A King's Betrayal

by Sole, Linda

‘You know that you are welcome to return to my service if you choose. Your father was my friend and I would be a friend to his son.’

  ‘You have already been my friend. Had your letter not informed me of my father’s death I might never have discovered the truth.’

  ‘You believe the tale that he was murdered to be true?’

  ‘I know it, my lord – and I have avenged his death.’

  ‘As a good son should.’ The duke smiled. ‘Go with God, sir. You have my blessing.’

  Raoul left the duke’s presence, walking through the palace without a glance for the richness of his surroundings. The court of Burgundy was one of the finest in Europe, renowned for its style, elegance and luxury. The men and women who came here were the cream of the nobility, rich, cultured and intelligent. To be accepted here was the hope of many a mercenary soldier or ambitious courtier, but Raoul had little interest in honours or favours. He owed allegiance to no man or king, though he served both Burgundy and the English King when it suited him.

  His restless spirit would not let him settle for the peace and comfort that most men desired. He was driven by something inside that he did not understand. His nights were less tortured than they had once been and he attributed that to the lady of the woods. If nightmares broke his sleep, he had only to think of her to feel calmer. She was often in his thoughts, though he was afraid that if he returned to find her he would discover that she was like any other whore. She had not been virgin when he took her, yet there had been a sweet innocence about her loving that remained with him, wrapping him about with the warmth he had found in her arms.

  That night had been enchanted but in the cold light of day all would seem different. He would be a fool to believe that she was special. Women were all whores at heart, faithless and treacherous. Angeline had haunted his fevered thoughts for months, driving him mad with wanting – and she had murdered his father, then laughed as she boasted of her sin. She had not laughed for long.

  Raoul banished the memory, as he had banished the memory of the terror in the priest’s face as he begged for mercy. The secret he had confessed had been of little interest. Henry 1V was dead and his son on the throne. Whatever sins the father might have committed were in the past and best forgotten. Even had there ever been a bastard daughter of Richard 11, she was of little importance. The House of Lancaster was in ascendance and the barons of England would not rise for a bastard. Especially after the recent plot, which had foundered because the Earl of Mortimer had not wanted to risk his own head. He was but a boy and feared his uncle’s wrath. One day a man might come forward to claim the throne, a man who did not fear death; if that day came it would be the start of bloody wars in England. Raoul doubted it would happen in his lifetime nor would he support such a rising if it did, though he might fight for whoever paid him the most gold.

  Raoul set his mind to the coming task. To die in battle was the most a man could hope for. No man or woman was worth loving or dying for to his mind. A man must fight for his own reasons whatever they might be. Raoul did not fear to die at the end of a sword, but he feared the torment that came sometimes to his mind when he slept.

  * * *

  The English fleet set sail for France on 11th of August. For those that watched from the shoreline it was a magnificent sight, wind filling the sails, many of which were embroidered with the arms of the various dukes and earls. Pennons streamed in the wind together with the banners of hundreds of knights and barons, the sides of the ships festooned with more banners and shields. The sound of trumpets and other musical instruments mingled with the cheering from hundreds of men who lined the decks, together with their horses and armour.

  The King’s ship was the Trinite Royale, the largest and finest of the fleet. A woven banner flew at his masthead, displaying the three persons of the Godhead and Our Lady, and the arms of Saint Edward, St George and England. Immediately at his rear were the other important ships, the Katharine de la Toure, the Petite Trinite de la Toure and the Rude coq de la Toure.

  William stood on deck amongst others that had pledged their swords to Gloucester, watching as the shores of England retreated into a haze of sea mist.

  ‘If we have good fortune we should make land within two days,’ Hugh said coming to stand by his side. ‘I thank you for vouching for me, de Burgh. I shall not forget.’

  ‘You may not thank me when the fighting starts,’ William replied with a wry smile. ‘Neither of us can be sure that we shall see England again.’

  ‘I am not afraid to die a soldier’s death.’

  ‘Nor I – but we may as easily die of sickness or the bloody flux.’

  ‘It is as God wills.’ Hugh crossed himself.

  William nodded. ‘You recall what you told me of your sister’s child?’

  ‘Yes – why?’

  ‘Was nothing ever heard of the girl again?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yet your sister believes she lives – why?’

  ‘It is but a woman’s fancy. Why do you ask?’

  William shook his head. ‘I know of a woman who says that she was found wandering in a wood as a child. The woman, who brought her up as her daughter, was some months ago tried as a witch and hanged, but Beth is of finer clay. There is something about her…Nay, do not look so. I dare say it is merely fancy, but when I last saw her I thought…’ He shook his head once more. ‘Forget I said anything. It is fancy no more.’

  ‘Why tell me now?’

  ‘I fear for her future. I have done what I could to protect her, but she has enemies. I suppose I thought…but I should not have spoken.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘In a hut in my woods. She has a cottage in the village that I have forbidden anyone to take but she is afraid to live there.’

  ‘What is she to you?’

  ‘Nothing. She might have been my mistress had she wished it but she refused me. She has such pride, but I dare say there is naught in it.’

  ‘Yet it may be worth investigating. I shall write to my sister. Tomas will discover the girl and do what he thinks best.’

  ‘Yes. As I said, I am sure it is mere fancy – but I have told you and there is no more to be said.’

  Thirty Seven

  Beth heard the church bells ringing. She was at the edge of the woods close to the village gathering wood for her fire when they began. Watching as the people poured out of their cottages, she wondered whether the news was good or bad. In August Mistress Grey had come to tell her that there was news from France.

  ‘It is said that the fleet landed safely on French soil and there is a siege of Harfleur. Master Steward says that the lord sailed with the fleet and will fight with the Duke of Gloucester’s men.’

  ‘He told me that he meant to fight,’ Beth said. ‘What will happen here if he is killed?’

  ‘Master Steward says that he has but female cousins. If the title falls to the Crown and the King’s gift, we may have a new lord here.’

  ‘Then we must pray that he returns,’ Beth said. ‘Sir William is a just man and I think we could fare worse. Another lord might not allow me to take game from his woods.’

  ‘I dare say he would hang you,’ Mistress Grey looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Did you tell the lord about the child?’

  ‘No. She is not his. Why should I tell him?’

  ‘I think he might be angry if he learned of it from another.’

  ‘Who will tell him?’

  Mistress Grey pursed her lips. ‘Not I, Beth – but there are others who might see a chance to make trouble for you.’

  ‘I live quietly in the woods. No one bothers me there.’

  ‘You can’t face another winter there, Beth. If you will not think of yourself, consider the child. Your cottage is empty and people murmur their discontent. There are families who need more space and they grumble that you waste what is yours, though they dare not disobey the lord by taking it for themselves.’

  ‘You told me the priest speaks against witch
craft. Would it be safe for me to come to the cottage?’

  ‘He has curtailed his sermons since the lord spoke with him. You might be safer in the village than the woods, Beth. I often lie awake at night and think of you alone with the child. Supposing one of the men took it into his head to pay you a surprise visit? You are so vulnerable there alone in the woods.’

  ‘I thought John Blacksmith might seek revenge when he was banished, but he did not.’ Beth’s look hardened. ‘Since they hung Marthe I have carried a sharp knife. If anyone attempted to rape me I should kill him.’

  ‘And then they would come for you and hang you, as they did Marthe.’

  Beth sighed because she knew the older woman was right.

  ‘Perhaps I shall come to the village when the lord returns.’

  Mistress Grey made the sign of the cross over her breast. ‘May God keep him safe and bring him back to us. He hath protected you, Beth. Even though he is away, the villagers know that he would take revenge for any harm that came to you.’

  Adding one last stick to her bundle as the sound of the church bells died away, Beth saw that Mistress Grey was hurrying towards her. She waited until the woman came up to her.

  ‘What news?’ she asked.

  ‘They say that there has been victory at Harfleur.’

  ‘Will the army come home now?’

  ‘I do not know. It is usually the way after a great victory. The men suffer sickness and hardship in war and the winter is coming. I think the King will return and plan a new campaign for the spring.’

  ‘I have made up my mind. If Sir William returns I shall come to the village,’ Beth said. ‘But if he does not I shall stay in the woods.

  ‘I shall pray for his safe return.’

  ‘Do you need anything for yourself or your family?’

  ‘My granddaughter hath a chill and that usually turns to her chest. If you can prepare a cure for her I shall bring you some meat when we kill the goat.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Beth smiled at her. ‘I must buy some more hens for the winter. I will give you something for your son to sell for me.’

  She bid her friend farewell and turned to walk back to the hut. The child grew heavy on her back and was beginning to whimper, though she seldom cried for long periods. Beth was thoughtful as she wondered what part Sir William had played in the siege of Harfleur. Was he still alive or did he lie sick and wounded, perhaps dying? She thought that if something happened to him she might do better to load what she could of her possessions on her handcart and leave this place. Without his protection she would no longer be safe, even in the woods.

  William sat his great war horse, lifted the visor of his bascinet and looked about him. The sky was overcast with large fluffy clouds, which for the moment hid the sun. In the distance he could see the sails of a mill hanging limply for want of a stiff breeze. Men were sitting or lying on the ground, some so exhausted by dysentery and sickness that they wore nothing on their lower half. The affliction of watery bowels made it easier to fight wearing only their tunics and armour on the upper half of their bodies, leaving them free to defecate wherever they happened to be without the bother of letting down their hose. Yet despite their sickness, they had just fought and won a great battle at Harfleur.

  The King had brought his forces to the walls of the city, building ramparts and trenches, and carrying out mining activities, which were meant to breach the defences but this had failed because the French had forestalled them. Henry then brought up great battering rams and several large stone-throwing machines, sending the missiles hurling over the walls to rain death and destruction on the people inside. The French fought off this action by pouring boiling oil over the men attempting to climb the ladders lodged against the walls, and their archers shot flaming arrows at the English towers and the attacking forces from the battlements. Any man brave enough to try and lead an attack might be covered in quick lime and sulphur, which burned the skin and made the victims scream in agony.

  Both sides used their cannon to what effect they could; some of the English guns had barrels of more than twelve feet in length and could hurl heavy stones over the walls, wrecking the roofs of the people’s houses. Time and again they knocked holes in the walls, but overnight the French filled them, yet time was with the attacking forces. The constant battering, smoke and injury inflicted must begin to wear down the spirit of the defending forces and the people of Harfleur.

  The King was ever present, supervising the gunnery, encouraging the men to renew their efforts and raising a cheer. Despite his resentment against Henry’s father, William came to admire him for his bravery, his skill as a commander and his energy. When others drooped from heat or exhaustion, the sight of the King in full armour riding amongst them gave the ranks new heart and even the sick managed to raise a ragged cheer for him. Henry V of England was a formidable soldier and ruthless both in battle and in the matter of the traitors. The ringleaders of the plot against him had already been executed.

  As the days became weeks food grew short for both the people of the town and the English army. In the camps situated near the marshes, the air was unhealthy and the weather, hot at first, contributed to the frequent outbreaks of sickness, but it was as the autumn began to bring damp and mist that the outbreaks of fever and dysentery had become far worse. Men were dying; amongst them Bishop Courtney and Michael de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, some of the more notable, as well as more than two thousand common soldiers and knights.

  One death that had affected William more than most was that of Hugh de Bracie. William had been sent for as the afflicted knight lay on his deathbed, his body ravaged by the bloody flux, his strength almost gone.

  He clutched William’s hands in his. ‘Promise me that you will tell Beatrice of the girl,’ he gasped. ‘I meant to write but there was no time. I wronged Beatrice by keeping what was hers but would make amends. She will find what she seeks amongst my things. Promise me that you will tell her. I shall die easier if you give me your word, de Burgh.’

  You have it,’ William said. ‘I promise to do what I can for the girl – whether she be Richard’s bastard or no.’

  ‘Thank you. It may all be fancy. I have made my peace with God – but I should have done more for Beatrice and her child; Richard’s child. Tomas will provide for his own sons. I have no wife or child and all that I own is my sister’s and her daughter’s, if she lives. Promise me that you will see my sister knows of my wishes - and tell her about the girl in the wood. Remember that the girl could be Richard’s bastard. Help her to find her mother. It haunts me that I did nothing when I might. I beg you to keep your promise.’

  ‘I give you my word. Rest easy now, sir. Your sister shall know all that I know.’

  William bent to kiss his cheek and tears ran from the corner of the knight’s eye before he closed them. He died that night, just one more who had taken sick from eating ruined fruit, shellfish that was bad, and unfermented wine, which was the fare given to men used to a very different diet at home. The men needed good plain food, ale and clean water, because there had been too many deaths from sickness rather than in the battle.

  Now that Harfleur had fallen, it was William’s job to find the men under his command a place to sleep in comfort, preferably a farm or an estate where the lord was well disposed to the English and would give food and ale in return for coin.

  He had seen a prosperous estate just a short ride away. Despite his own weariness, he would find somewhere to bed down his men for the next few days and food before the order came to march on. William had sought forgetfulness when he took the duke’s gold, believing that if he left England and answered his country’s call he would find peace of mind – but she was still there.

  She haunted his dreams and his every waking moment, except when he fought or was concerned for the men in the ranks. He had brought more than fifty men to Gloucester’s army, all of whom he equipped with a sword of two shillings worth, a leather hauberk and a good scabbard, costing him as
much as five shillings per man. Of those still living and able to fight, he had ten men-at-arms who wore a chain mail hauberk, leggings of chain, a helm, greaves and gauntlets as well as a breastplate.. William’s own armour consisted of all these things and more and weighed almost 80lbs, costing him more than twenty pounds of good silver. Besides the men-at-arms he had twelve pikemen and four archers. He had to feed his men and pay them two silver pence a day for the foot soldiers and four for the trained men.

  His men were more fortunate than some yet despite that almost half had died, either in battle or of sickness. Many others who fought for a different lord had nothing but a cheap sword they had bought themselves, which might break in the heat of battle, a leather hauberk and a hard leather cap. They were vulnerable and too many died easily. As he looked about him William saw gunners, archers, men on foot who fought bitter hand to hand battles, living and dying together as did their leaders. Death was no respecter of wealth and privilege and many a knight lay beside the peasant who had fought with him. William did what he could to help the wounded, even those who owed him no allegiance, but if the wound became infected, as it often did, the men died in pain and weeping for their mothers.

  He was not certain what the King intended next, but he had done his duty by the man whose gold he had taken. He would go home now, taking the handful of men who had survived with him. Perhaps next spring he would once again take to arms if the chance was offered, but for now he needed a time of rest and peace to regain his strength.

  A smile touched William’s mouth, as he thought of the woman that he now knew would never let him be free. He had believed that he would be content if she became his leman but now he knew that he wanted more – he would ask her to be his wife.

  He felt the confidence surge through him. She was too proud to be his whore but she would come to him as his wife and bear his children.

  ‘What are you intentions now, Sire?’ Raoul inquired. ‘You have won a victory here but little is gained. It would surely be better to go on rather than go home and return in the spring – yet I have heard your council advise it.’