Longsword

by Veronica Heley

  Gervase understood at once that it was not in order. A protest rose to his lips, and was stifled. This was something for Lord Henry to deal with; a clerk who had made a bad beginning with his lord could not possibly raise the matter.

  And at that inauspicious moment, with Crispin already disposed to find fault with Gervase, Flash slipped through the door, unregarded by the sentry, and made his way across the solar to Gervase. Flash’s tail announced his pleasure at finding Gervase once more. He nosed at Gervase’s heels, sneezed, sat down to scratch, and looked around him with evident enjoyment at being out and about in company again.

  Crispin drew in his breath. The scar glowed on his cheek. “I ordered that dog destroyed! Who has dared. …?”

  Flash responded to the angry voice with a sharp bark, and then sat on Gervase’s feet, betraying the hand that had nursed him.

  Gervase smiled a thin-lipped, one-sided smile. The dog could not have made the matter more clear if he had tried. “Flash was brought to me to nurse back to health,” he said. “I believe he was a favourite of Lord Henry’s?”

  If he had thought to earn protection by invoking Lord Henry’s name, he was mistaken.

  “Were you not told I had given orders that he be destroyed?”

  Gervase sighed. “Yes, I was so told, but. …”

  “You admit you deliberately disobeyed my orders?”

  Should Gervase mention the Lady Beata’s part in this matter? He stroked his beard and was silent. The girl had known she was running a risk, but he would not betray her.

  The younger of the two clerks, a fresh-faced young man, stammered something about the Lady Beata. Gervase gave him a cold glance, and the clerk stopped. The dancers had also stopped. The Lady Elaine had come to perch on the edge of the table, her pretty face alight with curiosity. The bailiff smirked in the background, and rubbed his hands.

  “Varons!” The captain stepped forward, his hands fidgeting with his sword-belt. “Take that rogue of a clerk out and give him fifty lashes! Apparently he does not understand who is master here!”

  Varons hesitated. “My lord, he is new risen from sick-bed, and might not survive fifty lashes. He is a valuable man, my lord.”

  “He will be even more valuable when he has learned his lesson. … Oh, very well! Have it your own way. Set him in the stocks till nightfall!”

  Chapter Six

  Gervase said to himself, “This is not happening to me …!”

  The Lady Elaine was looking at him with detached curiosity, playing with a tress of her long hair. Everyone else was shrugging, and turning away. Rocca was smiling. The two clerks were busying themselves, gathering up papers from the table. Crispin called for more wine, and Varons touched Gervase on the shoulder and gestured to the door. Gervase went with him, the dog by his side.

  “Flash,” said Gervase, as they descended to the courtyard. “Will you look to the dog?”

  “How can I?” Varons spoke softly, out of the side of his mouth.

  “Someone could take him out to the home farm, the one under Lady Beata’s supervision …?”

  Verons nodded. He called to a passing servant, and gave the dog into his care with a few quick words. Gervase walked across, unaccompanied, to where the stocks were situated at the side of the courtyard. The main well of the castle was nearby, and women were constantly coming to it to fetch water. No doubt an unpopular person sitting in the stocks would be liberally baptised with “carelessly” thrown water.

  Varons returned with his sergeant, who carried a great hoop of keys.

  “I regret this,” said Varons, indicating that Gervase seat himself on the ground, and set his ankles in the appropriate semi-circular shapes cut in the lower timber of the stocks.

  “No more than I do,” replied Gervase with equal courtesy. He set his hands on the earth on either side of him, as Varons lowered the top timber onto his legs, and the sergeant locked the two baulks into position.

  Then Gervase was alone, and an object of amusement and speculation for all those who had time on their hands, or business which took them through the courtyard. He crossed his arms on his breast, and at once the backs of his knees protested. His feet were too far off the ground for him to sit upright in comfort. He might lie flat on his back, but this posture did not appeal to him, as being undignified, and positively inciting the throwing of water, rotten apples and other refuse. He sat and considered his options, which were few. He could play the clown for those who watched … but no, he was too angry. He could pretend he had sat in the stocks countless times before … pretend to ignore his humiliation – for it was humiliating – he felt as if he were being seared with the shame of it.

  He himself had condemned men to this punishment now, for stealing, for adultery, for various minor offences such as drunkenness … he had never thought of what it might be like to be put in the stocks himself. It was like … he tried to find a word for it. …

  “What you in there for?” asked a voice above him. It was the young page whose toy he had mended. The lad was eating an apple, and accompanied by one of his fellows.

  “For offending my Lord Crispin.”

  The lad munched on his apple and then, struck by a generous thought, offered it to Gervase. Gervase realised that his mouth was parched. A half-eaten apple seemed the most welcome gift the boy could give him. He took the apple, bowed his thanks, and proceeded to finish it. The boy nodded, satisfied, and went off to play.

  There was a whip of cloth over his legs, and the Lady Beata was bending over him, holding back her hair, which had – of course – come away from its net.

  “What do you do here? Was it the dog? Crispin was angry?” She struck her hands together, her colour high.

  “He does not know you were concerned.”

  “Did you think I would let you carry the blame? He will not harm me … he dare not!” Yet she did not seem certain of her immunity. “I will go to him straight away, and tell him you acted under my orders. …”

  “That will not get me released. The real reason why I am here is because he did not like the look in my eye. He merely used the dog as an excuse to have me punished. By the way, did you know Rocca wants to be steward?”

  “Rocca!” Again she struck her hands together. “That man … I come across his snail’s track everywhere!” She clasped her hands, head bent, eyes going from side to side. “Doubtless you did handle him badly … he is worried about … never mind! He likes to be flattered … if you had gone down on your knees and begged forgiveness … but I might have known you would not!”

  Gervase laughed. Again the girl struck her hands together and cried, “You are a fool!”

  “Granted!”

  “I can promise nothing. …”

  “I expect nothing.”

  “I suppose you defied him to his face, told him you would do it again?”

  “I did not actually say so, but I daresay he understood that well enough.”

  “Of all the stiff-necked. …” She gave a scream, strangled in her throat, but expressive of her frustration. “Men!”

  She swung round and ran off towards the stairs that led up into the keep, then stopped and ran back, unpinning her cloak. She laid the cloak behind him on the ground. “It will be more comfortable for you if you lie back. …” She beckoned a passing servant to her, and gave orders for bread and ale to be brought to Master William.

  “I thank you,” said Gervase. “Listen; do not trouble yourself to plead my cause with your brother. Is it not enough that I should be made uncomfortable for a few hours, without your. …”

  “Does your back ache already? I wish I knew what to do.”

  “Forget about me. Ego te absolvo. …” He used the church’s formula for the forgiveness of sins.

  “And am I therefore absolved? I think not.” Yet she shrank a little as she glanced over her shoulder at the keep. “I will go to him straight away. No-one will harm you if they realise I am protecting you.”

  “Try to weep before hi
m, say it was all a misunderstanding, that you thought he meant another dog to be destroyed, and not Flash … devise some formula to save his face.”

  “I would do it so badly. I have never begged for anything.”

  “‘Of all the stiff-necked women!’”

  She laughed, despite her anxiety.

  “Remember that I am a ‘valuable man’. …” She frowned at this, so he frowned back at her. “Yes, I have it on the best authority that I am a valuable man, worth, I daresay, quite as much as a good hunting dog or a falcon. Besides which, your brother has a letter he wishes despatched today, and he will need my services to dictate it. Which reminds me, would you have the younger of the two clerks sent here to me?”

  “Thomas. A reliable lad, and Hamo thought he might one day take over from him. …”

  “Master Thomas has already taken a hand in the game, if I mistake not.”

  “Has he? What game? You talk like Hamo. I wish I understood what was going on … but I am wasting time. I will go to him, now.”

  She walked slowly but with gathering determination towards the keep. Gervase eased his aching back by lying down. Almost at once booted feet thumped by his head, and a tankard appeared on the earth beside him. When he leaned on one elbow to see which servant had brought him sustenance, there was no-one nearby … but neither was anyone laughing at him any longer.

  Two neatly-shod feet came into view, supporting the fresh, guileless-looking clerk, Thomas. Gervase eyed him with a sour smile.

  “I do not know whether to thank you for your attempted intervention with my Lord Crispin or no,” he said. The young man bowed, but did not comment. Gervase stroked his beard. “That letter … you penned it?”

  “At Master Rocca’s dictation.” The lad was innocence personified.

  “Did he know you were digging pitfalls for him, when he dictated it? My guess is that you know very well the proper form of address for a bishop, but left it out for some reason of your own. …”

  “Master William!”

  “… such as disliking Rocca a trifle more than you disliked my being appointed over your head?”

  “As to that. …” Thomas paused, choosing his words with care. “Hamo told me you had the experience which I lack, that I could learn much from you. …”

  “You are ambitious? That is a good fault.” He sighed, and eased his aching back, biting his lip. “Well, it is best we clear the air between us. May I take it that you have already rewritten the offending letter?”

  Colour stained the young man’s cheeks. “It seemed to me … my lord might not release you before sunset … though he does sometimes turn round and remit punishments. However, I thought it not to be relied upon, and so. …”

  “You saw your chance to leap into my shoes? Well, I do not blame you for that, but you must make up your mind whose man you are.” The lad hesitated. “Let me ask you this,” said Gervase. “Are you cunning enough yet to expose Rocca, while retaining Lord Crispin’s ear?”

  “Not yet,” said the young clerk, looking uneasily around. Did he suspect their conversation was overheard? Had he so much respect for Rocca? “Look you here, Master William; I will serve you to the best of my ability if you will bring down Rocca, and recommend me for your post when you leave. Or, if you stay, if you will recommend me for another, equally good post.”

  “Agreed. And now, we have work to do, for all that I am temporarily in a poor position for writing. I will take a look at that letter you have rewritten, and then I will give you my keys, that you may fetch the manorial rolls with which Rocca is concerned. I may be laid on my back, but that is no reason for us to waste time. …”

  High up in the new tower, above the solar in which Gervase had been received by Crispin, lay the bedchamber occupied by the twin daughters of Lord Henry. Chests containing an assortment of costly clothing lay around the chamber in some disarray, for the Lady Elaine had changed her mind several times about the gown she proposed to wear that evening. One plain chest and a peg on the wall accommodated the Lady Beata’s clothing, and perhaps nothing illustrated the difference between the two sisters so much as their manner of preparing for the main meal of the day.

  The Lady Elaine was devotedly served by two tiring-women, perfectionists in the art of presenting beauty. For nigh on an hour she had been sitting on a stool while the women pulled on and off coloured silk stockings, tied garters, pampered her skin with lotions and tried the effect of certain beribboned garlands on her hair.

  Beata came in with a rush, tearing off the net which had made such a poor job of controlling her locks, shook back her hair, pulled a comb through it with her teeth set against the pain of dealing with tangles, and looped her girdle more closely around her waist. As she turned to the light, Elaine saw that Beata’s left cheek was swollen and red.

  “Enough,” said the Lady Elaine, waving her women away. “I wish to speak with my sister. Beata, where have you been? Nurse has been looking all over for you, and I wanted you. …”

  “With the priest,” said Beata, picking up a hand-mirror and putting it to a use different from that for which it was intended. It was cool against the heat of her bruised cheek.

  “So he did hit you. Let me see … I have a lotion here.” Elaine was not unintelligent, and she loved her sister despite – or perhaps because of – the fact that they were so unlike. “There, now … if you wish to cry. …”

  Beata tossed her head. “I am not going to cry. Nothing and nobody can make me cry. Father Anthony scolded me, but little I care for him. Or for anything that my brother says or does! I am going to write to my father, to tell him what is in my mind, and no-one is going to stop me. Surely Father will listen to me. …”

  Elaine blinked at her sister. Beata straightened her shoulders, and turned to Elaine with a brilliant smile. “Well, and what have you found to do on your first day back at Mailing? I was at the farm in the morning, you know. …”

  Elaine was easily reassured that all was now well with her sister. Was she not anxious to make a confidence herself? “Well, it was all agreed, as you know, that I should marry young Gerald. …”

  “Gerald? You go too fast for me. The last time you were here there was some other man spoken of for you … Gervase something?”

  “Escot. Yes. They tell me he was very ugly, so I am glad I am not going to marry him now.”

  “Some ugly men are such delightful company that you forget their appearance … or come to think they have an air of distinction better than good looks. …”

  “Do you think so? Well, anyway, Father told me ages ago that the man was not to be thought of any more, because his uncle had married and was like to produce an heir, which made this Gervase Escot of little importance … and I was glad because Father seemed to think that Gerald would do well enough as my husband. Gerald is not so very rich, of course, but his family is good.”

  “He is a pretty lad, and loves you well.”

  “Yes, I think he does.” She stated her opinion dispassionately. “I thought it would be not so bad to be married to him. …”

  “You would rule him, of course.”

  Elaine smiled, and then sobered. “But now Crispin says that Gerald is not to be thought of, either. He has received fresh instructions from Father, about another match, and Gerald is to be discouraged.” She sighed, but as one regretting the loss of a pretty trifle, rather than of a lover.

  “Well … poor Gerald,” said Beata, her attention wandering. “But you have had a-many lovers and by this time … who is to be the next, pray?”

  “Someone called Sir Bertrand de Bors. I do not like him.” She said this with the gentle distaste of one refusing a dish at supper. “He is always pulling on my arm, or trying to touch my neck.”

  “You have met him? Well, at least that makes a change. Of all the men proposed for your hand so far, you have had first-hand knowledge of only two.”

  “There was that Scots knight. …” Elaine began to tell off her lovers on her fingers. “B
ut then there was some trouble on the border and his castle was burned to the ground. Then Gerald for a little, and after him Sir John from London, so great in his self-esteem I thought he would burst his tunic. Then there was Sir Gervase Escot – though him I never saw – and now Sir Bertrand.”

  “Well, what is this new man like? Hamo would have known. …” Beata sighed.

  “Ah, dear Hamo.” The regret was as lightly expressed as for the loss of Gerald. “Well, Sir Bertrand is a connection of the Escots. They say he is rich. He has gained many prizes in tourneys of recent years, though I do not think he has been at war – not in France, anyway. He bore my ribbons in the tournament at York recently, and carried everything before him. He is so big that. …” She gestured widely with her hands “And so tall, and his hands have hairs on their backs. I don’t think,” she said in considering fashion, “that he is as rich as Sir John was, but he is related to our sister-in-law Joan, and half the nobility in the Sussex area, and he was able to help Father in some litigation or other. I don’t understand what it was all about, though he did try to tell me. When he looks at me he makes me feel uncomfortable … and he leans on me when he sits next me at table.”

  There was no response to this confession, so Elaine looked up to see her sister gazing at her with apparent attention, while tearing her veil into shreds.

  “Beata! What on earth is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. Or rather, everything. Elaine, what am I going to do?”

  Elaine stared at her sister without comprehension. “Do? Why? Is there anything you want to do that you cannot? Are you worried about Father Anthony scolding you or Crispin being out of temper?”

  “That! That is nothing! No, I meant … what am I going to do with the rest of my life?”