My Lady Deceiver

by June Francis

  She remained silent so long that Philippa grew impatient. ‘You have said too much or too little, Beatrice. Do not heed my feelings — you might as well tell me the whole tale. I have long realised that Sir Hugo considers me of little worth, else he would have surely claimed me before now.’

  ‘Perhaps it is best that you do know.’ Beatrice’s face was troubled. ‘Catalina was a maid in the train of the Duchess Constancia of Castile — the one who is wed to the Duke of Lancaster. She was a young girl far from her own land. Hugo … seduced her — or she him, who knows, and he got her with child.’ A tiny gasp escaped

  Philippa, but before she could speak, Beatrice continued, ‘Guy fancied himself in love with her also, so when Hugo revealed what had happened, Guy wed Catalina.’

  ‘So there is a child?’ Philippa’s thoughts were in confusion.

  ‘The child came before time, and died. One would have thought that that would have made matters easier, but … ’ She shrugged. ‘I consider Hugo’s feelings towards Catalina were strong — that he truly cared for her. He panicked, though, over the child, because he was betrothed to you and feared his father’s anger. He was glad when Guy relieved him of that trouble, but afterwards jealousy got the upper hand with him. He behaved badly to Guy.’

  Philippa moistened her mouth. ‘What do you mean — he behaved badly to Guy? To Catalina and myself, ay!’

  ‘My uncle was furious when Guy wed a foreigner — and without his permission. There was another maid he had in mind for him who would have brought more land to the Milburns.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘My uncle refused to receive Guy and his wife when they travelled to Yorkshire, and even tore up the message he sent to him. Hugo could have made it easier. He could perhaps have told the truth and trusted him, for my uncle was not without warmth of feeling. Both sons had returned from a disastrous expedition in France and were ripe for a different kind of adventure. Hugo was his heir, and while he would have been furious at first, it is likely he would have been able to deal with the matter better than they did.’

  ‘I can guess what happened next,’ murmured Philippa, her eyes dark. ‘His father made no provision for Guy after his death.’

  ‘Guy told you?’ Beatrice sounded surprised.

  ‘Ay! When we talked about sheep once. It seems unjust.’ Her brow creased. ‘Could Hugo not have passed some of the land to him?’

  ‘Of course he could. But Guy had Catalina, so he couldn’t have her. Guy wanted the land, so Hugo reacted by not giving him what he desired. Moreover, Hugo is a man who holds on to what he considers is legally his.’ Beatrice leaned forward, her expression sympathetic. ‘He regards you already as his possession, and your manor also.’

  ‘Does he?’ Philippa’s eyes clouded and her mouth tightened. ‘Just as Guy does! You don’t have to worry about my coming between the brothers, Beatrice; I know exactly where I stand with both of them.’ But did she? A voice mocked in her head. ‘Besides, I do not possess the sort of beauty men fight over.’

  ‘No? Yet Guy is attracted to you. I know my cousin. There was a time when I fancied myself in love with him — and he with me. A long time ago, that was.’ Beatrice picked up the sage and placed it in her lap. ‘If Hugo guesses that you and Guy have even kissed, the rift that has been closing since Catalina’s death will open again,’ she said earnestly. ‘They were close once, and I would have it so again — and so would they, I believe. Do not think there is no good in Hugo — there is. His greatest sin is that he hates being put in the wrong, and he will not admit when he is. He is quick-tempered, and grew up expecting always to get his own way. But he can be generous and kind, although he does not suffer fools gladly.’ She stood up, and there was pity in her glance. ‘I am not unaware of your situation, Philippa, but I thought you should know what it is like between the brothers.’

  ‘And you are right,’ muttered Philippa, getting to her feet. ‘I should be grateful for all you have said.’

  ‘But you aren’t!’ Beatrice smiled sadly. ‘If you don’t feed your emotions, my dear, they can die. Harden your heart against Guy’s charm. You are not the first to fall under its spell, and I doubt you will be the last.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she retorted, yet even as she spoke, she knew it was too late. A sore heart was to be her burden for caring where she should not. But as for pining, that was not going to be her way at all!

  The two women went indoors, Beatrice to the kitchen, saying that she would join her in the hall presently for some collops of bacon and eggs. Philippa sat down on a settle, wondering what the day would bring. Despite her determination to curb her feelings, when Guy and James came into the hall a warm surge of emotion leaped inside her at the sight of Guy.

  ‘Good morning, Philippa. I trust you slept well?’ His long-lashed, still very much wide-awake, eyes surveyed her with a certain inscrutability.

  ‘Not really,’ she replied honestly in a cool voice. ‘I had much on my mind. And since I did not want you to go out without me, I rose early,’ she added imperturbably.

  He raised a dark brow, went to speak, but at that moment the sound of a commotion in the courtyard drew their attention. The two men exchanged swift glances, and without speaking, went outside. Philippa followed.

  ‘What is it, lad?’ James demanded of the young squire who was dismounting.

  ‘You were missing from council last night, Master Wantsum, and your presence is requested this noon at Smithfield. It was decided that the king will make another attempt to reason with the peasants. They have agreed to meet him.’

  James’s eyes lightened. ‘I’ll be there. Where is the king now?’

  ‘At Westminster, praying. He will go from there to Smithfield.’

  James nodded. ‘Go into the kitchen, lad, and ask for some ale.’

  The squire shook his head. Thank you, but I have others to visit.’

  ‘God go with you, then.’ James raised a hand in farewell as the lad mounted, before turning and walking swiftly back to the house, his brow crinkled in deep thought.

  ‘Well! So there is to be another meeting. Will you go, with or without the king’s invitation?’ Philippa faced Guy determinedly.

  ‘I might,’ he said lazily. ‘But please put aside any thought of coming with me.’

  ‘Why should I not go?’ Her green eyes flashed fire, and she put her hands on her hips, her whole diminutive figure bristling.

  ‘And what do you think you can do if you go?’ He eyed her derisively. ‘Fight the whole peasant army single-handed?’

  She flushed. ‘No, but I would fight, this time, not hide or run away! Or wait to hear news of death! Or to have to face raiding peasants here if the king fails to pacify them. I have not forgotten the fires of last night!’

  ‘You have little faith that the king will succeed,’ he said softly. ‘Pray, Philippa — that is a woman’s task at such time as this.’

  ‘Pray? Do you not think I haven’t? If you have such faith, then allow me to come with you. Should danger threaten, I promise I shall leave. But do not tell me to be calm and wait and pray because I am a woman! I have a knife,’ pulling out the one she had taken from the kitchen, ‘and I would use it.’

  There was a moment’s silence before it was broken by Guy’s laugh. ‘Sweet Jesu, I believe you would! Do you know what you might have to face, little fool?’

  ‘Ay! More than you and Master Wantsum am I involved in this conflict. My father was foully murdered! I — I buried him with my own hands! I … ’

  ‘All the more reason for you not to be hurt any more.’ His face softened, and his voice was hesitant when he spoke again. ‘I admire your courage, Philippa, but what you suggest … I would be doing you a disservice … ’

  ‘Am I of more value than the king?’ she demanded.

  ‘You don’t know what you are asking,’ he said tersely. ‘Hugo … ’

  ‘Hugo has no need to know. If he is aware of what is happening in the south, he will accept that t
here is danger here for me.’

  ‘Ay! But not that I would deliberately take you into a perilous situation. James and Beatrice would consider both of us to be mad!’

  ‘The world has gone mad, Guy! The world I know — that I am part of.’ She paused, not questioning why it was so important to get her way on this. ‘I would climb the wall, as the serfs did, and find my way to Smithfield on my own,’ in a soft voice, ‘once you were gone.’

  ‘I could lock you up,’ he retaliated, frowning.

  ‘In the cellar? There are serfs there who broke in while you were gone, remember?’

  ‘This isn’t a game, Philippa!’

  ‘No.’ She was instantly serious. ‘It isn’t amusing, either to play at patience while you and James are in danger.’ She sighed and rested her case, considering she was not going to win.

  ‘You will do exactly as I tell you?’ said Guy, wondering if he was running mad.

  ‘You — You will take me with you?’ Her eyes widened in amazement.

  ‘Isn’t that what you want? And at least I shall have you under my eye and shall know what you are doing! I only pray that we both won’t regret your persuading me.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at her. ‘You’ll have to think of something to tell Beatrice. As for James, it is likely that he will ride with the council. I’ll tell him that I’m going to the waterfront first and will join him later at Smithfield. There’s no need to tell them the truth of the matter yet.’

  ‘No. I’ll tell Beatrice I have the headache and intend staying in bed.’

  ‘Hmmm! Make it convincing. I’ll meet you in the stables in about an hour. I’ll bring one of my caps to hide that hair of yours — and you can envelop yourself in my dark cloak!’

  She nodded. ‘Whatever you say. I want to go!’

  ‘I’ll keep you to that. If it gets dangerous, you must leave. Your word and your hand on it, lass.’ He held out his hand.

  She put her small one in his larger one and they shook hands solemnly. It was hard to believe that last night they had been in each other’s arms — but perhaps it was better this way.

  *

  Philippa marvelled at how easy it had been to follow their plan as she rode beside Guy through green fields. The guard had given her only a perfunctory glance as she passed through the gates with Guy. Perhaps he thought her one of James’s new grooms. They had done as he said and visited the waterfront first, where he spent a brief time in conversation with the master of the ship. Then they had caught up with a cavalcade of some two hundred men just outside the city walls. Where James was she had no idea, and Guy had not gone to seek him but had stayed to the rear of the horsemen. He had spoken little to her, and she wondered whether he was regretting having given way to her.

  The cloak made her hot, and the curls beneath the cap were damp with perspiration. She would be glad to reach Smithfield, for tension was in the very air she breathed.

  As they neared Saint Bartholomew’s, she could see and hear the huge crowd of peasants standing in lines ahead, and her heart misgave her for a moment. Some had already returned to their homes, but there were still thousands of them, it appeared. The cavalcade of men were spread out on each side of the king, so that now she could see better what would take place between Richard and his rebellious subjects. A hush fell over the field as a man went forward towards the peasant lines.

  ‘It is William Walworth, the mayor of London,’ whispered Guy in her ear. ‘Probably he is giving the rebel leader leave to come forward and speak to the king.’

  She nodded, all her attention on the youthful fair-haired Richard, who had brought his horse a little away from his own side. His robe was trimmed with ermine, and he showed no sign of fear.

  A rough-looking man approached him on a pony. He dismounted, but did not doff his hat or drop to his knees, but only half bent one knee, and taking the king’s hand, he shook it roughly. ‘Brother, be of good cheer, for in the fortnight that is to come, you shall have 40,000 more commons and we shall be good companions.’ Then he stood back, tossing a dagger from hand to hand.

  A murmur rippled through the king’s men, and Philippa drew in a breath. He was close enough to stab the king, if he had a mind to! ‘Is that Wat Tyler?’ she asked Guy and he nodded.

  ‘Why will you not go back to your own country?’ asked Richard calmly.

  Tyler muttered something she did not catch, then said, ‘Not until we have our charter, will we go. And if it is not done swiftly, then the lords of England will regret bitterly that the demands of the commons have not been met.’ Then he recited all the demands made at Mile End, and added several more.

  ‘No man shall be outlawed! No lord should have any lordship except the king. The wealth and lands of the church should be taken away and divided among the people!’ There was a roar of approval at this. ‘There should be only one bishop!’ He glanced about him as for another roar of agreement, and a cheer went up. The commons should be free — to fish or hunt in all water, fishponds, woods and forests.’ Another roar.

  Philippa and Guy exchanged glances. They want the impossible!’ he murmured. ‘But they are in a good bargaining position at the moment.’

  She nodded, but remained silent as the king spoke again. ‘The commons shall have all that they asked which I your king can grant by the law of the land,’ replied Richard quietly. ‘Now you must return to your own homes.’

  Wat Tyler stared at him, frowning, then called loudly, ‘Bring me a jug of water!’

  A man came forward from the crowd of peasants. Wat rinsed his mouth and then spat at the king’s feet. A murmur of anger went up from the king’s men, but Richard made no sign of having noticed.

  Wat eyed him thoughtfully. ‘A jug of ale,’ he called. He drank it at one draught before climbing on his horse.

  Then unexpectedly from among the king’s men a voice rang out. This man is the greatest robber and thief in Kent!’

  Heads turned, and Philippa craned her neck to see who had spoken. The men about her were muttering now. Her horse stirred uneasily, and Guy’s hand went to her bridle.

  ‘Put that weapon away in the presence of the king!’ shouted the mayor of London.

  She looked quickly towards the king and the peasant leader, who was brandishing his dagger as he approached the king’s line. The mayor came forward swiftly, and Tyler launched himself on him and stabbed him. Walworth reeled, but drew his own dagger and struck Tyler in the neck and then in the head. There was a scuffle, and another of the king’s men ran forward with a drawn sword and ran the rebel leader two or three times through the body. Wat gasped, and leaning dangerously low in the saddle, managed to spur his horse and ride towards the peasant lines, but he fell to the ground before he reached them.

  A great cry went up from the peasants. ‘Treachery! Our captain is dead — slain by treachery. Let us avenge his death!’

  Guy’s face was dark, as the front line of serfs began to pull out arrows and fit them to bows. ‘Away with you now!’ Pulling on the bridle, he started to turn Philippa’s horse.

  ‘Not yet,’ she cried. ‘The king! See, Guy!’ She pointed. He hesitated and looked to where she indicated.

  ‘Is he mad?’ muttered Guy, yet managing to infuse a note of unwilling admiration in his voice.

  The young king was cantering towards the furious crowd, and right among them he went. ‘Sirs, will you shoot your king? I will be your chief and your captain and you shall have from me all that you seek, only follow me into the fields without.’ He pointed to the open fields near the burnt-out remains of Saint John’s priory, which had been destroyed by the peasants the day before. Slowly he began to ride in its direction. After a moment’s hesitation, the crowd slowly began to stream after him in a bewildered fashion.

  ‘Good God,’ breathed Guy. ‘I always thought they meant him no harm.’

  ‘They might still kill him,’ murmured Philippa. ‘What do we do now?’

  He stared at her. ‘You don’t do anything but go
home,’ he ordered. ‘You won’t be alone,’ he added drily.

  She saw that already some of those who had come with the king had turned tail and were making for London at a gallop. ‘Then there is danger — they could still … ?’ She moistened her mouth. ‘Do you come with me?’

  He shook his head, his blue eyes extremely bright. ‘Farewell! Now is the time to seek out James. God willing, we shall meet again this day.’ His hand smacked her horse’s rump, and she was away.

  Tears blurred her vision so that she could hardly make out the road ahead, and part of her wanted to turn back, but she had given her word and that was an end to it. It was not until she reached the gates of the Wantsums’ house that she thought of sending the guards to the help of their master, and their king. Pulling off her cap, she let her hair cascade over her shoulders as the man looked up at her.

  ‘I have been to Smithfield, and Master Wantsum has need of you all. The rebel leader is badly wounded, and now is the time to fight for your king.’

  ‘A fight?’ Another man sauntered out of the guardhouse and surveyed her with some humour. ‘Not before time! The master sent you, did he, mistress? Now that does surprise me!’

  ‘Of course not! He did not know I was there. Master Guy sent me here.’ Her eyes smouldered. ‘Well, why are you standing still? Go to help your king!’ Her voice rang loudly in the street.

  The two men looked at each other, and one opened the gate swiftly, while the other ran back into the guardhouse.

  Philippa did not wait to see whether they obeyed her, but made her way to the stables. When she slid from the horse, she realised that her legs would not hold her, and sat down abruptly. There was a sick feeling in her stomach, and for what seemed a long while she stayed there, her head buried in her arms.

  ‘Are you all right, mistress?’

  She lifted her head and looked into the groom’s concerned face, and nodded. ‘Could you see to the horse? But first help me up?’

  He did as she asked and left her leaning against the wall. Although she stayed listening for any sound coming from the hall, she could not hear Beatrice’s voice, and taking several deep breaths, she slowly made her way indoors. Fortunately the hall was empty, and now that she was moving again, her legs felt strong enough to climb the stairs. Once in her chamber, she lay down on the bed, gazing up at the rafters. She prayed soundlessly, while expecting to hear the roar of the peasants. But no such sound came. The day wore on, and at last she stirred and changed her dusty gown into a pale green one, the gift from Beatrice.