by S. D. Sykes
Once I had told the girl to see to Mother’s needs immediately, I went in search of company. Usually Filomena would be sitting in the solar at this time of day, reading a book or completing some piece of needlework. There would be the chatter and noise of visitors wandering about the hall, or the boom and thwack of Henry’s arrows, as he practised his longbow skills out on the lawns. But there was no sign of Henry, nor anybody else for that matter. I couldn’t even find my sister Clemence in the chapel, where she was usually keeping a prayer vigil in Mother’s honour.
Finding myself alone, I meandered over to the stables and discovered, from one of the grooms, that my family had all taken a ride to Tonbridge, intending to shop at the market and then eat lunch at an inn. Even Clemence had joined them on this excursion, which was especially unusual, given her dislike for riding any distance. Hearing this news, I suddenly felt resentful, since nobody had made the effort to invite me along. They could easily have knocked at the door at least and told me where they were going. But then again, I had made it known that I would be sitting with Mother for most of the day, and didn’t want to be disturbed – so I could hardly complain when everybody respected this instruction. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel childishly slighted.
For a while, I kicked about the stables, grooming the horses and feeling rather sorry for myself, until I decided to ride to Tonbridge myself and join the others. The day was bright and dry, so the roads were passable – meaning that I could be there for lunch if I rode swiftly enough. By the time that I reached my destination, I found that most of the market stalls were already being dismantled for the day, and so I made my way directly to the Nag’s Head. But, just as I turned the corner, two figures immediately caught my eye. It was Filomena and Sir John, who were standing outside the tavern, their heads closely drawn together in conversation. I stopped my horse and secretly watched them for a while, seeing that Sir John appeared to be telling Filomena an amusing story, as she continually threw her head back in laughter and then patted his arm. But I wasn’t their only spy. From this vantage point, I could see that my nephew Henry was also watching them from a dark corner. There was a look of bristling resentment written all over his face.
I had seen enough of this tableau – my wife and her two admirers – one a fanciful entertainer, the other a lovesick boy. My recently made resolution about not being provoked into jealousy suddenly vanished – so I kicked at the flanks of my horse and approached Filomena and Sir John, causing the pair to immediately step apart like two guilty children.
Filomena looked up at me in surprise. ‘Oh, Oswald,’ she said, ‘I didn’t know that you were joining us.’ Was there a taint of disappointment in her voice? I thought there was.
‘Mother was unwell,’ I said. ‘I’ve left her to sleep this afternoon.’
Sir John took my horse’s reins as I dismounted. ‘How pleasant to see you,’ he said. ‘I was just telling Lady Somershill about my meetings with the monks at St Catherine’s monastery in the Sinai. How they live like hermits, eating only a diet of boiled roots and preserved dates.’
‘And you find that funny?’ I asked, turning sharply on him.
Sir John stiffened. ‘No, Oswald,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I saw you both laughing.’
Filomena threw me a peeved look. ‘We were not laughing at the monks,’ she said. ‘Sir John was telling me about a donkey he met. It ate one of his shoes.’
I raised an eyebrow and headed for the door of the tavern without another word. It was a churlish act, but I was annoyed with them both. How dare they stand outside a tavern in Tonbridge and laugh!
Unfortunately, my petulance threw a cloud over the following meal – an occasion that should have been an enjoyable break from routine. After we had eaten our pies and finished our wine, Filomena rode back alongside me to Somershill, but refused to speak to me for the whole journey. This punishment by silence only caused me to feel more aggrieved than ever, determining that I would rid myself of Sir John before the man caused me any further irritation.
After our frosty meal at the tavern, Sir John had had the good sense to keep out of my way and ride at the back of our party with Henry and Clemence. But once we returned home, I took the man to one side and asked him bluntly. When was he planning to leave Somershill?
Sir John took offence at this question, though he managed to disguise his umbrage as confusion, claiming that he was under the impression that I had asked him to stay for the whole winter (which, to be fair, I had done). He was unable to argue, however, when I explained that this supposed invitation was a misunderstanding on his part. In any case, I told him that I was expecting a new arrival into the castle any day – a distant cousin who wanted to visit Mother before she died. His bed would soon be needed for this guest, so it was not possible for him to stay with us any longer. Sir John accepted defeat at this point, and told me that he would write to some relatives of his on the Isle of Sheppey, where he hoped to beg a bed until he could make his return to Flanders in the spring. I’m ashamed to say that I told him to get on with it.
* * *
I crawled into bed that night feeling both bad-tempered and foolish – angry that Filomena had encouraged the man, and foolish that I had given their relationship the opportunity to blossom. I had spent far too long recently with my mother, and not long enough with my wife. So, the next morning I decided that I would take a ride out with Filomena, both to enjoy her company, but also to keep her out of Sir John’s way. I suggested that we could ride through the forest, or visit some of my wealthier tenants. It was that time of year when we discussed their rent and customary duties for the following twelve months, and Filomena’s presence always made these conversations more agreeable. She was popular amongst my tenants in Somershill, since she always took such an interest in their lives and their families.
But, just as I had pulled on my leather riding mantle and asked the groom to saddle up my horse, I was summoned to Mother’s bedchamber. The news was grave by all accounts. Mother could not keep a drink down. Not even a cup of cooled, boiled water.
I rushed to her chamber immediately, and I must say that she looked deathly when I entered the room, waving me over to her side and then pulling my ear to her mouth.
‘Will you get that man out of here, please?’ she whispered. ‘I can’t stand him any longer.’
I turned to see Mother’s physician, Thomas Crouch, hiding in the shadows. His long black robes disappearing against the gloomy tapestries.
‘What are you doing here again?’ I asked the man. ‘I told you to stay at the tavern until you were called upon.’
He stepped forward and gave a bow. ‘I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought you had requested that I attend Lady Somershill?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t send for you.’
Mother cut in. ‘It was me, Oswald. I told the maid to search him out.’
‘Why’s that?’
Mother beckoned me over, wanting to whisper into my ear. ‘I needed a purgative,’ she whispered. ‘My bowels have been impacted for days.’ I went to answer this, but she didn’t allow me to speak. ‘But it went too far, Oswald. Too far. God alone knows what was in Crouch’s tonic. I’d rather be bunged up than suffer this indignity. I haven’t been off the pot all night.’ She grasped my hand rather desperately. Her skin was cold and clammy. ‘There’s nothing more in there, Oswald. And that’s the truth. And yet the fellow is trying to force another dose on me.’
‘Perhaps it’s doing you some good, then?’ I said. ‘You have been complaining of constipation after all.’
Mother waved this away. ‘Just get rid of him, Oswald. The man is a saddle goose. I don’t want to ever see his face again.’
* * *
For the second time that week, I escorted Thomas Crouch to the gatehouse, except this time I didn’t ask him to wait at the tavern to be called upon again. Instead, I settled his bill and told him to leave Somershill for good. I knew enough about her
bs and medicine to treat Mother myself, and my own remedies would surely be better than his mixture of leeches and loosening medicine.
After Crouch’s departure, I returned to Mother’s bedside, passing Filomena as she waited for me in the courtyard. She was wearing her best, fur-lined cloak and was mounted on her favourite jennet – a graceful, bay-coated horse that Filomena had named Lauretta. I told my wife that I wouldn’t be long, as I just needed to settle Mother, but this plan was thwarted as soon as I returned to the bedchamber.
When I approached Mother’s bedside, the old woman looked shrivelled again – her face wrinkled and wilted like a turnip that’s spent too long in the store cupboard. I took her hand, and found that it was limp and fragile.
‘Will you finish your story now, Oswald?’ she whispered.
I wanted to tell her that I was spending the day with Filomena, but I couldn’t do it. Not now. Instead I removed my cloak and took a seat beside her bed. ‘Where was I?’
‘That charcoal burner had hit you about the head,’ she said. ‘You were hiding in the forest.’
Chapter Eighteen
Kent, June 1349
I lay beneath a holly bush, trying my best to stay awake in case Sawyer found me again. Thankfully I heard and saw nobody for the whole night, so at first light, I crept out from this secret dell and started to retrace my steps through the woods – ever mindful of making too much noise and drawing attention to myself. I even picked up a thick branch, ready to fight off the man, should he appear. This weapon would have been hopeless against a man of Sawyer’s height and strength, but I found it reassuring nonetheless.
As it happened, my only adversary that morning was the headache that was still riveting its way through my forehead and disturbing my eyesight. As a result, I was disorientated and lost my way on numerous occasions, finally returning to Kintham by noon, when I could hear the bells ringing for Sext. I crept in through the side gate in the vegetable garden, pulled my hood over my bloodied hair and hoped that nobody would notice me – but I was not in luck. The lay brother, Brother John, stopped me immediately.
‘Peter’s been looking for you,’ he told me, smothering a grin as he looked me up and down, amused at my dirty clothes. ‘We’re to send you directly to the Abbot’s quarters, if we see you.’
My heart sank. ‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
‘They’ve been worried about you,’ he replied. ‘They thought you’d disappeared. Like Merek.’
I went to hurry away, but not before the man had grabbed my sleeve with his large, muddy hand. ‘And you’ve got a visitor as well,’ he said. ‘So you might want to clean yourself up a bit?’
‘A visitor?’ I said, immediately concerned. ‘Who is it?’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, releasing my arm as he turned his attention back to the peas. ‘But you can’t turn up looking like that,’ he said, picking a swollen pod and throwing it into a woven basket. ‘You look like you’ve just fallen out of the Tabard Inn.’
* * *
Brother Peter met me at the door to the Abbot’s quarters with an embrace, but it was not warm. ‘Where in God’s name have you been, Oswald?’ he growled into my ear. He immediately spotted the matted blood in my hair. ‘And what’s this?’ he asked. ‘What happened to you?’
Before I could explain, he quickly pulled the hood further down over my face. ‘Come on. There isn’t time for this. William is here to see you.’ He took my arm and tried to propel me into the room.
‘William?’ I said, digging my heels in and refusing to move. ‘My brother William?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does he know about Agnes?’ I asked, feeling my heart begin to beat a little faster. ‘Is that why he’s here?’
‘No,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t think so.’ He caught hold of my arm again and this time he forced me to move. ‘So just listen to me. When we get in there, keep your hood up and agree with everything I say.’
A moment later I found myself in the Abbot’s quarters – a part of the Abbey that I had been invited inside. It was a large and lavish chamber, glowing with all the red and gold ornamentation of an archbishop’s palace. Though it was the middle of the day, wax candles blazed in bronze candlesticks, and the air was filled with the scent of cinnamon, cloves and rose water from a large pomander. My brother William was sitting at the centre of all this splendour at a long trestle table. The Abbott sat beside him, at an inferior position, whilst a feast was set before them both – boiled meats, baked fruits and pickled fish. It seemed that the kitchens had not stinted in their mission to assuage William’s famous temper. No doubt he was not in the best of moods, having arrived at Kintham to discover that the monks had lost his younger brother.
When William smiled at me, I felt the urge to be sick. I saw Agnes’s face in his features immediately.
‘Here he is at last,’ said Brother Peter brightly, clapping me soundly on the back. ‘I said that Oswald would return to us safe and sound, didn’t I? It seems he got himself lost.’ Peter turned to me and glared. ‘Did you find any of that Water Mint I asked you to look for?’ I took his meaning immediately. ‘The type that only grows in the forest?’
I went to answer, but Peter spoke over me. ‘Never mind. I really shouldn’t have sent you out of the monastery at a time like this. This is entirely my fault, Father Abbot. Oswald only left Kintham at my behest.’ He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed his fingers, expecting my cooperation with this story.
The Abbot rose from his chair. He disliked entertaining guests in his personal quarters, and it was clear that he was eager for William to leave. ‘I must say, Brother Peter,’ he said, wiping some crumbs from his hands. ‘It was very irresponsible of you to send the boy out now. Especially in the current circumstances. Especially when I have specifically forbidden the novices to leave Kintham.’ He directed these comments towards my brother, to ensure that William appreciated his own blamelessness in this whole affair. I saw William respond with a knowing smile.
‘I can’t apologise enough, Father Abbot,’ added Peter. ‘I was totally at fault. Oswald was only acting on my instructions.’
William put down his cup of wine and took a moment to speak. ‘At least he is safe now,’ he said before he addressed me directly, pointing at my dirty clothes. ‘Did you sleep in a ditch?’ he asked. I looked down to see the mud and burrs that covered my habit. ‘Or have you been for a roll in the hay?’ he added, his eyes gleaming. ‘Who knows what trouble you get into when they let you out of this place?’
I felt my throat tighten. What sort of trouble did William mean? Was he talking about Agnes? I looked into my brother’s face and I just couldn’t gauge his mood. Was he being mischievous or menacing?
But then again I had always had this problem. Since being a child in Somershill, I had never been able to tell if my older brothers William and Richard were about to play a silly trick on me, such as putting a spider in my sock, or a caterpillar in my soup. Or whether something more dangerous was afoot, such as tying me to the roasting spit and then lighting the fire, or burning the ends of my hair with a candle.
The Abbot padded towards the door, and started to fiddle with the latch. ‘I cannot apologise enough about this incident, Lord de Lacy,’ he said to William. ‘But no harm has come to Oswald, so you may take him home now.’
‘Take me home?’ I said, in dismay.
William remained seated, ignoring the Abbot’s cue to leave, and taking another gulp of wine. ‘You’re to return to Somershill, Oswald,’ he told me, before refilling his cup from a decanter.
I was dumbfounded. ‘But I don’t want to go back to Somershill,’ I said, once I’d eventually found my voice.
William paused. ‘Sorry, Oswald. It’s Father’s orders.’
‘But—’
‘Come on, Little Brother,’ said William, now picking up some bread and tearing it into pieces. ‘We can’t have a de Lacy locked away in this mouldy old monastery, can we? Not when the Plague
is coming.’ William nodded towards the Abbot, who was still loitering by the door, more eager than ever that we should leave. ‘Who knows if any of this lot will survive?’ he said. ‘I’m told that Winchester Abbey has been cleared out.’
‘I’m sure that our monastery will be a safe haven,’ retorted the Abbot. ‘Especially if our novices obey the rules,’ he added pointedly.
I turned to Peter. ‘But I don’t want to leave now,’ I whispered. ‘There are things I need to do.’ I narrowed my eyes and stared at Peter, hoping that he would take my meaning.
If he had any idea, then he deliberately ignored me. Peter cleared his throat, and spoke loudly. ‘I think it would be much safer if you were to return to Somershill, Oswald.’
‘You do?’ I said in surprise. Peter usually took my side in a public argument, especially when we were in the company of my family. Our disagreements were only ever played out in private.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Your brother William is correct about the dangers of staying at the monastery. The contagion moves swiftly from one person to the next. We live in confined quarters, so we are more likely than most to suffer.’
The Abbot removed his hand from the latch. ‘You haven’t expressed this opinion before, Brother Peter,’ he said nervously. ‘You assured me that we would all be safe here.’ I noticed a fleeting wave of panic cross the man’s face.
Peter bowed his head. ‘My apologies, Father Abbot. It is an opinion that I have only formed since I received a letter from a dear friend of mine. The infirmarer at Lowhampton Abbey.’ Peter paused. ‘I’m afraid that he has seen the devastation at first hand.’
The Abbot frowned. ‘Are we to worry, then?’ He rubbed his hands around his mouth. ‘Perhaps we should all return to our family homes?’
‘No, no,’ replied Peter. ‘We should be safe enough, but only if we retain our isolation.’