The Lady in the Tower

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  I felt my insides freeze as the words sank in. Witchcraft? Not my mother. The memory of the village woman who had been burned at the stake as a witch returned painfully to my mind. I was eight when it happened. I remembered her screams, the stench of burning flesh, and the way her long hair had caught and burned like a torch.

  I began shuddering, my breath coming short. I looked at my mother in disbelief. She was white about the lips.

  ‘Walter, dearest … ?’ she faltered. ‘Is this some terrible jest?’

  That’s it, I thought. It’s a jest. He’s teasing, just like she teased me about my dreadful sewing earlier. Like he teases us about the presents. In a moment he’ll laugh and they’ll hug each other.

  ‘Do you deny, ma’am, that you have lain with other men in my absence? That you have brewed potions to ensnare me anew on my return?’ My father’s voice was cold and hard. I gasped with shock.

  ‘Walter, please … our daughter. Eleanor,’ whispered my mother disjointedly.

  ‘Do you deny the charge?’ Father demanded, his voice icy, and his eyes not quite meeting hers.

  ‘I never … no, I mean yes. Of course I deny it. Walter, please, what madness has come over you? I pray you, end this foolish game.’

  ‘I’m ending it now, ma’am.’ He turned to his knights. ‘Seize her. Take her to the top room of the south-west tower. My chaplain has prepared it for her reception.’

  ‘No! Walter, no!’ my mother cried out. She reached out her hands to him, desperation in her face. ‘God be my witness, our children have been my companions by day and my only bedfellows by night! Who has told you such lies?’

  Sir Walter ignored her, merely nodding to his men.

  At once they seized Mother by the arms and began dragging her away. She struggled and cried out, but then went limp, as though resigned to her fate.

  Until that moment, shock and disbelief had held me frozen in passive horror. It suddenly lifted. I ran to my mother and flung my arms around her.

  ‘No, Father!’ I cried. ‘You can’t! It’s not true … ’

  I could not believe this could be happening. What was my father thinking of? Or was it another man, a stranger, pretending to be my father?

  Another guard stepped forward and tore me away from my mother. As she was taken from the room, I wrenched myself free of my captor and seized Sir Walter by the arm, shaking it urgently.

  ‘Father! She’s done nothing wrong! Tell them to let her go!’

  ‘Be silent, girl!’ He glared at me a moment, and I saw his eyes dancing madly and beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. I recoiled slightly and he shook me off in disgust, as though I were a rat or a cockroach, giving me a shove so that I fell to the floor. I was furious. My mother had often deplored my temper. It flared now. Here I was in this room which just a few moments ago had been bright with happiness. It was all gone, and in its place were swirling mists of pure rage. I got up and punched Father in the stomach. He did not flinch. I had forgotten his chain mail beneath his tunic. The pain in my hand merely fuelled my anger. I began to kick his shins and yell.

  ‘You piece of filth!’ I shouted. ‘You madman! Let Mother go, at once!’

  He went to push me again. This time I caught his hand and sank my teeth into it until I tasted blood.

  Sir Walter’s scream of pain echoed around the chamber. I heard him yell. ‘You witch’s spawn, you’ll pay for that!’

  His voice had a high-pitched, almost insane note in it. I heard him yell an order and the next thing I knew I had been lifted bodily off the ground and was being carried out of the room. I lashed out with my feet at my captors. My foot sank into soft flesh more than once. They grunted, but didn’t slacken their hold.

  ‘Lock her in one of the top rooms,’ snarled my father. ‘Perhaps a couple of days with no food will tame her.’

  I was dragged roughly up the spiral staircase. I fought the men every step of the way. Then, sitting on the dusty floor of an empty room with the door locked behind me, I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked myself to and fro, shaking.

  ‘I’ll rescue you, Mother,’ I vowed quietly, in a voice that sounded quite unlike my own. ‘If he doesn’t realize his mistake first, I’ll set you free myself.’

  I was young then, and did not realize that the very power and wealth I admired in my father would be turned against me. Petted and indulged as I had been up to that point in my life, I did not understand how impossible it is for a child to set herself against an adult.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Spring 1540 (four years later)

  My dearest Eleanor,

  Thank you for the new embroidery. It helps to pass the time, which crawls by so slowly. I do believe I have counted almost every minute of the four years that have passed since I was locked in here. It feels like a lifetime. A nightmare that will never end.

  I saw you out riding today and imagined I was with you.

  Your loving mother,

  Elizabeth

  I ran the brush vigorously along Arianna’s flank, and then stroked her gleaming coat. She was a grey, but so light as to be almost white. She shone in the sun.

  ‘I’m to be betrothed again, Tom. Have you heard?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, Mistress Eleanor. Everyone knows it, I reckon. Why the sad face? The last one died before you could be married, and no harm done.’

  Tom was tending Arianna’s hooves, bending down beside me, scraping the mud away.

  ‘Yes, and by God, I give thanks for it in my prayers every night,’ I responded. ‘But I can’t see my luck holding a second time.’

  I had been formally betrothed shortly after my mother’s incarceration. My betrothed had been an elderly baronet with few teeth and the gout. I still remembered the terror and the disgust he had caused me. Luckily for me, he had died a few weeks before our wedding. But I had been left with a horror of who my father might next foist upon me. I, of course, had no say in the matter.

  Tom stooped to lift Arianna’s next hoof, leaning against her so she would shift her weight across to the other leg. ‘You’ve been lucky to escape this long, if you ask me,’ he commented.

  I sighed and resumed steady, rhythmic brushing strokes. Arianna swished her tail and shook her head to keep the flies off. It was a warm day, and everyone moved more slowly than usual. I felt tired and listless and, in that mood, my future seemed even more daunting than usual.

  ‘I stay out of sight,’ I said. ‘I doubt my father has caught sight of me in two years.’

  ‘He’s not forgot you, don’t deceive yourself. It just ain’t suited him to marry you off yet. But you’re fifteen now; you’ve growed up. It’s high time you was married,’ remarked Tom.

  ‘You’re fifteen and you aren’t married, so don’t tell me I should be, you pile of horse apples.’

  ‘I ain’t the daughter of an earl, like you are. Dog droppings.’ Tom grinned as he insulted me.

  ‘Son of a gong farmer!’ I threw back at him.

  ‘That’s most likely true, an’ all,’ he remarked wiping his nose on his sleeve. ‘Don’t remember much about me parents, but there weren’t nothing fine about them.’

  ‘I didn’t mean … ’ I said, colour mounting in my cheeks. Sometimes I forgot the difference in our stations enough to be unkind, and it embarrassed me. Since Gregory had left Farleigh three years ago, Tom had once more been my only friend. I had become steadily more estranged from my brother. We jousted together still, but that was the extent of our relationship.

  I reverted to our previous conversation: ‘Well, I cannot leave Mother. She depends on me. She’s growing weaker, I’m sure of it. I don’t think she ever recovered from … ’

  ‘Her illness?’ asked Tom when I stopped.

  I lowered my voice though there was no one near.

  ‘Illness, or poison. You know that Mother is sure the chaplain poisoned her food or drink. And now she dare touch nothing that comes from him. If I didn’t get food to her, she would starve.’

&nbs
p; Tom nodded reluctantly. He knew of the secret arrangement. A woman called Alice and some of the other villagers took the food to the foot of the tower every night, where Mother hauled it to her window in a basket the village women had made for her. And throughout all this, Mother still hoped for her husband’s mercy. She firmly believed the poison was the chaplain’s doing, not Sir Walter’s. She refused to try to escape with me.

  ‘I know your mother depends on you,’ Tom said. ‘But I was thinking of you. You’re not treated right here. It might be best for you to be married and have your own home.’

  ‘Not if the marriage is of Sir Walter’s making. It’ll be another revolting old goat with one gout-ridden foot in the grave.’

  ‘Eleanor!’ My brother’s voice broke into our conversation. I had not heard him approach. ‘I need you. Would you care to joust with me?’

  ‘Very well, Walter.’ I nodded, and threw down my brush.

  ‘You’ll have to finish Arianna, Tom. But can you ready Beau for me first?’

  Tom rolled his eyes.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, you just leave it all to Tom.’ He winked at me as he left to fetch the saddle and bridle.

  ‘Desiccated dog turd!’ I tossed after him cheerfully.

  ‘Festering flea bite!’ he called back.

  Whilst Tom was preparing Beau, I fished a carrot out of my pocket for Arianna. As she crunched it eagerly, I stroked her cheeks and kissed her soft, velvety nose. She was a great comfort; the one precious thing my father had not taken from me. I loved her very dearly. She was at all times my favourite mount, but had never mastered the art of jousting.

  I swung into Beau’s saddle, adjusting the folds of my simple kirtle. My fine kirtles and gowns were all outgrown, and I dressed plainly in what clothes could be made up cheaply and easily. I looked like the servants now, except that I wore my auburn hair loose, not bound back in a veil.

  I rode down to join Walter. He had shed his petticoats these two years, and was dressed now like a miniature man in doublet and hose. No expense was spared in his apparel. My brother was now a sturdy boy of eight summers, who excelled in every form of sport. He divided his waking day between riding and learning swordplay and archery. Like our father, he despised book learning of any kind. He had never learned to read and write like I had. Our affection for each other had waned over the years as he became more and more his father’s son.

  ‘Ah, Eleanor,’ the castellan greeted me. He rarely allowed himself a smile. ‘I’m glad you could join us. I have news for you both. There is to be a formal announcement at supper, so if you could keep it to yourselves until then. Firstly, Sir Walter will be arriving in a few days.’ I groaned audibly, interrupting him. My father’s arrival would mean less freedom within the castle and the end of jousting practice for me. Although it had been he that had allowed me to begin learning, I’m quite sure he would be shocked if he knew I had continued all these years.

  The castellan paused in his speech and I saw his lips tighten a little. I wondered if he was annoyed at my interruption or whether he agreed with my sentiments towards my father. I had suspected for years that he continued to teach me jousting as an act of rebellion against Sir Walter and his treatment of Mother and me.

  ‘Sir Walter will be joined,’ continued the castellan, ‘by a large party of noblemen and ladies. Some will reside within the castle itself, others are to pitch camp outside the castle walls. We expect that the king himself may visit.’

  Both Walter and I gasped with surprise as the king was mentioned. A royal visit was not something that had happened in our lifetime.

  ‘To celebrate the occasion and in honour of the king, Sir Walter plans to hold a tournament here at Farleigh. Lists will be constructed for the joust and there will also be other events such as archery and sword fighting.’

  At this point the castellan was interrupted again as Walter fairly screamed with excitement. His pony reared up in fright, blowing and snorting in indignation, and began to bolt. Walter pulled him round in a tight circle and brought him back.

  ‘A tournament?’ Walter cried. ‘A real tournament, right here?’ The castellan inclined his head, allowing himself a small smile.

  ‘I have already suggested to your father that there should be a junior event as well, Master Walter. He was disposed to agree.’

  Walter whooped with delight. His pony tossed his head.

  My feelings on hearing this news were more mixed. The return of my father had never yet brought me any good. Now it might mean my new betrothal was near. And although the joust would doubtless be exciting to watch, I had no chance of competing. I was nobly born, but I was female. My part would be to sit gracefully on the sidelines and watch.

  ‘I don’t suppose there will be a jousting event for ladies?’ I asked the castellan bitterly.

  ‘You know very well there will not be,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘But it is not fair that I may not compete.’

  ‘Indeed,’ nodded the castellan. ‘For you have more skill than many men, and more courage too. But it would not be seemly to display yourself before the crowd. We must take the world as we find it, Mistress Eleanor.’

  I did not agree. ‘When the world has unjust rules, we should seek to change them,’ I argued.

  Walter snorted derisively. ‘You’ll never have women in the lists!’ he mocked. ‘Women sit on the sidelines and fuss about their gowns and their complexions.’

  ‘I can defeat you,’ I countered swiftly.

  ‘Because I am a youth and you are near full grown.’ He tossed his head dismissively, looking just like Father. ‘In a few years I will be a strong knight, and you will be sitting with a babe in arms.’

  A surge of rage swept through me and I choked on all the angry words I wanted to fling at him.

  ‘Father would have stopped you jousting long ago if I had told on you,’ Walter added.

  ‘But you did not, and you will not, because you need me to train with,’ I threw back at him.

  ‘Pooh!’ he scoffed.

  We glared silently at one another for a few moments. Used to our quarrels, the castellan broke in:

  ‘If you think the rules should be changed, perhaps you will speak to Sir Walter, Mistress,’ he suggested.

  I imagined the scene that would ensue, and sighed. ‘Oh well, I suppose watching a tournament will be less dull than life generally is here.’

  ‘Are we going to practise?’ asked the castellan drily.

  We rode hard and struck our targets accurately until humans and horses alike were blown. I felt I had proved my brother wrong with my performance, though he was not going to concede the point.

  I headed back to the castle with my head full of the coming joust, and thought of little else over the following days. I wished I could enter. Nothing on the scale of this tournament had happened in years, and the whole castle buzzed with excitement. Even the servants, to whom this would bring so much extra work, walked with a new spring in their step, and could be seen bustling all over the castle, opening up little used apartments and spring cleaning. The kitchen was likewise a hive of activity, as our stores of grain and preserves were checked and counted and orders for more supplies were made out. I wandered hither and thither, without any role in the preparations, feeling wistful.

  As usual, I sought refuge in the stables, and it was from here that I saw my father arrive a few days later. I was hiding in the hayloft at the time, having had another argument with Walter in which he had spoken insultingly of our mother. I could not understand that he had not more loyalty towards her. I had to remind myself that he had been only four when she was taken from us.

  The stable loft was my favourite hiding place when I needed to be alone. There I could lie in the warm, sweet-smelling hay and listen to the horses breathing and moving about below. It was a place of security and comfort.

  The clatter of hooves in the courtyard interrupted my thoughts. I leaned out through a window high in the wall, and looked down upon the sight of S
ir Walter leading a cavalcade of about a dozen men. There were many fine horses among them, though just now they and their riders looked weary and dusty from the road.

  The grooms and stable boys ran out to take the horses. There would be frantic activity in the stables from now on, as the horses were fed, watered, and rubbed down and all the tack was cleaned. From my vantage point above the yard, I saw Tom go to the head of a tall roan gelding and take his reins behind the bit, while his elderly rider struggled down from the saddle, stiff from his long ride. My insides froze, as it occurred to me that this might be the man my father intended to betroth me to. Indeed, it could be any of them, I realized with horror, looking them all over. My gaze lingered especially on the older members of the party, noting the red noses, bad teeth, and bulging paunches. I shivered.

  I realized I was observed. An elegant young man, fashionably dressed, was sitting easily astride his black horse, one gloved hand resting on his hip. He was looking straight at me, a grin spreading over his face. I drew back hastily into the dim light of the loft. Before I lost sight of him, he winked at me. I was disconcerted, and hid myself in the darkest corner. There, comfortably snuggled into the hay, I contemplated the change in my circumstances these visitors might bring about. My habit was to hide from strangers. But would I now be called to eat my meals at the top table of the great hall as a daughter of the house? Time would tell.

  My ears caught the sound of my father’s voice in the stalls below. Cautiously, I pushed aside a pile of hay and sought a crack where the planking had shrunk with age. I pressed my eye to it. It allowed me an imperfect view of my father standing in the gloom of the stable below. I could make out the bald patch in his red hair almost directly below. He was standing close to the chaplain, and both were speaking in lowered voices. What was the chaplain doing in the stables? He almost never rode.

  ‘Have you become squeamish of a sudden? What is wrong with you that you do not carry out my orders?’ hissed Sir Walter. His voice was easy to hear; he never could speak quietly.