Longsword

by Veronica Heley

  “No, you are not.” Yet Beata sighed.

  Elaine sat up, eyes still brimming with tears. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “I don’t think you are aware of the damage you do, that’s all.”

  “Crispin said I ought to be whipped, but instead he sent me to Father Anthony to be scolded … I wasn’t very sympathetic when Father Anthony scolded you, was I? The things he said he made me feel so sinful!”

  “Not sinful, dearest. Thoughtless, perhaps.”

  “He said I led men into sin, by the way I behaved. That isn’t true, is it?”

  Beata gave a sad little laugh. “I don’t think I know enough about it to judge. Perhaps it would have been better if you had been married at sixteen.”

  “Y-yes. Though I wouldn’t have been Queen of Beauty then, would I? I would have been bearing children, one a year … ugh! Or dying in childbirth … I wish … I wish I need never get married. …”

  “You are not still afraid of your bold Sir Bertrand, are you? Why, he is sure to be Champion of the tourney at Christmas, and at your feet. …”

  “Father Anthony says that the masque must be completely rewritten. He says Master William is no poet.”

  “Would you have expected him to be?” And Beata smiled.

  Elaine sighed, pushing back her hair, and drying her eyes. “We are lucky to have him, aren’t we?”

  “Father Anthony?”

  “I meant Master William. He is so kind. Do you know, he always makes me stand at the back when we distribute alms so that my dress does not get spattered with mud … oh, this rain … will it never stop? Crispin says Father is to send me some gold tissue to make up into a gown for my wedding, but the roads are going to be impassable if the weather does not improve soon. You are to have one exactly the same, of course. If the material doesn’t come in time, I have ordered them to make up another blue gown for you, like the one I wore at the last tourney … with the silver cloth undergown. It is here, half-made, somewhere … also I have been thinking how much the nun’s wimple and veil will suit you … so helpful to disguise a sagging neck as you grow older.” She stopped and put her hand to her head. “You think I’m heartless, don’t you? Well, I’m not. Only I must think about something else quickly, or go mad!”

  “I hate wearing things on my head,” said Beata, following Elaine’s lead. “Yet I dare say I shall grow accustomed to the cap and coif in time.”

  “It’s not a cap, dearest … why are you smiling like that? And where are you going?”

  “I’m going to see Joan.”

  “You won’t please Crispin by paying attention to her, No-one goes near her, now. He swears he doesn’t wish to see her, ever again, only of course he will have to. For one thing, who else would receive the guests at Christmas? Crispin said I should do it, but I really couldn’t.” She stood, finger tapping cheek, looking around her. “1 know I saw that gown last night. …”

  “I hope to persuade her to divorce Crispin. If he returns her dowry, she may yet attract another husband. …”

  “I doubt he’ll wish to return her dowry. Rocca says Crispin needs her dowry, in order to pay ours. The cost of the tourney and all the entertainments at Christmas! Rocca says. …”

  “Are you so friendly with the man that you repeat everything he says?”

  “Why … no. Not exactly. He took the trouble to talk to me when everyone else was so busy, and you were sick. He asked me to help persuade Crispin to let Rocca raise a loan from the Jews. Only Crispin refused. I can’t think why!”

  “I can! I see one thing, and that is that Rocca will die a rich man!”

  “I know you do not like him, but. …”

  “Who says so?”

  “He did. He told me it was a great sorrow to him, and that he wished he knew how he had come to offend you. I admit I don’t care for his manner, but he is a useful man. He knows everything. I asked him to find out Master William’s history for me. …”

  Beata stifled a shriek, with both hands over her mouth. Elaine’s lips began to tremble, and her eyes to brim. “Now what have I said?”

  “Do you not know that Rocca is Master William’s enemy, and would give anything to bring him down? Do you not know that Master William is the king-pin round whom this castle revolves, and that without him – do you really think the tourney would be ready in time, or anything done that ought to be done?”

  “Well, I don’t suppose he has anything to hide.”

  “Everyone has something to hide,” said Beata, with a wry smile.

  “It was you who hinted he had a mysterious past, in the first place!”

  “I had done better to cut out my tongue.”

  It was late in the afternoon, and Crispin had been led to his chair in the green solar by a mixture of persuasion and gentle bullying which had left Gervase weary even before they started on the letters.

  With mechanical movements Gervase broke the seal on the latest letter from Lord Henry, who was still in London. He began to read it aloud. Crispin could read when he had to, but he was a poor scholar, and preferred to have his correspondence read aloud to him. Before Gervase could proceed beyond the greetings, Crispin interrupted him, with a request to go over the order of events at the tourney once more, so that the Clerk of the Lists could familiarise himself with them. And there came the Clerk, bowing to left and right as if he were visiting royalty.

  Holding back a sigh, Gervase took the roll of parchment from the ever-helpful Thomas, spread it out on the table, and checked off the various items. This was the third programme he had prepared, and he was not anxious to alter the order again. The celebrations were to last over the two days before Christmas and Christmas Day itself. On the morning of the first two days there would be archery contests for the yeomanry, followed by bouts of singlestick, and certain local games of skill such as climbing greased poles and foot races. If necessary these could be held in the Great Hall. On the afternoon of the first day – weather permitting – there would be a procession of all the knights and squires in full armour, on horseback, past the Queen of Beauty and her sister, at which time the Queen of Beauty would give a knot of ribbons or some other favour from her dress to Sir Bertrand, to be worn on his helm. The Lady Beata would likewise award her brother Crispin a favour. The two knights would then pick sides, and there would be a mock battle, which it was tacitly assumed that Sir Bertrand’s side would win. And then a feast, with dancing.

  On the second afternoon, after the usual festivities for the peasants in the forenoon, six knights would challenge six others to single combat in the lists. Again, Crispin would be matched with Sir Bertrand, and so on, down to Jaclin, Gerald, and the rest. In the evening there would be another feast, at which would be performed the masque over which Father Anthony was now labouring.

  On Christmas Day the marriage of Sir Bertrand and the Lady Elaine would be celebrated, followed by a nuptial mass for all. Later that day the Lady Beata would be received into the arms of the church, and Lord Henry would be given quittance of the vow he had made at the birth of his daughters.

  “It is well enough, I suppose,” said Crispin. “Let the bishop be given the best seat at all times. It is important he be well disposed towards us. If only it would stop raining! Whatever possessed my father to stage a tourney in the depths of winter!”

  “It occurred to me,” said Gervase, rubbing his forehead in an effort to concentrate, “that. …”

  “Very well, then. I will hear my father’s letter now.”

  Gervase did not actually shrug, but he certainly gave the impression of having done so. Crispin scowled, and taking out his dagger, began to clean his nails with it. His restless eye met Rocca’s smirk, and Crispin’s scowl deepened.

  Gervase stopped reading in mid-sentence. Crispin looked up with an oath, but Gervase, without asking permission, had handed the letter to his clerk Thomas, and was walking away to the window, with his head averted.

  “Is the fool taken ill?”

  Gervase c
ould be seen to shake his head, and spread his hands. Thomas hesitated, with one eye on Gervase, and then resumed the reading of the letter, which was concerned with the exact date Lord Henry intended to arrive at the castle, and with the number and style of those he was to bring in his train.

  “Shall I send for your physician to attend Master William?” asked Rocca, fawning at Crispin’s elbow.

  “One moment,” said Gervase. He seemed to be fighting pain. “One moment,” he repeated.

  “My lord will not find the physician in any of the places where he ought to be. Shall I send for him, my lord? I know where the man has gone – against your orders – you recall you said no-one was to go near the ostler who behaved so shockingly to your sister? But there it is, some people find it difficult to obey your orders – your very clear orders – Master William never seems to learn, does he?”

  The dagger flashed through the air, hooking itself in Rocca’s gown. “Speak clearly, man! Or it will be the worse for you!”

  Rocca went grey, and sweat stood out on his brow. “That treacherous secretary of yours … the man you choose to honour, he flouts your orders and speaks slightingly of you behind your back. … He ordered your physician to go to the cell of the villain who would have dishonoured your sister … to succour him in secret. …”

  Crispin threw Rocca from him, and turned on Gervase. “Did you do that? You knew I had ordered no-one to go near him!”

  Gervase threw out his hands. He was very pale. He said, “My lord, they said he had a fever, because of the flogging. …”

  “Silence! What, am I to be mocked to my face? And behind my back, too! Why, you disobedient … Rocca is right, and you will need a taste of the whip yourself before you understand who is master here!” He swung on Varons. “Take him to the West Tower and set him in fetters, neck and ankles … and be sure I will send to see my orders have been faithfully carried out!”

  There was a moment when the confused echoes of Crispin’s voice seemed to hold everyone still. Varons did not move first. Gervase did. He walked across the room without haste, without showing any sign of fear, looking straight ahead. Varons lifted his arms in despair, and followed Gervase out.

  Beata was mounting the stairs to visit the Lady Joan, her nurse at her heels. She stopped short, as if she had mistaken the step on the stair.

  “What is it, my dearie?” said the nurse.

  “Nothing … at least, I’m not sure.” Her rapid heartbeat gave the lie to her words. “I was disturbed by a thought … something is wrong.”

  “You have risen too early from sick-bed. I told you. …”

  Beata ran on up the steps till she came to a window overlooking the courtyard. From above the two figures were foreshortened, yet both men were easy to identify. Gervase was being escorted to the West Tower by Captain Varons.

  “I should certainly have cut out my tongue,” said Beata.

  Chapter Ten

  The head gaoler sorted through his keys. “Leave your outer clothes and your shoes over there, if you please, Master William.”

  “That will not be necessary,” said Varons, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we will have a nice, airy chamber for the secretary, if you please; with a window.”

  “Like that, is it?” The gaoler’s eyebrows rose. “Think he’ll not be with us long?”

  “I hope not,” said Varons. He looked at Gervase, and bit his lip. Gervase hardly seemed aware of what was happening to him. “And you’ll not give him one of those collars studded with bolts inside,” said Varons. “A plain affair, if you please, and the fetters on his ankles are not to be so close as to give him gangrene. …”

  The gaoler shrugged, and led them up, instead of down the stairs to a slip of a room with a high barred window. The aperture was unglazed, and small, but did admit adequate light. A stool, a pitcher for water, and some straw comprised the furnishings, apart from the chains which dangled from staples set into the walls. Gervase allowed the gaoler to fasten the heavy collar about his neck, and set his ankles in fetters, with the same air of inattention that he had worn all along.

  “You are ill, my friend,” said Varons, shaking Gervase’s arm. “Shall I send the physician to you?”

  Gervase shook his head. For the first time he seemed aware of his surroundings. Colour stained his cheeks. He clenched his fists, and moved his feet so that the irons about his legs clattered along the floor. “A better lodging than I might have expected,” he said, with his habitual courtesy.

  A man panted up the stairs calling for Varons. “Lord Crispin – you are to come at once – that ostler is to lose the sight of his eyes within the hour, and we all ordered to look on. …”

  Varons cursed. The gaoler said he must lock up sharpish then, if he might make so bold as to ask the captain to move.

  Gervase looked up at that. He rubbed his eyes, and yawned. He said, “Will you tell Thomas … the tithe barn, the one that’s disused … they must make that ready against the tourney. He’ll understand.”

  Varons halted at the door, unwilling to go, and yet aware that he was awaited elsewhere. “Do not listen, if your window overlooks the courtyard. …”

  “Thank you,” said Gervase. “I shall do well enough.”

  Thomas the Clerk sought for the Lady Beata, and found her crossing one of the antechambers. She drew her mantle closer, against the draughts, as she listened to his tale.

  “And he sent me a most strange message, about using the old tithe barn, which is nigh on a ruin, as you may know … and we cannot make head nor tail of it, none of us, and wondered if perhaps you might … knowing him so well?”

  She noted the hint, and yet seemed not to notice it. “I? No. If it is so important, and I can see that he must have held it so, can you not ask my brother for permission to visit him? Or better still, to have him released?”

  Thomas shrugged, and spread his hands. Rocca was openly triumphant, swaggering about the castle as if it were his personal property. Crispin was drinking so heavily it were folly to interrupt him.

  “If Master William is ill …” suggested Beata, and if you had not been watching her closely, you would not have noticed that she found the idea alarming. But Thomas was watching her.

  “He is worn out, merely. Or perhaps a touch of that fever which took the little heir, and laid you low? That is the excuse, and in time no doubt Lord Crispin will accept it, and release Master William. It is for that end we work.” Then, with apparent irrelevance, he added, “I have put the letter from Lord Henry in with a pile of other such papers, in case it fall into … certain hands.”

  She stood so still … only her eyes showed she still lived.

  Thomas went on. “I was curious, of course, as to why he had faltered at that point. It was so very unlike him. His self-control has always been something to admire. Lord Henry wrote that he was bringing Lady Escot with Sir Bertrand at Christmas … the newly-widowed Lady Escot. …”

  She could say nothing … pretend she knew nothing. Yet the fact that she had listened and found nothing to say, would have told Thomas that he had guessed aright. How had he known? Ah, but he was another of the spiders of Castle Mailing, in the tradition of his master, Hamo. Naturally he would have guessed, as she had guessed, and Hamo and Telfer and Varons … too many people knew this secret. So Lord Escot was dead. What would this mean to Gervase? Her mind darted among various possibilities, only to be brought back to the present by a cough from Thomas.

  “Humble suggestion … might Father Anthony intervene on Master William’s behalf? He’s not afraid of my Lord Crispin, even in his cups. Suggestion to the effect that the bishop is not going to be pleased, if the tourney is put off … the weather being so bad … most unfortunate, of course, that the one who might have been able to solve the problem has offended my lord, no doubt due to the fever … and so forth?”

  “You are as bad as Hamo,” said Beata. “Yes, of course I will go to Father Anthony – and at once. You really think the old tithe barn could be
made into a tiltyard?”

  “I don’t.” Thomas stressed the pronoun. “Did I say the old tithe barn? No doubt you misheard me. And no doubt I misheard the message I was given by Captain Varons. All I know is that Master William said he thought he knew the answer to the problem of holding a tourney in bad weather.”

  “It will do very well … although … I fear my brother will have to be allowed to sleep off his present indulgence, which means an overnight stay in prison for our friend.”

  “Captain Varons assures me he is well housed in a dry cell, and that he is provided with a light. Master Telfer has commanded an excellent supper to be sent over, and a pallet with some bedding. The physician has visited him – after he attended to the. …” Master Thomas swallowed and Beata shuddered, remembering the screams of the ostler as his eyes were burned out. “Afterwards. The physician reported that Master William was asleep. I think sleep might be a better physic than the purges the good doctor left for our friend.”

  The knowledge that the blinded ostler was not like to live the night through hung between them. They both knew they were running a risk in seeking to soften the rigour of Gervase’s imprisonment.

  “Thank you, Master Thomas,” said Beata.

  The man smiled, an open and most unexpectedly wide smile. Then he was his anxious-eyed self again. He bowed and left her. Beata went in search of Father Anthony.

  It was still raining next morning, when Gervase was brought from the West Tower direct to the tiltyard. Crispin awaited him, surrounded by a worried-looking group of people. Rocca was not there.

  “Well?” demanded Crispin, as Gervase approached.

  Gervase gestured to the high blank wall above them. Around them rain fell, gently, persistently, and the hammers of the men working on the stands opposite even though they were protected by covers – struck with sad irregularity.

  “It occurred to me,” said Gervase, “that a wall has two sides. This side is open to the elements, and the ground beneath our feet suffers accordingly. Even if the rain ceases before noon, we would need a strong drying wind for days before the ground would be fit for horses. It occurred to me that we might investigate what lay on the other side of the wall, which must of necessity run in length for as many paces as are required in a tiltyard.”