by Mike Dixon
Robin arrived at the almshouse and told Alice to expect Eleanor at any moment. She hurried to the main building. The floor was freshly scrubbed and the servants were at work in the laundry. All looked in order for the unexpected arrival of Duke Humphrey's lady. The problem was to know what to call her. Humphrey's marital status was far from clear. He'd bigamously wed Jacqueline of Hainault and taken Eleanor as his mistress. She had borne him two children and was now living with him. But was she Duchess of Gloucester or plain Mistress Cobham. How should she be introduced to the servants and elderly residents of the almshouse? Alice was agonising over the point when an open carriage arrived with Betty and a group of midwives. It was followed by a woman on a white horse and a detachment of armed men.
Humphrey's lady sat astride her mount and not side-saddle as was expected of women of rank. Eleanor Cobham had a reputation for ignoring convention.
'I'm Eleanor … you will be Alice.'
She dismounted and they embraced.
'I've heard so much about you.'
Alice glanced around in confusion.
'I'm sorry the residents are not here to great you.'
'Don't worry about that,' Eleanor squeezed her hand. 'They're not interested in me and I have no interest in them. Let us retire so we may talk together. I have long been waiting to meet you.'
'I have a room where I prepare healing balms.'
'Let us go there.'
'It is in a state of some disorder.' Alice indicated the way. 'The abbot's men did more damage than I care to think about.' She opened the door of the infirmary. 'The mess has been cleared up but, as you can see, the table is still in pieces.'
Eleanor surveyed the damage. 'Did they give reason for their visit?'
'They told me they were looking for forbidden books and potions.'
The reply produced an immediate response.
'You know why, don't you, Sister?'
She grasped Alice's hands and held them tight.
'They are frightened of you. They fear your powers. They fear the ancient wisdom which they have rejected. Most of all, they fear you because of what you are.'
Alice gazed into the other woman's eyes.
'They are blind to the true ways of the Lord.'
'They are, Sister.'
Eleanor looked around the room.
'Did they take anything that could cause trouble?'
'They were disturbed before they could make a thorough search.'
'How did that happen?'
'I called to the young man who brought you here. I was over by the window and the bailiff, a giant of a man, dragged me back and assaulted me.'
Alice pulled back her gown to reveal a bruise on her shoulder.
'The young man and his friends came to my rescue and were attacked by the bailiff who was intent on doing them grievous injury. I truly believe that a divine hand intervened to save them for the bailiff fell and was himself injured.'
'The duke shall hear of this.'
Eleanor reached for a piece of paper.
'Pray, write down the names of these people so there can be no doubt as to who they are. The abbot will be made to pay for what he has done. Humphrey is a dear man. He does not tolerate violence towards women.'
***
Richard Rochell led the way and the dean followed. As the most senior member of the bishop's administration, he was making a tour of parish churches in the Salisbury diocese. His visit to Sherborne had special significance in view of the recent ordinance aimed at healing the rift between the parish and the abbey. He had just interviewed the vicar and it was his first opportunity to speak to Richard in private. The two men knew one another well. They walked to the end of All Hallows and examined some repairs to the south wall. The dean was pleased with what he found.
'I must compliment you on the excellent state of the fabric of All Hallows and its furnishings, Master Rochell. I wish the same could be said for all the parishes on my circuit.'
'It is the parishioners who merit the praise … not me.' Richard pointed to a metal-bound box with a slot in the lid. A sign said it was for the upkeep of All Hallows and a picture showed carpenters mending the roof.
'The vicar tells me that your receipts are up on previous years.'
'They are,' Richard nodded.
'The father abbot complains that his are down.' The dean pointed to a second box. A sign said it was for the salvation of souls and a picture showed angels plucking naked figures from the gates of hell.
'We have noticed a certain reluctance,' Richard said tentatively.
'In what way … reluctance?'
'There is some uncertainty about what happens to monies placed in the father abbot's box.'
'Could you be more explicit?'
'Our boxes are opened in the presence of witnesses and donations are recorded. Our accounts detail receipts and expenditures and are available for inspection. They can be challenged. The same does not apply to monies donated to the abbey.'
'Are you saying they are being put to improper use?'
'I am saying we don't know how they are being used.' Richard chose his words carefully. 'There are those amongst us who think they might be funding the father abbot's rebuilding program. They argue that if we are to pay for the services of masons and carpenters then they should be working on All Hallows ... not on the abbey.'
The dean jotted a note on his writing block. 'Thank you, Master Rochell. That has been most helpful.' He turned to the illegal font. 'I came here expecting to see that removed.'
'That had been our intention,' Richard said.
'And you changed your mind?'
'Certain events made it difficult for us to undertake our instructions with the immediacy required of us.'
'What were these events?'
'One was an outrageous assault by the abbot's bailiffs on the matron of the almshouse. It has caused immense indignation within the parish and has been the subject of a formal complaint to Bishop Neville.'
'It has also come to the notice of the Duke of Gloucester.' The dean said. 'Can you comment on how His Majesty was informed?'
'Eleanor Cobham visited the almshouse after the incident. She was accompanying the duke when they passed through Sherborne on their way to Westminster.'
The dean jotted a note on his pad.
'You mentioned other impediments to the removal of the font. What are they?'
'I think you should see for yourself.'
Richard opened the door leading into the abbey. The partition had changed since he'd last seen it but not for the better. The ugly wickerwork was now covered by dirty canvas. The dean's reaction was immediate.
'That is totally unacceptable. Leave the matter with me, Master Rochell. I shall see that your grievances are properly addressed.'
***
Canon Simon glanced at Abbot Bradford's stony face. He had come straight from a meeting with the dean. The abbey was risking further censure. Simon wondered if he could get that simple fact into William Bradford's stubborn head.
'The dean is adamant.'
He used his most persuasive voice.
'We must take immediate steps to reconcile ourselves with the parish and do nothing to inflame passions. The incident with Sister Alice was extremely harmful. The impression created by that appalling partition was the last straw.'
The two men were standing at the window of the abbot's chamber, looking down into the cloister. A cover over the underground conduit had been removed. Earlier in the day, dogs had been sent down to kill rats that had taken up residence in the elaborate system of channels and drains that supplied water to the monastery and removed effluent. The measure had been undertaken at the instigation of Brother Arnold who had been alerted to the health risk by Sister Alice.
'The woman's a witch.'
The words exploded from William's lips.
'Who are you talking about?'
'Both of them … the Cobham woman and that matron. I don't believe those bruises are real. She put the
m there by sorcery.'
'That sort of talk did not go down well with the dean.'
William ignored the interruption.
'One day you will remember what I've said and you will wonder why you did not have the wit to recognise it.' He pointed an accusing finger. 'Eleanor Cobham will be the ruin of Good Duke Humphrey and I can't wait for that to happen.'
'That may be the case,' Simon mused. 'But we have to deal with the present. As we now speak, Humphrey is the most powerful man in the land.'
'I would dispute that.'
Simon tried another tack. 'The dean insists that a more acceptable partition be erected. Master Hulle says his original recommendation was for a screen covered in good quality sailcloth, painted with scenes from the gospels.'
'That's not what he told me.'
'Nevertheless, it could provide a way out of our present difficulty at low cost. I have spoken with the brothers in the scriptorium. Brother Paul is keen to take on such a commission.'
William considered the proposition.
'You say it will be low cost?'
Simon nodded.
'And it will be modest? I won't brook anything that makes it look as if we are going out of our way to appease them.'
'It will be sufficient to satisfy our lord bishop.'
'Very well.' Abbot Bradford raised a dismissive hand. 'You have my permission to do whatever you think fit, so long as you keep it within the bounds I have specified.'
Chapter 19
Betrothal
Margery Gascoigne pulled her skirt up to her knees and strode across the farmyard. She wore riding boots and a cape to protect her from the wind. The boots were not for walking but were the best she had to guard against mud and slime. Harald walked by her side. Margery was determined to show her son what could be achieved by resolute action. His pussyfooting never ceased to infuriate her. Hugh Orpington had won the case at Dorchester and hefty damages had been awarded against Roger Knowles. He had chosen to pay in the form of sheep and the first consignment had arrived.
'There you are, Harald.' She pointed over the wall. 'That's what happens when you do things properly. The reeve's men brought them this morning. They're the first of the delivery Roger Knowles has been ordered to make.'
Harald peered to where a hundred or so woolly beasts were munching at the grass. A glance told him all he needed to know.
'Aren't they fine?'
'No, Mother.'
'Harald, you're only saying that out of spite.'
'I'm saying it because they're no use to us.'
'Harald, they're beautiful and fat.'
'The value of sheep is in their wool, Mother. You can only kill a sheep once and, when you do, you have to sell the flesh at the local market. You can shear a sheep many times and find a market for its wool as far away as Damascus. That's how John Baret makes his money but he doesn't buy his wool from people who waste good fodder on a mangy bunch of animals like these.'
'You mean you don't intend to keep them?'
'No. I'll send them to market in Dorchester.'
'Why not sell them to the abbey? Peter says Abbot Bradford intends to increase his flocks and is prepared to pay in silver.'
'I'll have no dealings with that man.'
'You're starting to sound like Richard Vowell. I thought you didn't agree with his campaign against the abbey. Has he changed your mind?'
'Abbot Bradford has changed my mind.'
'What's he done now?'
'His bailiffs committed an act of violence against a lady.'
A twinkle appeared in Margery's eye. 'Are you referring to Alice de Lambert? A little bird told me you are seeing a lot of her.'
'What little bird was that, Mother?'
'A little bird that lives in Honeycomb Woods.'
Harald shuffled his feet.
'There's no need to look sheepish, Harald. You should take a mistress. A nun would be an admirable choice. The poor things have so little joy in their lives. You could provide something that's missing.'
'Sister Alice is not a nun.'
'Oh.' Margery looked surprised. 'I'd been told she was in holy orders.'
'No, Mother. Alice has not taken any vows.'
A look of satisfaction appeared on his mother's face and Harald felt foolish. He'd fallen for one of her old tricks. She'd say something she knew to be untrue. You'd correct her and, before you knew what was happening, you'd divulged everything she wanted to know.
Margery walked back towards the house and Harald followed.
'The Lamberts used to have money but that's all gone so there can be no question of marrying her. In any case, your father has found a wife for you in France.'
'I thought we'd agreed that a French marriage was too risky.'
'That was when we were losing. We're winning now that the Duke of York has taken control. They say we'll be back in Paris by Easter.'
'Mother, the talk is about the appalling cost of the war.'
'I thought it was paying for itself. Your father isn't complaining about lack of funds. He's doing very nicely.'
'Father is doing very nicely because the Duke of York put up the money for the latest campaign. He did so on the understanding that he'd be paid back and that hasn't happened.'
'I know nothing about that.'
'No, Mother. But it's no less true.'
They detoured to avoid a puddle.
'The duke's commission ends in April,' Harald continued. 'There's little chance he'll take a second term and that will place Suffolk in command. He's in with the Beauforts and they want nothing more than to make peace.'
'Harald, you do speak such nonsense. You should read your father's letters. He's there … he knows what's going on.'
They reached the external stairs that led up the side of the old house to the apartment where his mother had her lodging. Harald followed and entered the porch at the top. He regarded the outside stairs as an anachronism, a primitive hangover from the past. If he got his way, they'd be removed and the doorway converted into an oriel window.
His mother's companions were nowhere in sight. Harald guessed the women had taken up residence in the new guestroom. With luck he'd be asked to add an entire new wing to the manor, complete with modern amenities and proper furnishings.
His mother went to a chest and removed some papers.
'Here are the latest of your father's letters. He has found a wife for you. She is the daughter of his loyal friend and companion-in-arms, Henri de Maupassant.'
Harald opened the letters and found a miniature of a young woman.
'That is a likeness of your intended.'
The girl looked about seventeen. Harald didn't doubt that it was not a true likeness. He knew the Seigneur de Maupassant's daughter was a spotty-faced twelve-year-old and he wasn't going to be fooled by an artist's rendering.
'Your father wants you to obtain a similar likeness of yourself. It is his intention to present it to the seigneur at the signing of the marriage contract.'
'What contract?'
'Your father is anxious that the marriage take place as soon as possible. All the necessary arrangements are in hand. If you are unable to make the journey to France, your brother will act as proxy.'
It sounded like a replay of his first marriage. All the disastrous elements were there, including Guy. Harald's head went into a spin.
'Mother, this is ridiculous.'
'It is what your father wants.'
'I must protest.'
'Harald, your father wills it. You are his heir only so long as he deems you fit to receive that honour. If you wish to disobey him, that is your choice. But be mindful that he will strike you from the inheritance and there will be no place for you in this house.'
Interlude
Winter passed into spring and minds turned to May Day. Some regarded the festival as an unfortunate relic from pagan times. Others saw it as part of an ancient tradition that had to be defended from killjoys out to stop their fun.
Chap
ter 20
Plucked Robin
Canon Simon stood by the window in the abbot's chamber and looked down into the cloisters below. It was a pleasant sunny day. The birds were chirping and the monks were sitting on the grass, reading and chatting amongst themselves. Simon wished he could go out and join them but William was obsessed by finance. He was muddling through the bursar's report, trying to make sense of it.
'People refusing to pay heriot. Where's the problem? That's owed to us. Whenever a householder dies, his estate has to pay dues. The law is very clear on that.'
'Richard Vowell does not agree.'
'What's that got to do with it?' William's face reddened. 'The man is of no significance.'
'The point he is making is that heriot refers to the return of military supplies loaned to a knight by his lord. Vowell argues that it is reasonable for a knight's widow to return things loaned to her husband but the same does not go for his own property. He claims that Duke Humphrey is sympathetic to that argument.'
'Humphrey is a spent force.'
'He's still a very powerful man.'
'Aye, Simon, but not for long. He does not have the king's ear and that Cobham woman hangs round his neck like a touch of the pox. She'll ruin Humphrey just like that Lambert woman will ruin the almshouse. They're as alike as two peas in a poxy pod.'
'Have you got any further evidence against the matron?'
'I'm building up a case and when the time's right I'll present it. We'll have Alice de Lambert on a charge of heresy before I'm finished.'
'It will be May Day soon,' Simon observed. 'That is a favourite time for witchcraft and other abominations.'
'Aye,' William smiled. 'And, of all the abominations, the maypole is the worse. It attracts the followers of Satan … those who seek to defile the sacraments of Holy Mother Church and put its teachings to nought.'
'The maypole dance could provide some excellent opportunities to learn the identity of these people,' Simon said. 'Perhaps some loyal members of the community could be encouraged to attend and report back to us … for a suitable reward, of course.'
William rocked back in his chair. 'Don't worry about that. My spies will be there in various guises. I don't doubt they'll gather enough information to keep the summoner busy for a long while. I've told them to keep a special lookout for prominent members of the town, particularly those associated with the almshouse.'
