Painted in Blood

by Pip Vaughan-Hughes

  ‘Jesus! So you are in there!’ I cried. ‘I am sorry,’ I said hastily, seeing her back stiffen. ‘I am innocent of … of any sort of romantic guile, honestly. You see that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve been here a week,’ she said icily.

  ‘And I would not have blighted your lovely house, nor bribed your clerk, had I not been …’

  ‘… Desperate. You are desperate, Patch, aren’t you? This is more like it. I might end up liking this.’

  ‘All right, I am. I need to see Earl Richard, I do not like this city, and I wish to get myself back on to the Continent as soon as I possibly can. I’m sure you’d like to speed me on my way.’

  ‘Not really, Patch.’ Letice sighed, and smoothed the nap of the prayer rug with her palm. ‘I’ve wondered, every now and again, if you would come here. I thought: he’ll come looking for me. I didn’t – don’t – want that, you understand. It is the looking and not the finding that is important in these thoughts, which are idle, and get me nowhere. And besides, I am a respectable widow.’ She picked a teardrop of wax from one of the candlesticks, and sighed again. ‘It is nice to see you, Patch, and I say that in spite of myself.’

  ‘In spite of Lady Agnes, you mean.’

  ‘Oh God. Agnes.’ She rubbed the tip of her nose with her fingertip. ‘Toly – my clerk – what exactly did he say about me?’

  ‘About her. That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? ’Twas not what he said, rather the way he twitched.’

  ‘Workers,’ she said bitterly. ‘Well, since you are here, have you dined yet?’

  Chapter Seven

  As it turned out, neither of us were hungry. Letice picked at a cold pheasant and I sipped some excellent claret. We studied each other for a while. Finally, Letice broke the silence.

  ‘Why do you need to see Earl Richard?’ she asked, abruptly.

  That was a good question. I had not decided what to tell Letice about my mission. It was not her business any more, and I did not want to involve her in even a small corner of the great plot against Louis of France, for I had realised, as I had made my way to her house, that I could not predict what side she might be on. Not that Letice was likely to have any loyalties based on birth or blood, but she well might have some commercial interest to protect or, God knew, some ideas of her own. So I lied.

  ‘The Captain has it in mind to sell Richard something very choice,’ I said. That was the obvious answer, was it not? Letice rolled a leg bone between finger and thumb and looked at me down her nose.

  ‘Oh, yes? What?’ she said, brightly. Her eyes were narrow, intent. Not a good sign.

  ‘Something … choice. I found some other things in Constantinople, you know. Especially when I was there last. The bloody Franks are so hard up that they started to bring me all sorts of stuff – bits and pieces that their fathers had looted, that sort of thing. Most of it was rubbish, but some wasn’t.’

  ‘And the something for Earl Richard?’ She was not taking my vagueness as a hint.

  ‘Ah. Well. Not quite in the same league as the Pharos treasures. Not quite.’

  ‘So, what? An arm, a leg? A holy pizzle? Saint Peter’s loincloth?’

  ‘Ahh … yes, something like that.’ There was silence.

  ‘You’re lying to me, Petroc,’ said Letice.

  ‘I am not!’ But my protests were useless, I knew already. Letice could see into people. She was as good a liar as I have ever met, and found out the lies of others as easily as a dowser finds hidden water. I sighed.

  ‘Very well then. The truth – all I can tell you – is that the Captain does have something for Earl Richard, that it will please him, and that I should like to get it to him as soon as I can. It is just business, Letice, and I really do want to leave here as soon as I can.’

  ‘Thank you, Petroc. It wasn’t very nice of you, bringing me fibs after all these years.’

  ‘Not even two years,’ I muttered into my wine.

  ‘Well, it seems longer. And I am glad to see you, actually.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘For what it is worth. I have found that I am a stranger here, in my own town.’

  I put down my wine and leaned my elbows on the table. She leaned away from me, but easily, and raised the bare leg bone in front of me like a little grey sceptre. ‘I am sorry for that,’ I told her. ‘I wondered why you had chosen to live so close to …’ I inclined my head in the direction of Smooth Field.

  ‘For the smell, of course. Reminds me of my girlhood.’ She dropped the bone and reached for a towel. ‘I don’t know, Petroc. These streets are what I used to see before I went to sleep. When I was sad I would close my eyes and walk around here in my mind. Of course I came back here. But …’

  ‘But it isn’t the same. I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she said sharply. Then she dropped her head and smiled, warm and sad all at once, for the first time. ‘Oh, Patch. I had forgotten. I’m not angry with you now. I never was, if you want to know.’

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  ‘I could not live like that any more,’ she said. ‘You understand Venice. It worms itself inside you. The smell of the water … Christ above, it was stifling me.’

  ‘But we were happy!’ I protested.

  ‘I wasn’t. Were you?’ She gave a great sigh and leaned her arms on the table, so that her clasped hands were almost touching mine. ‘Listen. Mother Zanetta saw it better than I did. She said that if I did not leave you, I would end up a suicide, or else a whore again. Would you have wished that?’

  ‘You know I would not.’

  ‘And you. Are you happy? Are you brim-full of content?’ It was my turn to sigh. ‘Happy, perhaps. I should be happy, with all my money and respect and whatnot, so I tell myself that I am. That would seem to imply that I’m not content either, wouldn’t it? My life has changed, Letice. I’m not a child – I do not do things just because they make me happy.’

  ‘Nor me. Shame, though, isn’t it?’ She stood up, and her lovely robe swung and shimmered. ‘I am neither happy nor unhappy, but I am rich, and in London that is almost the same thing. Like in Venice.’

  ‘So what are we complaining about?’ I said, leaning back and looking at her properly. She was as lovely as she had ever been, her face still dancing on the rope between beautiful and homely.

  ‘I don’t know, love,’ she said, and held out her hand to me. It was the gesture of a lady to a courtly stranger, but I took it gladly, and rose. ‘I know a man at court – you knew I would. Let us go and see him. You can tell me all the gossip from San Polo in the meantime.’

  Letice’s friend at court lived a fair distance away, in the ward of Bishopsgate. I wondered if he would be at home, and whether it was worthwhile trudging through the streets just to find him gone, but Letice had decided that we would go, and we did.

  ‘We could ride, but I’d rather walk, and I know you would,’ she said as we stepped outside into the dingy passageway. She was right. It was the first time I had been in the city with someone who knew it as well as I had known my small corner of Dartmoor, and I let myself be led, although she put her arm in mine and allowed me to squire her. It was plain that, although Lady Agnes de Wharram had only appeared two years ago, she had the respect of her neighbours, for she received many nods and curtseys, and had parted with a good handful of coppers to the urchins that tugged at her skirts and my tunic before we had even reached Broad Street.

  ‘You seem quite at home,’ I told her. Then I noticed her sour expression. ‘What is wrong?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ she said at last. ‘The weather. I’d forgotten how low the bloody sky is.’

  I did not think she had been talking about the weather earlier, but I let it go, glad to be with her. We chatted, like the old friends we almost were, about business: hers and mine, the company. The house of de Wharram was doing well. It had gone into partnership with a Jewish company in Genoa that was well respected on the wharfs of Alexandria, and so the spices
I had seen itemised were flowing into the Billingsgate warehouse.

  ‘But things have to flow the other way, too,’ she said, as we passed St Benet’s church. ‘I have bought estates in the Weald, you know.’

  ‘Iron?’

  ‘And timber. I buy spices from the traders in Egypt, and sell them iron and good Wealden oak.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ I stopped in the middle of the tailors’ street and laughed aloud. An old rabbi from the synagogue across the road eyed me curiously. ‘Does the Church know about it?’

  ‘That I provide the Mussulmen with stuff to make swords and warships? Of course.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I bribe them. They call it a penance, but we all know that it is a bribe. It isn’t just me, you know.’

  She was right. I was not surprised that Christians were selling arms to the Saracens, simply that Letice had managed to carve out a piece of that excellent and lucrative trade for herself, and so quickly. I told her so, and she snapped her fingers. ‘Silver opens every door and cleanses the filthiest soul, my dear,’ she said, and led me out of the path of a bullock cart.

  John Curtesmains lived in a large, newly whitewashed house in a court behind the church of Saint Adelburga-the-Virgin. Fortunately he was at home, and we were shown into the hall. This John was very well-to-do, with a new-looking coat of arms that graced hangings, ceiling bosses and a large and dazzlingly bright shield that hung on the wall.

  ‘Is he a knight, this John?’ I asked Letice under my breath, as we waited for our host to appear.

  ‘Just, as of last year,’ she said. ‘His son will be a baron if John lends King Henry enough silver, though.’

  Sir John was a thin, balding little man with a sparse beard, who did not look as if he would ever have been able to heft his gaudy shield, even in his youth, which was long ago spent. He was friendly enough, though, and did not press us too hard as to my reasons for needing an audience with Earl Richard. Letice introduced me as a sort of diplomat – she kept it hazy – with friends in Venice and Constantinople. John seemed to find it perfectly natural that such a person should need to see the earl, and that Richard would want to see me.

  ‘If you could arrange an audience, I would be most grateful,’ I told him. ‘And without a doubt the interests whom I represent would share my gratitude.’ This was a language he understood very well, apparently, for he grinned and rubbed his hands. Then his face fell.

  ‘Alas! I know why you have had such a frosty time of it at Westminster,’ he said. ‘Henry and his brother … well, they are brothers, and like brothers they quarrel on occasion.’

  ‘Come now, John, they fight like two cats in a sack!’ said Letice.

  ‘Oh, well, Agnes. But you are right. Richard has never got used to Henry’s Poitevins – his in-laws and all those bloody hangers-on. My dear Petrus, I have no side in this, you understand, except the king’s, so please do not misunderstand me. Have you heard, though, what the Poitevins are up to now?’

  ‘You mean the war?’ said Letice. John gave her a pained look.

  ‘Our guest is perhaps …’

  ‘Oh, do not fear. I have heard of Earl Richard’s troubles in Poitou, and the Lusignans, of course. That is not my concern. Why, though, are Richard and Henry at odds about this, of all things? Surely Henry would love to defend English rights against the French.’

  ‘Henry is not like his brother,’ said John, with what might have been a hint of regret. ‘Richard is a martial lord, of course – most puissant, most puissant indeed. He just returned from the Crusade, you know.’ I nodded. ‘He has taken up arms against Henry three times,’ he went on, ‘and he loathes de Montfort, his brother-in-law, especially now that he is Earl of Leicester. They went to the Holy Land together, and rumour has it that they did not speak a single word to each other the entire time they were away. But it is Richard who does not want to go to war.’ He raised his eyebrows at me, inviting surprise. I obliged.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Unlike the king, Earl Richard …’ He stopped himself, and held a finger to his lips. ‘Richard is a clever man – a good business man, actually, and he prefers to use sense and influence whenever he can. He knows that wars cost money, and the barons are already furious that Henry has levied their purses to fight this one. Richard does not like nor trust his father-in-law Hughues de Lusignan, and he resents being ordered around by his mother. That is the short answer. He was only Count of Poitou in name, and he has always had his eye on what one might call an actual throne – not his brother’s,’ he added hastily, ‘but some rich, foreign kingdom. Who can blame him? It is difficult to be a second son, especially when the eldest is … innocent.’ Apparently content with his choice of words, he nodded to himself. ‘Is that, perhaps, why you are here?’ The question was left dangling in the air between us.

  ‘No, not at all,’ I said firmly. ‘I am here on a business matter, really; not unconnected with Mother Church, but that is, alas, all that I can tell you now. I know that Earl Richard would be glad to receive me, though.’

  ‘I am sure he would. But that is just the problem, you see. The earl is not at Westminster.’

  ‘Oh! Where is he, then?’ asked Letice.

  ‘Devon, when last I heard, Lady Agnes. At his manor of Lydford, no doubt.’

  ‘But the king is at court,’ I said.

  ‘No, he is not. He is going about the countryside, trying to talk the barons into war. No, the only royal personage at Westminster – ’ he smacked his lips over personage, as though it were a luscious sweetmeat – ‘is Queen Isabella, lately arrived from France.’

  ‘Devon, then,’ I muttered.

  ‘Oh, dear! Good master Petrus! It seems you have a long journey ahead of you!’ Letice cried, with all the subtlety of a village mummer. ‘You must ride to … to Devonshire, wherever that is!’

  ‘You’re here because of this war, aren’t you?’ asked Letice as soon as we were out in the noise of Blackfriars Street. She squinted at me accusingly, shielding her eyes against the slanting light of the sun.

  ‘What makes you say so?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Patch! I saw you cock your head like a fucking papagallo when old John brought it up. Why did you not tell me? Are you … you’ve come from Louis, haven’t you? You spend half your life at Vincennes these days, so I hear.’

  ‘Language, Lady Agnes. And from whom do you hear it?’

  ‘From the Man in the Moon. From Gilles and dear Michel, obviously, or have you forgotten that they still write to me?’

  ‘No, I can assure you, absolutely and on my life’s blood, that I am not here on behalf of Louis Capet. Can we change the subject, please?’

  ‘Hmm. I believe you, oddly enough. But it is about Poitou. I’ll stake one of my ships on it – nay, a ship and a cargo.’ She clapped her hands. ‘La! Captain Michel has some stake in this – but what? He … Richard has borrowed money from him. Am I right? Or is it Lusignan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. I am right. Admit it! Admit I’m right, and I won’t mention it again, I promise. I don’t care, you know. War with France doesn’t affect my business.’ She pulled me across the street and into an alley. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘No, Letice. It’s not your business. It isn’t mine either, come to that. I’m trying to run a fucking errand, and when it is done I will never think about it again. You know all you need to: you are English, you live in London, unlike me; and I won’t put you in danger.’

  ‘So there is danger, then?’ said Letice triumphantly.

  ‘There’s absolutely no danger. My lady, thank you for luncheon, and for your assistance. I am glad we saw each other once more. And now I must say goodbye.’ I leaned in and kissed her very quickly on her cheek. It was flushed, and warm. Her eyes flashed as I pulled away. ‘Goodbye, Letice!’ I gave her a courtier’s bow, and she shook her head resignedly.

  ‘Goodbye to you, Patch,’ she said, and with her hands on her hips she watched me as I strode away up the alley.


  Back at the hostelry I took stock. My trip so far had been an inventory of nuisances. I had wasted a week at the palace. I had seen Letice, although I had sworn I would not, and made a great buffoon of myself into the bargain. And now I had to ride all the way to Devon. I should not have left Letice that way. It had been a joy to see her, though it seemed plain that there would always be a coolness between us now. She had not seemed angry with me – God, she had even helped me. And like a mountebank I had left her in the street. I had not known what else to do. I did not want to tell her why I had come to England. But … I could have told her, I supposed. What harm would there have been in that? She had guessed it, in a way. The Captain was sending aid to Richard, but it was not a loan, and it was not, alas, business. I thought of going back to her house and giving her this almost-truth just to redeem myself in her eyes, though that did not seem very likely to work, I decided. And why did I care what she thought in any case? There was nothing between us any more. Lady Agnes, forsooth.

  But I did not have a restful night. I was excited, of course, overjoyed, even, to be returning at last to Devon. And not just Devon, but Dartmoor, my moor, for Lydford is on the western edge of those hills, and I could, if I chose, ride there by way of my old home at Auneford. But would that be wise? I was not known in London. The Gurt Dog of Balecester was just a legend these days if anyone remembered at all. No doubt in Balecester itself the memory was still raw and vivid, but I was not going anywhere near that Godforsaken place. Devon, though: there I might be recognised. I doubted anyone would know me at Auneford, for I had been a child when I lived there. But had I changed very much since leaving the abbey at Buckfast? I was older, with a broken nose and skin darkened by southern skies, and I had hair on the top of my head. But monks are observant in more ways than one. Their life is a dull one without variety, and to compensate they often develop keen powers of observation, if only to entertain minds that would otherwise wizen from lack of use. And they did leave the abbey, to sell wine or corn, or to buy provisions, and if I met someone upon the road, someone who had known me when I was Brother Petroc … Well, they would have to prove it. I laid my head down long after the bells of midnight had bullied the air, but I did not sleep until much later, and then only to dream fitfully of the moors, and of a hall full of Benedictines who all had my face, but were sitting in judgement against me. In my dream I leapt up and found I could fly, and floated out of a narrow window and out into the sky above the river Dart, but as happens in dreams I could not control my actions and stopped there, hanging in the air, while the brothers filed out and solemnly shot at me with arrows. They struck my flesh with hollow thuds which did not hurt, but the more I flapped my arms and struggled to rise and fly away, the louder the thudding became, until I awoke to find my door being hammered upon.