Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  His extreme relief annoyed him. Ludovic said, “What are you doing back here? Of course I’m all right.”

  “Are you always this bad tempered in the middle of the night?” said Alysson. “I only came back to try and help.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m an exceedingly benign and good humoured person under normal circumstances,” Ludovic said with feeling. “I’m only this bad tempered when stuck full of arrows while placidly minding my own business, struck unconscious, insidiously poisoned, and forced to sleep out in the open on frigid damp stone during a particularly freezing night. So go away.”

  “I brought blankets from home, and dried biscuit and a flask of ale and a spare cloak.” She sniffed. “It was Gamel’s. It’s not as thick as your coat, but it’s dry.” She clambered under the stairwell beside him and unpacked her bundle. “I’d have been back quicker, but I tried looking for your horse. I couldn’t see it though. I suppose it ran all the way back to the castle. And I thought the forest would be full of your noisy people searching everywhere for you, but they must have gone in another direction. Or perhaps they just don’t care. Perhaps no one really wants to find you. It would hardly be surprising.”

  Ludovic relented. He shuffled back against the wall, edging himself up until sitting, shaking his head clear of doubts, pain and sleep. “You have an irritating sense of humour, but you’re a good girl. You should be fast asleep in bed, but thank you. I’ll take the ale first.”

  “I thought you’d be thirsty.” She handed him the small leather flask and a handful of broken biscuit crumbs. She was brisk and reassuring. “It’ll be dawn soon. I hope you slept. Can you walk yet?”

  The pale lilac of a tentative sunrise tipped the reaching tree branches as Alysson supported Ludovic on his stumble down the little hill and into the damp shelter of the forest. They travelled very slowly. Ludovic forced his left leg to move, but could take little weight upon it. He leaned far more than he would have liked on the thin shoulder of the girl beside him. He could feel her narrow bones, but also her warmth. Once again her hair tickled his nose. There was an owl, plaintive in disturbance, and the clinging dewy fingers of a spider’s web. The wind had dropped and the chill decreased.

  The wound in his leg was weeping heavily again, the bloody warmth strangely comforting down his thigh. “Can you see in this wretched murk?” Ludovic said. “Are we near yet?”

  “Very close, I promise.” Alysson was wrapped half beneath his huge wealth of sable lining. She adjusted her pace, quickening a little. “I know this part of the woods, even in the dark. After all, I’ve lived here for ten years. Do you feel any better?”

  “Sufficiently. But I doubt I could walk again for some time after this. I’ll need to appreciate your hospitality until I’m strong enough to get back to the castle, or until the Sumerford troops discover me.”

  Alysson nodded. “That’s all right. Ilara’s expecting you. She’s preparing hot food. Dulce’s ashamed of her house and thinks you won’t want to sleep there. But I said you wouldn’t care. Will you?”

  Ludovic smiled. “I shall be only too glad of warm shelter. I dream of a decent cup of wine, but I doubt if you can supply that. My own flask was attached to my horse’s saddle beside my sword, now gone. I expect not to disturb you for long, nor cause too much inconvenience. Though it’s simple retaliation, of course, for your murderous impulses.”

  She sniffed. “I am sorry. I’ve said that lots of times and I do mean it. But it’s not all me, remember. You’ve offered to search for Pagan, for which I thank God and you too, but you don’t seem at all troubled by your horrid brother’s attack. He was much more murderous than I am. And I certainly didn’t do anything to provoke that.”

  Ludovic hesitated a moment before replying, then said softly, “There’s no need to press that story, you know. I know it to be a lie. You achieve nothing by an accusation which cannot be true.”

  Alysson stopped abruptly and Ludovic nearly fell over. He gripped her shoulder, steadying himself, and felt her wince. “You know it’s a lie?” she demanded. “How can you know? Why should I lie?”

  “I have an idea why, and sympathise a little,” Ludovic said, low voiced. “But any more is better left unsaid. I hold no grievance and Humphrey is not here to answer for himself. Let’s agree not to pursue the subject.”

  After a moment Alysson began walking again. She stayed silent.

  The familiar sagging thatch caught the early sun between the trees, and the woman Ilara, peering out, stood at the open doorway. A small fire of twigs smouldered damply on the hearth, and was the only light or heat. Alysson helped Ludovic inside and he collapsed on a stool, drawn close to the flames. He was given ale and the fluttering apologies of the two elderly women, agonising over the behaviour of their protégée and nervous for the failings of their home. Alysson immediately shooed them back upstairs, and back to bed.

  She sat curled on the ground beside Ludovic’s stool as he watched the fire smoulder into soot and drank his ale from a wooden bowl. “That’s Gamel and Pagan’s pallet under the window,” Alysson said. “You’d better sleep there. It’s only straw but it’s quite soft and dry. I sleep upstairs with my nurse and Dulce. They wouldn’t normally be in bed this late, but they were up all night, first worrying about me, and then talking to me for ages when I got back. Being weak, you should sleep easily too. Besides, there’s clearly no point us talking.”

  Ludovic leaned back thankfully against the thin unplastered wall behind him and gazed down sleepily at the girl by his feet. A cooking pot swung over the flames and the faint scent of simmering pottage smothered the older smells of dirt and urine. The fire’s warmth was fitful, but the relief of sitting again, and of enjoying something more sheltered than the filthy freeze of the old watch tower, felt glorious. He finished the ale. “My dear Alysson,” he said, “talking seems the least of my problems. I am utterly lame and half dead. I shall probably have to hobble around like some old gout ridden grandfather for the next few days, and watch as my leg is lanced of blood and pus at regular intervals. I’ve already become engaged in the most unappetising proceedings simply because of you, such as talking to obtuse and vindictive dairymen in the vicinity of farting cows and rumbling vats, while unwillingly instructed in the vile business of cheese making. I have been forced to undergo a winter’s night away from the comfort of my own bed, and will have to think up a whole pack of completely unbelievable falsehoods in order to keep you out of gaol. Is there anything more you intend inflicting on me?”

  “Probably food,” said Alysson. “I think you need strength.”

  Chapter Six

  Ludovic regarded the sliced turnip with faint suspicion, politely dipping his spoon into the pottage. He had never tasted turnip before, and sincerely trusted he would never be required to do so again. He chewed slowly, with a studious concentration of manners, and gradually the look of startled indignation faded, replaced by resignation. He hoped, without much conviction, that what he felt moving in his mouth was the natural swill of the pottage, and not live maggots.

  He was equally aware that the two women Ilara and Dulce were paying far more attention to him than they were to their needlework, so Ludovic continued eating and, with a valiant attempt at an expression of satisfaction, finished everything on his platter. He looked hopefully for a napkin, found none, and drew out his own very damp and bloodied kerchief with which to wipe his mouth and fingers. “Delicious. You are very kind and I thank you,” he said faintly.

  “There is a little remaining in the cauldron, my lord,” whispered Ilara, “should you wish for more, my lord.”

  Ludovic smiled. “I assure you, I could not eat another thing. However, I do appreciate the offer.” He was acutely aware of the probable cost of their generosity, and the likelihood that he had just, however unwillingly, eaten the whole family’s food for the entire day. “Just a little ale – if that’s possible.”

  Dulce leapt from the tiny table, holding tight to her cambric cap as it spi
lled pins, and scooped up a cup from beside the fire. She brought it, curtsying deeply, back to the table. Ludovic drank, clearing the sour taste from his throat. Alysson watched her two protectors’ over anxious discomfort and stood up abruptly. “Dulce dear, isn’t it market day? Do go. In fact, you’ll be late. And perhaps, Ilara, you’d like to go as well.”

  “But my dear, what of our guest?” whispered Ilara, curtsying nervously to the air. “It would hardly be polite –”

  “On the contrary,” said Ludovic at once, “I should be extremely disturbed at the thought of interrupting your usual routine. Besides, I need to talk to your – young protégé. She’ll be quite safe with me, I give my word.”

  “Oh my lord,” breathed Ilara, “as if we would imagine anything else. And if you’re quite sure my lord, and would prefer to be left private -”

  “He would,” said Alysson briskly.

  After a few moments bustling, Ludovic held the door open for the two women to scurry out. “And since,” he said, “I expect to have gone before your return, I must thank you now for your great help and consideration. I shall not forget it.”

  “Oh, my lord,” breathed Ilara, as Alysson quickly pushed the door shut on her departing shadow.

  It occurred to him, somewhat vaguely, that since these people kept neither scullion nor maidservant, it might be common manners for guests to offer some sort of assistance themselves, such as helping to clear up or even wash the trenchers. However, since he hadn’t the slightest idea how to do such things, he said nothing about it. “And now,” he said instead, “will you explain to me, without unnecessary prevarication or false pride, just what source of income your household currently has? I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, but I could hardly avoid seeing there was little meat in your pottage except some scraps of bacon, which frankly seemed less than well salted or preserved.”

  “Oh dear,” said Alysson faintly, “maggots again?”

  “Irrelevant,” Ludovic smiled slightly. “The only matter now relevant, is whatever you will all manage to eat for the next few days. I have no money on me, though this heap of silk and sable should bring in a pound or two.” Something was biting him under the arm and he scratched absently as he pulled off his ruined coat, vaguely hoping that not every cranny of his body was now indelibly infested with lice.

  Alysson frowned at his proffered coat. “Don’t be absurd,” she sniffed, “and sit down before you fall.”

  Ludovic sat, immediately and heavily, on the nearest stool. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “I am not quite ready yet for travelling. But I am certainly able to interest myself in your survival, in spite of your wish to curtail my own.”

  The fire had lapsed into soot and the cauldron hung there, forlorn upon its chains, the cheerful sounds of a simmering breakfast doused. Alysson hung her head. “We manage. We pick berries and herbs. There’s nettles and roots and acorns to collect. The mushrooms are coming through now, and occasionally we catch duck and quail. You know already, so there’s no harm in admitting we used to go poaching, but Gamel was a much better archer than me. I don’t catch much. Occasionally Dulce manages to sell the surplus at market. When it doesn’t rain too much, we can gather wood and sell faggots too, but most local people come into the forest to find whatever they want themselves. Sometimes we find gall knots on the forest oaks and make ink for the Abbey. I used to make reed mats, but your people drained the marshes in the estuary, so there’s no reeds anymore. Then we kept geese, with fresh eggs and feathers for fletching. But the last one died a year ago. We finished eating it in the summer. Now we’ve started beachcombing. Though eating isn’t as important as finding Pagan.”

  “Starving is unlikely to help find your brother,” Ludovic said. “On return to Sumerford I can send you money, but I can hardly finance you forever. I have another suggestion. I’ll arrange a position as personal maid to the new lady at the castle, my brother’s wife, the Lady Jennine. She brought little in the way of female staff with her, and since we’re a household of men, we’ve not much to supply.”

  “For Ilara you mean?” Alysson hesitated. “But she’s elderly now and she was never used to the nobility. You’ve seen how nervous she is.”

  Ludovic raised an eyebrow. “I meant you.”

  Alysson screwed up her nose. “They won’t want me. I doubt your mother would even allow me inside your walls. Besides – there’s – your brother.”

  Ludovic regarded the girl with considerable impatience. “I see no point in your persisting with that accusation,” he said curtly. “It no longer serves your interests.”

  Alysson glared. “It never did serve my – interests.” She stood with a sniff and began clearing away the wooden spoons and platters in a swirl of angry skirts. The smells of rancid goose grease reasserted. “Do you take me for a trollop, or a beggar’s brat, to tell lies and bear false witness?”

  “It wasn’t Humphrey,” Ludovic frowned. “Someone else perhaps. I’ve no intention of discussing my brother’s private business with you, but frankly, he’s not capable. Besides, he was otherwise engaged on that day. Perhaps you mistook him.”

  “I may not have been born in Somerset, but no one can stay around here for long without knowing all your family very well indeed,” Alysson objected crossly. “Your Humphrey is very large with a gut like a pregnant sow. He has a huge fuzzy red beard, a fuzzy red moustache and lots of bright red hair. How could I possibly mistake that?”

  Ludovic sighed. “Then perhaps I should explain that my brother and his new wife have entirely separate quarters, and even in a comparatively small castle such as Sumerford, there’s little reason why you should ever come into close contact with any member of my family apart from the lady you’ll serve. And even if my brother does happen to lumber across you, there can hardly be any safer place than under his own wife’s protection.” He watched Alysson, the high colour in her cheeks fading. “As for my mother,” he continued, “I’ll deal with her. In the meantime I’ll send money for a new chemise and a better gown, and you can present yourself at the main house in a few days.” He paused again, deciding against the additional insult, then changed his mind and said it anyway. “But first I must suggest,” he said cautiously, “that you make some attempt at a good scrub. At present you’d make – let us say – a dubious impression.”

  He thought she was going to hit him over the head with the spoon she had retrieved, but instead she sat abruptly and stared into her lap. “Is it that bad?” she whispered. “I suppose you really do think I’m a trollop and a beggar. But I do wash, quite often even when it’s horribly cold, down in the stream. We can’t buy good soap anymore of course, but it’s mainly the clothes you see, they’re hard to wash when you haven’t got anything else to change into. And in the winter, well, it’s not easy being naked or wearing wet clothes, and then you can never be sure who might be fishing in the stream, or looking for herbs along the bank. Then the cooking smells hang around for so long and seep into the clothes, the house being very small, and especially when it’s cold with all the windows shut. And I’m afraid there’s fleas in the straw too and they’re so hard to get rid of. We used to try and smoke them out, and we used clover and wild lavender over and over, but they always came back. I mean, when there’s nothing you can do about things, it’s easier not to worry about them. I never knew it was so bad.”

  Ludovic got up and hobbled over to her. His leg throbbed, but he bent, and put his sound arm around her. She turned her head to his rich velvet stomacher and sniffed. Ludovic combed his fingers through her hair, caressing as he would a distraught puppy. Her thick curls felt cool and pleasant, and he smiled. “I should not have spoken,” he said. “But when arriving for a position as lady’s maid, the first appearance would seem to be of some importance, even if an agreement is already arranged. I can make sure you’re employed child, but in all decency I should not force my sister-in-law into anything she might find unappealing, or be reluctant to accept. You must do your part. I’ll send money for
new clothes, and that should help.”

  She peeped up at him, wondering reluctantly whether she should pull away, but finding the unaccustomed security of masculine comfort unexpectedly pleasant, she stayed. “I didn’t always live like this,” she said, her voice muffled against him. He knew she blushed, ashamed of her excuses, but the pressure of her face held firm to his chest seemed surprisingly natural also to him. “My father was the Mayor of Canterbury for many terms,” Alysson went on softly, half lost in memories. “He was a barrister before he was an alderman. He was also a great archer, and – utterly loyal to the king. It was King Richard back then of course. We had a beautiful big house, and servants, and lots of nice clothes, and a real wooden tub we could bring out into the kitchen for proper baths. Real baths, every month, and my turn was always after Mamma so the water was still almost hot. Ilara was my nursemaid ever since I was born. She used to wash my back with a real sea sponge, and tie up my hair in ribbons, and I had clean linen and gowns all brushed and pressed. But then my father fought for King Richard at Bosworth. Afterwards, everything got much worse. With this new Tudor king hating everyone who’d fought against him, our home was taken away. We were fined huge taxes and people were frightened to help us in case they got into trouble themselves, so we took a little cottage down by the Kent marshes. Ilara came with us but of course all the other servants had to be sent away. Then my father tried to get back into favour by fighting for the new king at Stoke, and he was killed there. With Papa gone, Mamma and I worked harder but the Kent fens are alive with biting mosquitoes, and my mother got sick with the ague. Mal-aria they called it; bad air; and so it was for she died too. I was only nine and my brothers were little more than babies. It was Ilara who gathered us up and brought us here to her brother’s house. We had nothing left, and have had nothing since, so maybe I’m truly a beggar now. I’ll be glad to go back and work at the castle again – if you can arrange it. But your mother won’t want me.”