by Sole, Linda
Hugh took the letter, saw the royal seal and knew that it had been written before Richard’s confinement became absolute, when there was still some hope of a settlement. He slipped it inside his surcoat.
‘What more may I do for you, Sire? You know that your friends work tirelessly on your behalf?’
‘You are loyal, Hugh, and I have given you scant reason. I do not think you or any other can win my freedom. I have not much time left. Go to Beatrice. Tell her that I thought of her in my last hours. Tell her that I loved her and regret I did not keep my word to her.’
‘Sire, do not give up hope.’
‘You must leave.’
The turnkey’s sharp intervention made Hugh turn in anger. ‘I have paid your price, sirrah. Pray allow us a moment more.’
‘No, the guard changes soon. You’ve had your time. Go now – unless you wish to join your master and languish here?’
‘Forgive me,’ Hugh said, his gaze meeting Richard’s. ‘I shall come again if I can and bring better news I hope.’
‘May God keep you and preserve you,’ Richard smiled. ‘As God is my witness I did only what I thought right to preserve the throne for England’s good. A nation divided will fall and England needs peace. The age of true chivalry ends with me for I am the last true Plantagenet. After me comes darkness and bloody war. I shall go to my Maker with a good heart, though I pray Henry will grant me justice and a clean death.’
‘He dare not put you on trial for he believes the people might rise in support.’
‘I fear that he will let me rot here until I am dead.’
‘I will try again,’ Hugh promised.
‘Give Beatrice my letter.’
‘I shall,’ Hugh promised, turned and left.
He was frowning as he followed the turnkey up the dimly lit stone steps, away from the foul dank cells in the bowels of the castle that housed Richard. He had given his word to his King but his thoughts were deeply troubled. Despite his promises he knew that Richard’s cause was lost. Henry was king and nothing would make him risk that now. He would show no leniency. At the moment Richard’s followers were deflated and dispirited. The time was not right for another uprising, especially for a child with a tenuous claim to the throne.
It might be better if Beatrice never saw the letter Richard had given into his safe keeping. Richard was doomed to die of some foul deed or sickness in his cell. Why give Beatrice false hope when her ambition could only bring disgrace and ruin on them all? Hugh knew his sister well. Given what she needed, she would never rest until the whole of England was up in arms against the usurper.
Hugh knew that for the moment he intended to bide his time and do what he must. There was no point in parting with his head for a lost cause.
‘The news is grave,’ Tomas said as he entered his wife’s chamber some days later. He was carrying a sheet of parchment in his hand. ‘It will grieve you, Beatrice. Yet I must tell you for Hugh’s letter confirms it.’
Beatrice turned to him, her eyes dark with misery. ‘You do not need to tell me, Tomas. Last week I dreamed again that Richard was dying. He came to me in my dream, kissed me most tenderly, told me that he had ever loved me, and begged me to forgive him. I know that he is dead. I have felt it for some days.’
‘The King says that he died of some illness, but rumour has it that he was allowed to starve to death in his cell. When his friends failed at Pontefract it was inevitable that his death must follow to prevent yet another attempt to dislodge Henry. There is an outcry against his murder, for none believe the tale of sickness, but I do not think Richard’s friends are strong enough in numbers to rise against Henry again.’
‘I know that Richard died in pain and suffering. May God curse Henry Bolingbroke for what he has done. I should like to cut out his black heart and feed it to the dogs. I pray that he too will die in agony and that his soul will burn in hell.’
‘Hush, wife. You speak wildly and your words are treason.’
‘I speak only what many feel but dare not say. I dare swear that ere long the people of this land will wish that Richard were still their King. The day comes when they will hate the tyrant that took his place and long for the time when Richard ruled.’
‘That may be true but still you must take care. Hugh says that the King is demanding Richard’s friends pledge their allegiance to him. He wants an end to the quarrelling between his English barons, for he faces another threat. The Welsh people are rising against us.’
‘Would that they had risen when their rightful king asked it of them,’ Beatrice said and there was a note of bitterness in her voice. ‘Had they been loyal to him then he would still be King.’
‘They do not rise because Richard is dead, but because a man called Owain Glyn Dwr claims he is the true prince of Wales. He means to drive the English from Wales. Henry needs all his English barons to support him in the coming struggle – and I believe this may unite them.’
Beatrice’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. ‘You will not join him, Tomas? Can you forget Richard so soon?’
‘Henry has sent me a letter. He says that he knows I was Richard’s man but since I took no part in the fighting, he will not take reprisals against me. My lands in Wales are safe, as are yours. He asks for my support.’
Anger flared in her eyes. ‘How dare he send such a letter? He is the usurper and no true king of England.’
‘Be careful what you say, Beatrice. I have warned you before.’
‘There is no one to hear me,’ Beatrice scorned. ‘You start at shadows, husband. My daughter has as much right to the throne as that man and one day when the people know him for what he is, she will help to take the throne from him.’
‘That is foolish talk and dangerous.’ Tomas glared at her. ‘Sir Hugh has chosen to join the King for now. He will take part in the campaign against the Welsh. Hugh says this Welsh prince is dangerous and it is for the good of England that the barons stand together.’
‘He has betrayed me! He has gone over to the enemy.’ Beatrice’s mouth drew into a thin line of displeasure. ‘Who is this Welsh prince, Tomas? Has he a chance of winning? If I thought him a true prince I would tell you to join him and help bring down that tyrant who calls himself King of England.’
‘Henry is King. We cannot change that by foolish words,’ Tomas replied with a frown. ‘For your own sake and Elspeth’s take care what you say. If Henry heard that you spoke so wildly he might punish you – all of us.’
‘I should be better had I died with Richard,’ she said, then shook her head as she saw his face. ‘No, Tomas. Forgive me. I did not mean those cruel words. You have been a good husband to me. It is my foolish tongue. I must learn to curb it.’
‘For all our sakes,’ Tomas said. ‘You hurt inside, Beatrice, but you must allow your wounds to heal or you will ruin your life.’
‘Mama, will you play with me?’ Elspeth asked, pulling at her mother’s skirts. ‘The sun shines. Will you take me to the meadow to pick wild flowers?’
‘I do not feel like picking wild flowers,’ Beatrice said. She saw the disappointment in her daughter’s face and sighed, knowing that of late she had not paid her the attention she deserved. She had grieved these many months for both her stillborn son and Richard. It was unfair to the child she loved. She smiled and drew the child close. ‘Your nurses shall take you to pick flowers and later I will tell you a story. Nessa, take the lady Elspeth into the meadow and guard her well. You may ask three ladies to go with you and two men-at arms. Do not stray further than the stream and if there is any hint of danger bring Elspeth home swiftly.’
Her hand caressed the child’s golden hair, then she pushed her towards the young woman who was Elspeth’s chief nurse. She smiled as Elspeth reached up and hugged her.
‘I love you, Mama. I wish you were not so sad.’
‘I shall try to be happy again soon for your sake,’ Beatrice said. ‘Bring me some flowers when you come back, my darling, and I will tell you a story.’
> ‘Yes, Mama.’
Elspeth ran to her nurse and took her hand, smiling up at her in the sweet shy way that won so many hearts. She took Nessa’s hand and they went out of her mother’s solar and down the winding stair to the hall below. In the hall Lord Tomas was talking with his steward but they took little notice of the nurse and her charge. Elspeth thought that her mother’s husband was a stern man who seldom smiled, though he was kind enough to her when he thought of it and she always wore the golden cross and chain he had given her at Christ’s Mass.
For a moment she wondered why the man with the gentle smile had not been to see them for so many months. She did not know why she thought it, but Elspeth believed he was her father. He had once sat her on his knee and told her that she was his precious girl and that he would make sure she married well when she was older. Why should he be so kind to her unless he was her father? Sir Tomas had never once kissed her or taken her on his knee. He was not unkind but he never showed love towards her.
It was since the man with the soft hair and the gold band about his brow had ceased to visit that her mother had become so sad. Elspeth did not understand, but she wished that her mother would smile again.
‘Can we go as far as the stream, Nessa?’ she asked, looking up at her nurse. ‘The flowers grow thick there and if the water is not cold we could dip our toes at the edge of the stream.’
‘No, we may not. If you should catch a chill your mother would never forgive me.’
‘But she need not know,’ Elspeth said and giggled. ‘I like to paddle at the edge of the stream where the water is shallow. Besides, it is very warm today. Please say I may, Nessa.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ Nessa said, won by her smile and the look of entreaty in her eyes. ‘But you must be good and do as I say.’
Nessa and Elspeth played together near the stream, which flowed past the village and separated it from the Lady Beatrice’s lands. Closer to the castle several ladies were gathering herbs and wild flowers, their chattering voices like music on the still warm air. Birds called from deep within the woods; bees and insects fluttered amongst the tall spikes of the willow rose herb and delicate orchids sheltering amongst the sweet grasses, contributed to the pungent scents of summer.
When the band of horsemen came riding towards them from the direction of the ruins of an old lazar house on the hill, the group of women merely glanced up, hardly disturbed by the sight. Only as the thud of their heavy horses grew louder and more menacing, the jingle of harness and the glint of sunlight on steel suddenly making them aware of danger did they realise what was happening.
‘Nessa, bring the child,’ one of the ladies screamed and began to run towards the nurse and her charge. ‘Come now! Bring our lady’s daughter. There is danger…’
Nessa looked round. Her attention had all been for the child, who was playing in the shallows, her feet bare and her short tunic caught up above her knees. The lady’s daughter was a lively happy child, always into mischief, always curious. If Nessa did not watch her she might wander too far and get caught by the reeds beneath the surface.
Suddenly aware of the approaching danger, she screamed and grabbed for the child but Elspeth giggled and tried to avoid capture.
‘We must return to the castle. Come quickly, child,’ Nessa begged. She saw that Eleanor was beckoning to her urgently. The charging horsemen were nearly upon them, the thud of the heavy horses’ hooves loud and terrifying, and she sensed they did not come in friendship. ‘Come, Elspeth!’
One of the riders had noticed her. He rode straight at her. She had succeeded in catching the child by the arm and dragging her up the bank, but as she tried to run towards Eleanor, who was the only one of her companions that had not fled to the castle, man and beast were towering above her. The man bent down and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her up and throwing her face down over his saddle.
Nessa screamed because she had lost her hold on the child as he scooped her off her feet. She lifted her head and saw that Eleanor had reached the girl. A fervent prayer was on her lips as she struggled and kicked in a desperate attempt to escape her captor.
‘Let the child be safe. God keep you, Elspeth. Forgive me, my lady.’
The rider had turned his horse and was riding hard, away from the meadow and the castle towards the woods. Nessa could no longer see either the child or Eleanor, but she heard terrible screaming as the charging horse carried her with her captor and thought perhaps Eleanor had lost her life in defence of the child.
‘Forgive me,’ she whispered, tears on her cheeks. ‘I have failed you, my lady. My life is forfeit.’
The screaming had stopped but now she could hear a child’s terrified sobbing. Had they taken Elspeth captive too? Why? Who were they? Who had sent them? Did they know what they had done?
‘Mama! Mama, please help me!’
Elspeth’s terrified cries added to Nessa’s grief. God forgive her, there was nothing she could do to help the child.
‘I am here,’ she cried but the man shoved at her, the metal armour on his knee bruising her side, and her words were lost.
Trapped between the man’s knees and the horse’s neck, Nessa knew she had no hope of escape nor would she try now that she understood they had taken the child. At some point the men must stop to rest and then she must somehow rescue the lady’s daughter. If she failed her life was forfeit. She would be punished for her carelessness. The lady lived in fear of something happening to her beloved daughter and her nurse had strict instructions to guard her well. Had Nessa been more observant and seen the riders sooner she might have reached safety before they were upon her. They were too few to have attacked the castle and must be a band of marauders who terrorised villagers, killing and plundering in swift raids before fleeing.
Had those devils killed Eleanor? She was old and worthless as a hostage. They must have been taken as hostages? Surely they would be held for ransom. What good were a nursemaid and a child unless they would fetch a good price? Her lips moved in silent prayer. Pray God they had been taken as hostages.
Nessa knew the lady would pay anything to recover her child. Elspeth was precious to her parents, protected and cherished, sometimes too much, because the lady feared to lose her.
Nessa’s thoughts chased round and round in her head. She was becoming dizzy as the blood drained to her head and bitter vomit was in her throat. Tossed and bruised by the jolting of the horse, she became aware that she was whimpering and crying.
‘Be quiet, wench,’ the man grunted and Nessa was silenced. She must do nothing to anger these men, but bide her time and wait for her chance to snatch the child and escape.
Lord Tomas would come looking for his daughter and his nursemaid. These evil men could not hope to escape without being pursued and challenged. Nessa had only to watch and wait. If she could snatch the child and find her way back to Craigmere she would be forgiven. Please, please let her be forgiven.
She thought of her life at the castle and her plans to wed one of the lord’s men-at-arms. Alun would know she had been taken and he would search for her. He would not let her be lost for long. The thought comforted her and she felt the release of silent tears.
They had been riding for what seemed like hours. Her body ached as if she had been beaten and her mind was confused, no longer able to think at all. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Surely this must end soon. They must stop to rest the horses.
Yes, yes, the horse was definitely slowing. She opened her eyes but her head was spinning as the horse finally stopped and then a stream of vomit rose up her throat and spewed out to the ground, splashing the animal’s flanks. Her captor swore. He dismounted and now his hands were on her. He pulled her roughly from the horse, letting her fall to the ground. The fall knocked the breath from her body and she was barely conscious. When she managed to open her eyes four grinning faces were peering down at her.
‘Look at those tits,’ one of the man said and she realised that her tunic was torn. ‘I da
re swear she’s as sweet as honey. I want to suck her.’
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘My lady will pay good money for the child and for me…’
The men laughed as she clawed at her tunic, trying to cover herself and sit up. One of them shoved her back with his foot, holding her down.
‘Wait your turn, pig,’ Nessa’s captor muttered and opened his breeches. Nessa could see that he was fully aroused, his organ large and long, and fear swept through her. ‘I caught her. She’s mine first. When I’ve done you can have her.’
‘He’ll be at it for hours,’ one of the men groaned. ‘Leave some for me, Boris. You killed the last one, let someone else have a go. Turn and turn about, that’s fair.’
‘I want a piece of that sweet meat,’ the fourth man said.
Nessa screamed wildly as she realised what was happening. She tried to get up but the man holding her down with his foot was grinning, amused by her struggles. They were evil. Devils! She’d thought they would hold her for ransom but now she understood that she’d been taken for their sport. They were going to rape her, one after the other.
‘Where is Elspeth?’ she tried to say but the first man was on her, pawing at her breasts, forcing her legs apart as he jabbed at her thighs and then, lifting himself, thrust up into her dry opening.
Nessa had refused to lie with Alun, wanting to save herself for marriage. She was virgin and tight and the man’s huge male organ tore her. She felt the sharp stinging pain and writhed beneath him, screaming and weeping as she begged him to stop but her pleas fell on deaf ears. There was a trickle of blood on her inner thigh and the pain was unbearable. He seemed insatiable, thrusting again and again deep into her, but at last fell on her with a grunt, his body heavy and stinking of sweat. When he had done the next man was at her, and then the next, turn and turn about, again and again, one after the other until she was lost in a haze of pain. Then as she struggled some inner instinct causing her to fight one last time, there was one terrible sharp pain in her neck and then, mercifully, everything went black and she knew no more.
