by June Francis
‘What if Guy were dead? What if the king is dead?’ She voiced the words aloud, so that they seemed to shout back at her. She did not want to believe it was true, but what if they did not return? What had happened at Mile End? Why did they not return if they were safe? What of Beatrice and herself? They were not safe anywhere, it seemed!
How long she lay there allowing her fear to spiral out of control, she did not know, but eventually some remnant of common sense asserted itself and pushed down the terror. At last she sat up, pushing back her braids. She would go and find Beatrice. Shivering still, she rose and went first to her bedchamber. Not there! Then to the solar. Beatrice sat there — to all appearances calmly sewing and in control. Then Philippa noticed that the fabric shook slightly. Not so collected, after all! It gave her comfort, somehow, to know that her own fear was shared.
‘You will have something to drink and eat, Philippa?’ Her voice quivered.
‘Nothing too heavy, thank you.’ Philippa sank on to the settle.
‘I’ll go and see to it … Something to do. Stop me thinking.’ Beatrice smiled wanly. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Thank you.’ Philippa could think of nothing else to say.
Soon Beatrice returned with a tray, on which were set some spiced wine and a platter of darioles. They drank and ate in silence. Philippa, feeling her nerves stretch as the silence did, broke it to ask for the recipe. ‘I have never had these before.’
‘One can have them only in the summer,’ said Beatrice brightly. ‘Strawberries are available then, but dates are difficult to obtain. The cream and wine are not so.’ Her face showed a touch of animation. ‘I’m so blessed in having a grocer for a husband, for he manages to obtain so many rarities.’ Then the light died in her eyes. ‘How much longer do you think they will be?’
‘Who can tell? Surely not much longer.’ Philippa poured out another cup of clary for each of them. It was spicy with nutmeg and sweet with honey.
‘You don’t think … ’
‘No!’ Philippa burst out. ‘No, we would have heard. We shall not think on that.’
‘No,’ murmured Beatrice. ‘You are right.’
As twilight began to fall, there was a red glow in the sky that was not due to the setting sun. Fires must be burning somewhere! The silence sat clammily in the shadows, and seemed to press in. Then unexpectedly the door opened and men’s voice sounded. Whirling round, Philippa stared across the darkening room. It was Guy and James, bearing lights.
‘Sitting in the dark?’ James’s deep voice was all that was needed for Beatrice to fly into his arms.
Philippa’s gladness could only soar inside her as she gazed at Guy, examining his face for any further sign of injury. ‘You have been so long!’ Despite all her efforts, her voice shook.
Guy came closer. ‘I’m sorry — and I do not even bring you the news you desire about your uncle.’
‘Is that what delayed you?’ She clasped her hands in front of her to stop them trembling.
‘We did not intend to stay out all day. But what with Mile End, to begin with … ’
‘What happened? We saw … Sudbury … His head … ’
‘How? You haven’t … ’ He seized her arm.
‘No! Through the gates, as they marched past. There were other men … I didn’t know.’
‘They broke into the Tower. Hundreds of archers were there — but they got in,’ Guy said hoarsely. ‘The king refused to hand them over, you see, so they went and took them. I can only believe it is the very weight of numbers that causes people to throw down their arms. They frightened the life out of the king’s mother! One kissed her, but they offered her no other harm.’ He smiled faintly.
‘The king is safe, then?’
‘Ay!’ He paused. ‘And you both are too, despite what one of the guards told me — that serfs climbed the wall?’ he said stiffly.
‘You can see we are.’ Philippa gave a brief laugh. ‘It is not so safe here, after all, you see. But still you have not told me what happened at Mile End?’
He released her slowly. ‘The king did his best with them — and, to give the commons their due, they were prepared to listen — and welcomed him and swore allegiance.’
‘But they haven’t gone home.’
‘Some have already left — those that trust the king to keep his word … those who are tired of the whole thing.’
‘Some? What did the king promise?’
Guy scrubbed at his nose. ‘Most of the peasants there were from Essex. He gave pardons to them, but refused to let them deal with those they considered traitors. And you know what happened there.’ He sighed. ‘They want serfdom abolished — and to be free tenants paying low rents.’
‘And did he promise that?’
‘What would you do surrounded by thousands of serfs?’
‘I see. What happens next? What of the Kentish men and the London commons?’
Guy gave a bitter laugh. ‘Who knows? They are slaughtering foreigners on the streets. A couple mocked my northern accent — they asked me to say “a little bread and cheese”. The Flemings can’t say it properly, you see! I was able to convince them I am an Englishman, despite my northern accent — although I am not very proud of my countrymen at the moment.’ He leaned against the wall, anger playing over his features. ‘Tomorrow, or the next day at the latest, I shall get you out of London.’
‘The ship has docked?’ Philippa’s heart quickened its beat.
Guy nodded, pushing himself away from the wall. ‘As soon as it unloads some of its cargo and takes on more, we’ll be on that ship.’ He moved his candle so that she could not see his expression clearly. ‘Hugo will be getting impatient.’ He sounded disgruntled.
‘He kept me waiting long enough!’ She did not want to dwell on the thought of Sir Hugo claiming her as his wife, which was what Guy’s words instantly conjured up. Not when she was with him!
‘A mistake,’ Guy said roughly. ‘He should have wed you years ago. It would have saved much trouble.’ His body swayed so that he had to lean against the wall again to stay on his feet.
Philippa was upset. ‘I would have preferred the last few days to have been different. If my father … ’
‘I didn’t mean the last few days.’ He blinked at her wearily; his eye was hurting, and he was almost asleep on his feet. ‘You don’t know what is between my brother and me — that’s how it should be. But I’m too tired to talk any more now — or even to eat. It’s bed for me.’ The words were slurred, his eyes almost closed.
‘I’ll light the way for you,’ Philippa said abruptly, picking up the candle, having no notion of what he had spoken. Unless it was something to do with being his brother’s steward? ‘I’m not hungry, and you might fall down if you go up with your eyes shut.’
Unexpectedly he did not argue with her, and after a few words with the Wantsums they left the solar. Without lingering at his door, she whispered a swift good night and passed into her own chamber.
She settled herself to sleep, determined not to dwell on the happenings of the day, but her thoughts were a churning jumble of pictures of the events not only of that day, but of the preceding days. At last she drifted into a semi-conscious state, in which her father’s face stared at her from out of the flames, and a skeleton hand beckoned her to come to him. Not wanting to go, she tried to run, but again Tom was there — and those men, with their rope. Knowing what was to happen, she turned to look for the stranger, but he was not there this time. Why? Why? She was being dragged along the ground towards the burning house.
Philippa woke in a lather of sweat to find herself on her stomach on the edge of the bed; overbalancing, she fell on the floor with a thud. Her legs were shaky when she stood up, and it took a moment for her to straighten up. A warm orange glow flickered about the room, and realising that she had not closed the shutters, she stumbled over to the window.
Shock held her there, gripping the sill so tightly that it hurt her hands. Wherever she gazed, there
were fires. The smell of charring timbers and smoke was in her throat and nostrils. There was no escape in waking, this time. She would burn! She screamed, and kept on screaming. The door opened, but she did not hear it — nor was she aware of the thud of feet.
‘Philippa!’ She was whirled round and roughly shaken. ‘Philippa! For God’s sake, stop it!’ commanded Guy.
‘Lon — Lon — London’s burning!’ she cried, ‘and we’ll all burn with it!’ Her eyes stared wildly into his face. ‘We will, Guy!’
‘No!’ He shook her again, and she clutched at his arm. ‘No, we won’t.’ His fear for her sanity was a tightness in his chest.
‘It’s some sort of jest, isn’t it? A diabolical jape? We ran all the way here, thinking to be safe!’ A sob escaped her.
‘You are safe. You are with me!’ he insisted emphatically.
‘I’m not! I’m not! You’ll die too if you stay with me. You must go.’ She made to push him away, but he held her arms tightly.
‘Philippa, listen to me! There are gardens and a wall surrounding this house. But, believe me, the flames are not close. It only appears so because it is dark. If any peasants attempted to invade this house with torches, we would be warned and could escape.’
There was such assurance in his voice that some of her fear abated and she looked up at him. His nose and cheekbones were highlighted by the flames outside, and a lock of dark hair curled on his forehead. He looked worried.
‘You do believe me, Philippa, don’t you?’ His chin brushed her hair as she dropped her head on his chest.
‘I was so frightened.’ Her voice was muffled. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ His arms went about her. ‘You do believe that you are safe?’
Philippa was silent. While he held her, she felt secure, but when he left the room, she was certain the dark fears would crowd in. Her fingers curled on his chest, and she realised it was naked. Her heart gave a peculiar lurch, and warmth swept over her like a tide and she trembled, glad that this night she had put on her shift.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ urged Guy. The back of his hand brushed her cheek.
Slowly she lifted her head, and some of her timidity eased. The cut on his face and the almost closed eye made him appear unusually vulnerable. A desire to reassure him kindled in her heart. ‘I’m not frightened now.’
‘Good.’ He gave a crooked grin, then winced. ‘When you screamed, I thought that one of the peasants had escaped from the cellars and somehow entered your room.’ His finger traced the curve of her cheek, feather-edged the corner of her mouth, causing her lips to quiver. ‘Thank God it wasn’t so.’ His finger stilled on her dimple.
Philippa swallowed. His caress induced a thrilling headiness that she was unused to, and she had no desire to move away, even though she knew she should. ‘I — I was dreaming, and when I woke, it seemed that my dream was reality.’ Of its own volition her hand reached up to smooth back a strand of black hair sticking to the dried blood at the corner of his eye.
Guy caught her hand and held it. ‘You’re still having that dream?’
‘You know of it?’ She smiled. ‘But of course — you are the stranger in the shadows who tries to save me but can never reach me.’
‘You dream of my saving you?’ The note in his voice puzzled her, even as it sent a stir rippling through her nerves. ‘Dammit, you shouldn’t do that!’
‘Why? I have no control over my dreams.’
‘Well, you should have.’ His hand trembled as it curved about her jaw. ‘I am no dream lover, Philippa,’ he added harshly, bringing her mouth up to meet his.
It could have been a kiss to comfort, but there was nothing calming about it, rousing her to respond hungrily as it did. Even when he took his hand from her face, she made no effort to free herself, but stayed still. Perhaps it was the light from the fires that caused his eye to gleam with a sudden awareness, and before she could move away he had kissed her again. The third time he kissed her she floated — or felt as if she did — for the strength in his embrace swept her off her feet. To struggle seemed out of place as he carried her, breast to chest, mouth against mouth, over to the bed. He was lying with her beneath him before she thought of any danger. Words spoken by him when they had talked of Lancaster and his mistress — words about not blaming a man for trying to have it both ways — a wife and a mistress — love and lust — the words rang in her head like a clarion call. She struggled, and he released her mouth.
‘Guy, please.’ The words were barely audible, but he heard them.
‘Please what?’ he whispered, rolling her over so that they lay side by side. ‘Please, Guy, kiss me again and forget Hugo who lies between us!’ His tone lashed her unexpectedly, seeming to lay on her the blame for what was happening.
‘No!’ she cried before his mouth found hers again, silencing her protests even as his hands ranged down her spine in a tingling path then up to seize the shoulders of her shift and bare her skin. She gasped as he pressed his mouth on her collarbone and struggled as he slid over her again. His lips took a descending path, touching hollows and pinnacles that no man had ever seen.
‘Damn you, Guy Milburn!’ There were tears in the whispering curse. ‘I hate you!’
‘Good!’ he muttered, stopping abruptly. ‘You’ve come to your senses.’ His breath came unevenly. ‘Go on hating me, but don’t think of me as some kind of saviour or a courtier who would worship at your feet. I’m not that breed of man.’
‘No!’ She took his hands and removed them from her breasts. ‘No, you aren’t.’ Again the tears were there. Despite all her seeming common sense she had dreamed of him as a knight — but in all her fantasies her knight had stopped at a chaste kiss. Reality was far different from the dream, and what was so terrible was that in some ways she preferred the reality — in many ways! ‘You — You had … better leave.’
‘Ay!’ He pushed himself up, staring down into her face. ‘If I were that kind of man, I would not even think of you in a tender way. There’s the trouble, Philippa! You should feel flattered, for it’s a long time since I wanted any woman. So don’t go to Hugo thinking yourself without attraction.’ There was a touch of anger in his voice.
‘I don’t understand.’ Emotion made the words harsh.
‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’ He got up and went to stand by the window. He closed the shutters on the fires still burning outside, still wanting her, furious with Hugo for having beguiled him with a promise that had sent him to fetch such a maid, only to hand her over!
‘You will be all right now?’ His voice was smooth as he faced her.
‘Ay!’ The word sounded a discordant, bitter note in the now dark chamber. ‘You have made me learn my lesson all the swifter.’
‘Good! Most men are beasts, sweet Philippa,’ he mocked. ‘Don’t trust even the best of us.’
She made no answer. His words were confusing her again. One moment it seemed that he blamed her for what had happened — the next, himself.
‘Good night, then.’ Guy moved away, but she did not look up at his leaving, and he smiled sardonically at his own desire that made him want her to as he closed the door behind him.
For a long time Philippa lay there, a chill at her heart, before she sat up, and leaning forward, dragged the covers over her. Huddling beneath them, she sought forgetfulness, but it did not come, and she was still awake when dawn lightened the sky.
Chapter Seven
A thrush was trilling in the bush beneath her window as Philippa flung back the shutters. Perhaps it was a good omen? A wry smile puckered her lips. There was no bright-dream-come-true-future for her. Having no desire to stay in her chamber with her thoughts any longer, she washed in cold water, dressed and opened the door, wondering how she was to face Guy. Squaring her shoulders, she shut the door firmly on her dreams but not on the reality of what it might have been like to have a dream come true.
Guy still slept when she peeped in. All she could se
e was a tousled mop of dark hair and a bare arm sprawling across the pillow. The thought that he had not lost sleep over what had happened angered her and made her determined not to yearn for the unattainable.
It was so early that she did not expect anyone but servants to be about. In the garden, she was surprised to find Beatrice, who was cutting sprigs from a large clump of sage.
‘What a beautiful morning it is,’ said Philippa, giving a bright smile. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Not so well,’ Beatrice murmured unenthusiastically. She straightened up, and shuffled the stems in her hands, not looking directly at her.
Philippa was suddenly uneasy. ‘Is anything wrong? Master Wantsum?’
‘He is still sleeping.’ Beatrice pulled off a leaf and rolled it between her fingers. She sniffed at the bruised herb, her face screwed up. ‘Have you given any thought to when you will wed? I think it should be as soon as you arrive in Yorkshire.’ The leaf fluttered from her fingers.
Philippa stared at her, puzzled. ‘Surely Sir Hugo will be willing to wait until I finish mourning my father?’ She sat on a bench, her palms resting lightly on the wood each side of her. ‘He has kept me waiting a long time. But why do you ask me now? You have mentioned Hugo hardly ever, all the time I have been here.’
Beatrice licked her lips and placed the sage on the bench with great deliberation. ‘I did not sleep well last night and I heard screaming, recognised that it was you and went to see if you had need of me.’ She paused. ‘Neither of you heard me, so I went away again.’
There was a silence.
‘It wasn’t how it appeared.’ Philippa’s cheeks burned.
‘Wasn’t it?’ Beatrice sat beside her. ‘Catalina caused disharmony between my cousins, and I would not like you to do so, Philippa.’ She put her hand over one of hers. ‘You have been through much with your father’s death — your home destroyed — and Guy must appear to you … ’
‘What did Catalina do?’ interrupted Philippa ruthlessly, not wanting Beatrice’s sympathy or to excuse her behaviour. Her conscience squirmed uncomfortably enough.