Longsword

by Veronica Heley

  The physician found her weak and listless, but on the mend. He prescribed various noxious draughts for her – which she told Anselm to throw away – and talked much of low fevers and of putting your faith in God. He said it was her duty to recover quickly, and went hastily away, fearful lest he catch her “fever”.

  On the fifth day the nurse sent for Gervase. Beata had known he would have to be summoned … perhaps she had not wanted to recover too quickly, knowing that if she seemed worse, he would come to her.

  He smiled at her from the doorway. He did not come in at once, but stood there, hesitating. She knew why he hesitated. Nurse had gone about some business of her own, and they would be alone. She smiled back at him, and put out her hand to draw him into the room. She was dressed only in her shift, but wrapped in a cloak, sitting on a stool before the fire.

  She said, “Did you think I was a ghost? I feel as if I were one. I feel as if I died that day you brought the here, and am only lingering till Christmas, that they can bury my body at the right time.”

  He seated himself on a stool on the other side of the fire, and without being reminded, took off his cap and coif with a sigh. He ran his hands back through his hair, and shook his head. It seemed to her that his attention was not wholly with her; once this would have enraged but now it merely saddened her. She thought he looked weary, though it was not much past noon.

  Then he was looking at her, and smiling again. She did not know what anxiety had preoccupied him, but it was gone, and she was content.

  “That you should have to be sent for …!” she said, in mock reproach.

  “It is an open secret in the castle that I am devoted to you, and that is no great matter, I think. But it must not be said that I am of any importance to you.”

  “Oh, prudent man! Oh, wise steward! To think you might have been married to my sister by this time. …”

  He laughed, low and soft, and shook his head at her.

  “Do you not admire her?” She could not resist probing the wound.

  His eyebrows zigzagged. “She is delightful, in her own way. She does everything with such an art – and she is fond of you, Beata.” He used her name deliberately, for the first time, bringing light to her lacklustre eyes. “She has asked every day if she may be permitted to visit you, and when my Lord Crispin and the physician have denied her, she has wept. She weeps beautifully.”

  “I am glad,” replied Beata, leaving it unclear whether she rejoiced because Elaine had asked for her, or because her lover did not really admire her sister. “Do you enjoy working as a secretary?”

  Again he ran his hands through his hair, and this time grimaced. “Telfer asked me if my gown chafed, and I said no; only the cap and coif. Perhaps that is about right. I like to bring order out of chaos, prosperity from neglect. I was trained to be a soldier, but the years of combat brought only a feeling of emptiness … the waste of it all! I like to build, and not to destroy. The years in which I was allowed to administer my uncle’s estates were busy years, and I never stopped then to ask myself if I were content with such work. Now I know that I was. Hamo was right about my having a talent for it. If I were allowed a free hand here, I could do such things …! I ought to be riding to the Midlands now, for there is a dispute about pavage in the town. Your father writes that we must refuse the townsmen’s claim, but when I studied their charter …!” He stopped short, laughing at himself for having become so enthusiastic. The light died from his eyes. “It is true that my place is here at the moment. Your brother says that after Christmas. …” He shrugged. “Well, I must obey him, of course, and help Telfer as best I can. Yet this delay will not soothe the tempers of the men in the Midlands who are disputing the tax. Yes, the cap and coif do chafe me.”

  “Oh, if you could only have talked face to face with my father about it, he would have bid you go! What is a steward for, if he cannot act for his lord in such cases?”

  “But I am not steward here. I am only acting-temporarily – for Crispin as his secretary. I see what should be done, and cannot do it because I have to wait on his moods. If I could fawn on him, and flatter him, it would be easier to get my own way, but I cannot. And yet … a dozen times I have been on the point of throwing up the post, and then he has turned round and given me everything and more than that which I have been working for. And why does he give in? Because I have convinced him that this or that is the right course to follow? No. It is all caprice. No, not all. I must be fair. He seems a warm-hearted man at bottom, but … perhaps it is because he is entangled with Rocca that he tries to play the tyrant. Yet he has quite accepted that I keep the dog Flash beside me. That takes a forgiving spirit, does it not?”

  “My father is not capricious. You will like to serve him.”

  “I think not. I think I will go at Christmas. Perhaps I should go before Sir Bertrand de Bors arrives, for fear that he recognise me. …” He looked at her steadily.

  She smiled faintly. “I know about it. Did he put the ring in your wallet? Did he arrange the whole thing to please his cousin? Tell me. …”

  He looked into the fire. “It all seems so long ago, now … as if it happened to another man, in another age. I was falsely accused, convicted, and would have been branded as a thief. Awaiting punishment, two men came to kill me in the night. But I had been forewarned, and my sword had been thrust through the bars of my prison, so that I could defend myself, which I did. And escaped. And came here. I do not know how the ring got into my wallet. I cannot clear myself. When my uncle turned his back on me, I knew all was lost.” He shook himself out of his reverie. “Well, Telfer tells me no-one would recognise me, dressed like this, and with a beard. So, I will serve Mailing as best I may till you go, and then I also will be on my way.”

  “You must appeal to my father to reopen the case.”

  “Against his son-in-law?” He smiled, and shook his head. Then he extended his hand to her. “Come, will you dine with us in the hall tonight? You are needed.”

  “I think not. I am always tired by evening, and everyone says they can manage well enough without me.”

  “Who says so?” He spoke sharply. “Ah, I know who told you that! Your nurse? Is that not the usual way to talk to invalids, to keep them happy in their beds? Did she tell you of the floggings that Crispin orders every day? Or that there are now two pairs of stocks in the courtyard, and both filled from dawn to sunset? Did she tell you of Jaclin’s drinking bouts, and of his thrashing Crispin’s squire, who can ill be spared at this time? Did she not tell you that Telfer has lost his voice? That my clerk Thomas has developed a nervous twitch? That Joan denounced Crispin at Mass …?”

  “What?” She half-rose from her stool. Her colour deepened to something approaching normal.

  “She had been drinking, I suppose. She interrupted Sunday Mass, despite everything her women could do, to denounce him. She said a great many foolish things, about Crispin’s desiring the child’s death, and wanting to put her away. I think he would indeed like to divorce her, poor creature, but dares not say so as yet, for she comes of a powerful family … is not Sir Bertrand her cousin? As she reminds Crispin daily. Yesterday he sent his physician to her chamber, and the rumour is that the physician so dosed and purged her that she is now abed, and likely to stay there, weeping. …”

  “Why, this is not to be borne!”

  “… and leaving the castle without a chatelaine just when the first of your father’s guests are arriving – they come from so far, they started early, and are expected on the morrow – you cannot ask your sister to act as chatelaine, can you? She confuses people’s names and status, and gives offence without intending to do so. Also, she is very prone to tears since young Gerald was found by Jaclin with his arm about her, and that caused some stir, I can tell you! Your brother couldn’t order Gerald to be whipped, but he screamed and shouted that he would like to do so, in front of everyone. Then Gerald, who does not lack for courage, tried to challenge your brother to meet him in the tourney, and Cr
ispin was going to accept!” He put his hand over his eyes, overcome at the memory. “Well, Telfer and Varons and I got them apart, and talked some sense into them, but by that time your sister was in another pickle. The silly girl fled from the scene between Gerald and Crispin and after coming here and being turned away by your nurse, she went weeping to the armoury, looking for I know not whom. There she discovered a good-looking young ostler, who was old enough to know better than to try to touch her. However, she threw herself on him in tears, he put his arm round her to comfort her, and is in consequence under threat of losing his eyes.”

  “I must dress! Where is …?”

  “Of course he has been flogged already,” said Gervase. “Your brother, foiled of his vengeance where Gerald was concerned, fell on the ostler like a gift from heaven. Once more Telfer, Varons and I tried to intervene, but though we have gained a stay of execution for the moment, the lad is still in danger of losing his eyes. Your sister ought to have been married at sixteen – though, come to think of it, she has been so taught to display her charms that she is as likely to cause trouble as a young married woman as she is without a ring on her finger. Then. …”

  Beata ran to the door, and called for her nurse. She clapped her hands. looking around her for her clothes. Gervase picked some stockings from the chest nearby, and handed them to her while he went on with his report.

  “There is also the question of the masque to be perfomed on the night before your joint nuptials. I was told to compose some trifle, to be performed by the pages, the waiting-women, yourself and your sister. Unfortunately my effort did not meet with approval. I lack talent for fulsome praise, you see, and my drafts were greeted with scorn. Only this morning Father Anthony informed me that he was taking over the direction of the masque, which would have as its climax the ascent of a staircase by you and your sister, to be greeted at the top by Sir Bertrand in all his glory as the God of War … and our own Father Anthony in full canonicals, who will join with you in a song in praise of some minor saint or other – I forget which.”

  “Never!” cried Beata, laughing yet angry. “What a ridiculous … hand me my shoes …!”

  He went on one knee to fit them on, as she sat on the bed. “It is a sight better, I can assure you, than the ode in praise of Chastity which I had been trying to compose for you to speak.”

  “Chastity?” His hands were warm about her ankles. They both fell silent. He sat back on his heels, and stroked his beard. She stood up, pulled her dress over her head, and fastened it at the neck.

  “Has Crispin gone mad?”

  “With anxiety, I believe. He receives directives from your father daily, and these are filled with such contradictory instructions that he knows not how to manage. The work on the stands in the tiltyard overlooking the lists has been held up by bad weather, and if they are not finished, then how can we stage a tourney? The bishop writes one week that he will certainly be here, and the next that he will assuredly not be here. Some abbot or other has now been invited, as stop-gap and the abbess of the convent to which you are bound. The numbers of guests fluctuate from day to day, but usually in an upwards direction. All this would be as nothing to Cripsin, of course, if he were not so anxious about his wife. I believe he has come to hate the very sight of her; yet his is a kindly nature at bottom, and therefore he takes refuge from his misery in striking out at any who cross his will.”

  “At you?”

  “Not as yet, but that will come, no doubt. Rocca is ever at your brother’s elbow. Crispin has grown to hate Rocca, and yet cannot be rid of the man. Like Joan, in a way. He has a talent for tying himself to people he does not really like. Rocca opposes me in everything, on principle, which is very wearing. I would keep out of the internal affairs of the castle if I could, but Telfer has begged me to help him, and I cannot refuse.”

  “Besides, it is a challenge to your sense of order, is it not?”

  “You are right.” He smiled. “Yes. … I think I would quite enjoy it, if it were not for having to watch Rocca at every turn. You see, if I have a finger in this pie, and it pleases Lord Henry, then Rocca will be at a disadvantage when it comes to a confrontation between us over the Michaelmas dues. He knows very well that if he does not destroy me first, I will destroy him in time.”

  Lacking a comb, she ran her fingers through her curls. “What do you want me to do?”

  He lifted his hands and let them fall. “Help us, all of us. We are all overtired, trying to get everything ready in time. Some trifling incident may spark Crispin off again – set yourself close to him, listen to him, and when he is in a receptive mood, reason with him. You are needed everywhere. …”

  “My lady!” The nurse came in, anxious-eyed, “you are never up and dressed! You cannot mean to go out!”

  “Not before time, it appears,” said Beata. “Could you not have told me that all was not well in the castle?”

  “If I had thought you could mend matters. …”

  “I do not know whether I can or no,” said Beata. “But of a certainty, I must try.”

  Gervase went straight from the infirmary to the armoury, where Crispin was inspecting the armour he planned to wear in the tourney. This would not be the heavy armour of the battlefield, but was lighter, specially made for such purposes. Lances and swords would be prepared with blunt tips, and no heavy maces allowed.

  Crispin was absorbed in his choice, so Gervase leaned against the wall and allowed his thoughts to wander. He was tired. He had been up all night, trying to devise a solution to the seemingly impossible problem of how to hold the tourney if the weather continued inclement. Thomas the clerk came up, with a bundle of newly-arrived letters which ought to have been attended to that morning, but which Crispin had brushed aside as being of no importance. A self-important little man had been sent down from London by Lord Henry to act as Clerk of the Lists, and Crispin was more anxious to confer with him than to deal with business matters.

  Thomas nudged Gervase. Crispin was asking for him. Perhaps they could get some work done now … but no, Crispin was merely seeking confirmation that his armour would be the best, the most ornate, the most highly gilded to appear in the tourney. Three helmets had been laid out for his inspection. Crispin ran his fingers over the chasing on the helm before him. A scarlet ostrich-feather plume floated from the crest, which was wrought in the semblance of a man’s hand. Gervase nodded and smiled, but his own eyes went to an unadorned helm which Crispin had pushed aside. Now there was a helm made for fighting, instead of display; that helm had lines that would deflect a sword-blade, instead of catching it in their intricacies … It was a thing of beauty, to Gervase, that plain helm, because it was so well designed for its purpose.

  Crispin had talked himself into a sunny mood. Perhaps now would be a good time to speak with him about the ostler condemned to lose his sight … the poor lad’s father and mother had been waiting to plead his case since dawn yesterday, and … but no! A page had come with a request for an audience from the Lady Joan, and at once Crispin’s good humour was gone. He culled the page from his path. bidding them not to trouble him with that woman any more. So. Now Crispin decided to go to the stables, to inspect the horse he planned to ride in the tourney, and the clerks would not be required. Gervase bade Thomas snatch an hour’s sleep, and went to take another look at the tiltyard.

  “Master William!” The tone of Gerald’s voice was nicely poised between condescension and entreaty. “Master William, one moment of your time. I believe you taught young Jaclin a trick or two …?” Gervase bowed. For the last week he had gone daily to the tiltyard or the armoury at the time appointed by Jaclin, only to be kept waiting for an hour and then dismissed, or told to watch while Jaclin beat a number of stable-lads, untrained in such work, at the quarter-staff. It had not been an edifying experience.

  “I wish. …” Gerald reddened. “That is, Captain Varons suggested … I have difficulty in holding my lance steady, and this will be my first tourney.”

 
; Gervase stifled a yawn. What next would be required of him? As Crispin’s secretary, he could refuse. Yet he was sorry for the lad.

  “1 have watched you tilt,” Gervase told him. “You take your lance out of its rest just before impact. Therefore you lose control.”

  “It is so hard … will you not practise with me? Jaclin says he has no further need of you … tomorrow at dawn?”

  Gervase sighed. Then he thought, perhaps if I get a good night’s sleep tonight, I might be able to do it. He said, “If my duties permit, and time allows, I will certainly be there. It is certainly difficult to keep up that arm-breaking posture up to and beyond the moment of impact. There is one way. You must want to kill your opponent. If you think only of that, you will hold the lance steady enough.”

  Gerald started. How had Gervase known that Gerald hated Crispin? Gerald was out of his depth in such a situation. He turned on his heel and walked away, stiff-legged. Gervase shook his tired head to clear it, and went out into the rain.

  “I did not mean it!” wept Elaine, her head buried in Beata’s lap. “I am fond of Gerald, and when Crispin said … what he said … oh, Beata! I am not a … what he called me! And I went to the infirmary to see if you were well enough to talk to me, and Nurse said you were asleep, so I went along to the armoury, because I thought Jaclin might be there, or Master William, maybe; but they weren’t and I was leaning against the table to cry in peace and one of the ostlers asked me what was the matter, and I suppose I did hold onto his arm, because he was so big and comforting … and then Crispin came in with everyone, and he said the man must be flogged … and I went on my knees and said I supposed it was my fault, and that I’d only let him comfort me because he had such nice eyes, and then Crispin said. …

  “Hush, dear!” Beata smoothed her sister’s hair. “We will try to save the man’s eyes. …”

  “Father Anthony says it is all my fault because I am so vain, and display myself like the Whore of Babylon! But I’m not a Jezebel, truly I am not!”