfort of the parish.'
Richard surveyed the building materials.
'What's all them hurdles for?'
'They're for the partition.'
'You mean for scaffolding?'
'No. They are for the partition.'
'Say that again.' Richard cupped a hand to his ear. 'I don't think I heard you right.'
'The hurdles will be strapped to the existing scaffolding.'
'You're joking.'
'No … it's all been agreed.'
Richard peered at the expanse of posts and crossbeams.
'What do you think we are … sodding sheep?'
'The hurdles will be covered in cloth,' Master Vowell.'
'What sort of cloth?'
'There's some over there.'
Richard walked to a pile of dirty canvas.
'That awful stuff. It's been used to cover damp mortar. It was at sea for ten years before it was chucked out.' He wagged a finger at the sacrist. 'The bishop will hear of this. Master Rochell is a churchwarden. He talks to the dean. He'll make sure Robert Neville knows what you sods are up to.'
***
Alice heard banging at her door and put down her pen. She was used to sudden interruptions. Accidents on the road, fights, falls on building sites. People were being injured all the time and they were brought to her for treatment. She went to the door and found the sacrist and a friar. They were accompanied by Bailiff Gallor and a beadle. Earlier in the day she had treated a man for a knife wound. She suspected he was an outlaw.
'I applied a suture and he left.'
'What you talking about, woman?'
'The man who had been in a fight. I treated his wound. It is my duty to provide care for the injured and not ask questions.'
'We're not interested in that.' Walter displayed a mouth of rotting teeth. 'We're here to search this place.'
He pushed past her and the sacrist followed.
'Brother.' Alice reached out a pleading hand to the monk. 'Tell me what is happening.'
'We are here at the father abbot's command, Sister.' The sacrist looked embarrassed. 'We are instructed to inquire into accusations concerning rites and rituals forbidden by the holy fathers and repugnant to …'
'Brother, I don't know what you're talking about.'
The friar came to the sacrist's aid.
'We are here to investigate complaints of sorcery, Sister. The father abbot has received grievous testimony of heretical practices within his manorial domain of Sherborne. There are accusations of a most unholy alliance between those who profess the faith of our saviour Jesus Christ and the infidels who prostrate themselves before the false god of the Saracen unbelievers.'
Alice was pleased she had delivered her more incriminating books into Harald's care. She hoped that she had not overlooked anything that should be kept beyond the reach of Abbot Bradford. She maintained her innocent posture.
'Father, it grieves me that you should talk in this manner. I am but a servant of the almshouse. I cannot, in all good faith, acquiesce to your presence here.'
'We are here at th
e lord abbot's command.'
'Father, I am bound to seek the counsel of my superiors. I beg leave to have a servant fetch Master Baret or another of the trustees.'
As she spoke, Walter began to open boxes. Alice went to the window. Earlier that afternoon, she had seen Robin and the Welsh boys practising archery on the abbey green. She waved to them and shouted.
'Robin. Go and fetch Master Baret …'
Before she could say more Walter's big hand fastened on her shoulder. Down on the green the boys heard her screams and began running. The sacrist saw them coming and retreated into an alcove. Walter went to the door with the beadle.
For a moment there was silence. Then the sound of heavy boots reverberated on the cobblestones. The boys pounded up the stairs and reached the door. Walter's huge bulk was unable to withstand the assault that followed. They hit him with a flying tackle and he staggered backwards, sending pots crashing. He landed amongst them and squirmed around yelling that his back was broken.
Alice pulled the boys off him.
'Don't move!'
She shouted at the groaning man.
'Keep still. Or you will cause more injury.'
The sacrist emerged from the alcove.
'Is he badly hurt, Sister?'
'I won't know until I have made an investigation.'
Alice pinched Walter's ankle.
'Can you feel that?'
'Aye, Sister …' he replied feebly.
The fight had gone out of the bailiff. He rolled his eyes and looked as if he was about to cry. Alice turned to the friar.
'Father Ashley, you are trained in healing. Will you make an investigation or shall I call Brother Arnold?'
'I think Arnold should be called, Sister.'
'Master Beadle.' She turned to the other man. 'Pray go in haste and ask that Brother Arnold come with a stretcher and sufficient bearers to convey Bailiff Gallor to the infirmary.'
Chapter 18
Eleanor
Robin stood at the end of the table and held the attention of the dinner guests. They were in Richard Vowell's house and Betty was serving fresh venison with plumb jelly. Owen Ap-Richard was there with his boys and so was the tinker.
'Sister Alice did it just right,' Robin enthused. 'She took control and made 'em look like idiots. They'd come to search her place. In the end, she had them doing what she wanted.'
Betty looked up from her cooking.
'Did they take anything away?'
'I saw the friar pick up some bits of toadstool.'
'What sort of toadstool?'
'Dunno,' Robin shrugged.
'Was it coloured?'
'Yeah … sort of.'
'What colour?'
'Sort of dried-up colour.'
Betty forgot about fungi and turned to other things.
'Did he get his hands on any of her books?'
'He took one away. It had a red cover.'
Betty knew the book. It was a manual for midwives that Alice had written. It contained nothing that could identify it as Saracen or Jewish, even if the learning came from these ancient peoples. Richard disturbed her thoughts.
'A toast to Good Duke Humphrey!'
He grabbed a wineskin and squirted the contents into the air. Blobs fell onto the napkins Betty had laid out.
'Stop that!'
'Don't you want to know why I did it?'
'You don't need any reason to behave like a monkey.'
She smacked his hand with a spoon.
'Humph's passing through in two days' time,' Richard announced. 'Owen's been speaking to his sergeant. He wants us to lay on a bit of a reception. Get together as many of the Agincourt veterans as we can.'
'Is it going to be an official visit?' John Tucker asked.
'No. Like I said, he's just passing through.'
'So we can make it our reception.'
'Right first time.' Richard reached for one of Betty's sweetmeats. 'You shall have a honey frog for that brilliant piece of deduction, Master Tucker.'
He tossed the sticky biscuit at John and licked his fingers.'
'It's going to be our reception. Jonnie Baret and Billy Bradford won't get a look in. We'll arrange it all ourselves. Get a crowd to cheer Humph as he comes up the hill. Then, when he gets to the green, we'll present the veterans.'
'Why should we welcome him?' the tinker asked.
'Because he's a good friend and companion in arms.'
'But he's one of the royals.'
'Quite right. He's the king's uncle. That's why we have to keep on side. If the Lord God calls little Harry up to heaven, Humph gets the job. It's all worked out. That way people can't fight over it.'
'God didn't create kings,' the tinker insisted.
'What makes you say that, Tink?'
Richard grinned mischievously and the tinker pounced like a Lollard cat on a wayward mouse.
'When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?'
Richard squirted wine at him.
'Tink. I don't care a sod where the royals came from. What matters is that they do what they're told. Right now, little Harry receives his orders from a council of earls and barons. When we get things sorted out, he'll be taking them from the likes of us.'
***
The Chapel of Saint Thomas overlooked the town green on one side and the main road between London and Exeter on the other. Abbot William Bradford and Canon Simon went there by a devious route in a closed carriage to avoid being seen. The abbey had not been invited to welcome the king's uncle as he passed through Sherborne and, as owners of the town, the monks felt badly left out. William was determined to view the proceedings. The two men sat in the chaplain's private chamber and listened to the distant cheers of the crowd and the sound of trumpets.
'They've come out in force,' Simon observed.
'Aye,' William grunted. 'Master Baret will be feeling pleased with himself. He knows Duke Humphrey is back in favour. Henry Beaufort might have our young king's ear but it's the support of Council that matters. They'll outvote Beaufort every time and Humphrey will get his way.'
'I thought Richard Vowell was behind the visit.'
'Nonsense,' William snorted. 'The man's an assistant suffragan. What would he know of such matters? You can be sure it's Baret. He would have learnt of the duke's movements from Humphrey Stafford. They're on that board Bishop Neville set up for the new almshouse.'
Simon thought for a while. 'I wonder if the duke's good lady will be with him. There's been a lot of talk about her recently.'
'You mean that Cobham woman?'
'That's right. Some say he's married to her.'
'I don't know about that.' William moved closer. 'He should be married to Jacqueline of Hainault. That's where the alliance lies ... or did before he and his brother wrecked it.'
'Unbelievable,' Simon sighed.
'Unbelievable,' William echoed.
'They stabbed Burgundy in the back,' Simon said. 'They left him with no alternative but to change sides. France is lost and the stupid idiots don't have the wit to recognise it. Henry Beaufort is doing his best to get us out of the mess and they accuse him of being the traitor.'
A movement caught William's eye. Women in the crowd were waving ribbons and men were throwing their hats in the air. Trumpets sounded and a man bearing the standard of the Duke of Gloucester appeared. The duke and his lady rode behind. He was on a brown stallion and she on a white mare. They entered the green and rode to where Richard Vowell and a line of middle-aged men were waiting.
The old soldiers wore the Cross of Saint John on their chests and the badges of their companies on the arms of their faded jackets. William watched in horror as the duke dismounted and embraced Richard.
'Dick. My old friend!'
He could scarcely believe his ears. It was mortifying to think that an assistant suffragan had struck up a personal relationship with a duke. But there could be no doubt. Humphrey's booming voice carried across the green.
Down on the gree
n, Richard had no such allusions. The duke didn't know him from Adam. That didn't matter. He and Humph were warriors. They'd served in France and their hearts beat as one. Neither cared a sod for pious priests and fat merchants.
'Do you remember Cherbourg?' Humphrey squeezed his arm. 'They said we couldn't get the cannons up that hill and you said we should give it a try.'
Richard guessed the sergeant had briefed Humphrey on the incident and got it half right. The hill was in Caen.
'You did it, Dick.' Humphrey shouted so that all could hear. 'You got'em up and we gave the Frogs the surprise of their lives.'
The crowd applauded and Richard's attention switched to the lady at the duke's side. There were rumours that she cast horoscopes and dabbled in spells. If frail little Henry died, Humphrey would become king. It amused Richard to think that England might one day have a witch as its queen.
She looked down from her horse.
'Master Vowell, my sergeant tells me that your good lady is acquainted with Alice de Lambert.'
Richard bowed respectfully.
'That is correct, Your Highness. Betty is a midwife and she's got to know Sister Alice well since she arrived here to be matron of our almshouse.'
'Sister Alice is renowned for her learning,' Eleanor smiled. 'I would greatly appreciate an opportunity to meet with her.'
'I am sure that can be arranged.' Richard bowed again. 'Would you prefer to visit her in the almshouse or should I send for her to be brought here?'
'I would like to visit her if that can be arranged.'
Richard signalled to Robin who was standing nearby in his archer's uniform.
'Get round to the almshouse, Robin, and see if Sister Alice is there. If she is, tell her to prepare to receive Her Highness. If she's not, find out where she is. In any case, come back here quick smart.'
Robin dashed off and Eleanor smiled at Richard.
'I can see that you have been a soldier, Master Vowell. You know how to get things done and I would ask one more favour of you.' She turned to where Betty was standing with a group of women dressed in midwives costumes. 'Pray, introduce me to these ladies.'
