Pebbles from a Northern Shore

by Peter D Wilson

  *****

  Robert of Ernscar was a minor aristocrat with no wish to be anything more - or less. In the troubled mid-1400s it was enough for him to keep his territory in relative peace amid the factional squabbles that later developed into the Wars of the Roses, and this needed considerable diplomacy besides judicious use of his modest but efficient military force. He wanted no complications from internal dissension, and so dealt firmly with trouble-makers of any kind, but as fairly as he could according to the lights of the time.

  It never occurred to him that there was any particular high-mindedness in an essentially pragmatic approach. With neighbours tending to be predatory he needed to be seen as strong, but there would be no sense in making unnecessary enemies of any rank through palpable injustice; an aggrieved peasant behind a hedge with a crude bow and arrow could kill him quite as decisively as a knight with a sword, and with less chance of defending himself. Anyway, in the shortage of labour after the Black Death it would be foolish to aggravate the problems of husbandry through unnecessarily harsh punishments. Nevertheless, a cleric visiting the monastery noted in a letter to his bishop that while Robert's judgements seemed generally reasonable, they might perhaps err towards leniency where offenders were poor and ignorant. With others, who might have less excuse and should have known better, he was more severe.

  In this as in many other ways he followed the example set by his father, William. Both Ernscars were intelligent enough to recognise their limitations, and sought counsel on any important issue that was in doubt. Several of the principal tenants and freehold gentry were capable, honest men whom William trusted completely for sound advice on anything within their ken, but he was not so sure of the next generation and realised that it might be wise to cast his net wider. Around 1390 he had given refuge to a party of monks from a neighbouring county where a resurgence of the plague added to problems with the local magnate had made conditions too difficult, and provided them with land and building materials on condition that they set up a school for lads able to benefit from instruction. These came mostly from artisan families, as the gentry employed private tutors while farmers and labourers were considered not to need formal education, or indeed tended to despise it. A stipulation had been that any pupil of particular merit, who did not intend to go into the Church, should be brought to his attention with a view to entering the service of the castle.

  One such was Tom, the miller's third son. The family had known hard times during the years of pestilence, and although trade was now better than it had been, supporting three sons and their eventual families in tolerable comfort was likely to be more than the mill could do. Young Tom was a bit of a dreamer, more interested in his grandmother's stories than in the practical matter of running a business where if anything he was more hindrance than help. He was therefore packed off to school out of the way. Brother Eldred had hopes of him as a potential recruit to the community, and for a while this seemed a likely prospect, but later, without actually rebelling, Tom made it clear that his interests were essentially secular. On the recommendation of the Abbot he therefore became an assistant clerk at the castle.

  After a few weeks of feeling completely lost, he began to settle down and to come out of his shell. With increasing confidence came signs of a burgeoning wit, and the castle steward was often amused by some of the banter he overheard, enough to pass it on to others of the household. Sometimes that included His Lordship, who eventually had the idea of a jesting competition between Tom and the resident Fool. It went badly for Tom; he was overawed by the occasion and in any case needed a feed for his best sallies, while the Fool, resenting the comparison, put him down mercilessly. William found this highly entertaining. Others of the household who had suffered the sharper edge of Tom's own tongue made no secret of relishing his humiliation, taunting him with it at any opportunity, so that over the following years he became increasingly bitter, his humour darker and crueller.

  One exception to the general unkindness was Cedric, the steward, a warm-hearted and conscientious man who felt himself partly responsible for the situation. He encouraged his daughter Rose, whose lively disposition cheered everyone up, to befriend the lad, and she succeeded so far that some years later, to everyone's surprise including perhaps their own, they married. Then there was Lord Robert, much the same age as Tom, who sympathised with his embarrassment in the debacle, took him aside with words of encouragement and a handsome tip, and thereby earned a lifelong devotion. In Tom's later years it was almost the only generous trait left in his increasingly distrustful personality. To the end of his days he never parted with that coin - nor with any other if he could honestly help it.

  In the course of time Robert inherited the lordship. He had never liked his father's Fool but in view of long and faithful service had him pensioned off in reasonable comfort (not that he got much thanks for it), and Tom took the position. He had gradually learned what was acceptable in his often caustic humour, and as a rule could judge to a nicety the line between wit and insolence. Fortunately for him, his early errors in straying over that line with Robert had been only gently rebuked except on one occasion that really hurt, and the resulting explosion of wrath, though short-lived, was enough for a lifetime. A raised eyebrow was now sufficient warning of getting on to dangerous ground. In entertaining visiting lords of greater power but less perception, Tom's skill in double meanings caused Robert much concealed amusement. His assessment of the visitors' characters, motives and intentions, if cynical, generally proved remarkably astute, and Robert came to value it highly as a supplement to his own observations.

  His lord's approbation won Tom the respect of the household but little affection, and did nothing to mellow his character. His one soft spot was his daughter; Rose had died in childbirth, but the baby survived and was virtually adopted by Cedric's wife Alice, as kindly a soul as her husband. It was some consolation for her own loss. Little Alison grew to be a pretty girl with her mother's cheerful nature, as popular as her father was shunned, and he doted on her almost as much as on his gradually accumulating deposit in the castle strong-room. She had inherited her father's intelligence as well as her mother's good nature, and with some hesitation in taking such a revolutionary step, he taught her reading and writing although without letting it be generally known. As he said, there was no telling when it might come in useful to understand what was on disregarded pieces of paper. "But don't let anyone catch you spying!"

  It was while Alison was in her teens that a bishop returning from a visit to the Pope chose to break his journey at Ernscar. He was an old and close friend of Robert's, with much to discuss about the troubles of the time and how men of influence and good sense might best mitigate the impending evils, so stayed for several days. In a lighter vein, he also had news of cultural developments on the continent. Depressed by the still degenerate state of Rome after the Avignon papacy and the subsequent chaos with rival claimants to the office in both cities, he had stayed for a month at an abbey in Flanders headed by a relative, in order to refresh his spirits, and been greatly taken by the work of painters following the school of van Eyck.

  So had his favourite page Nicholas, who liked to dabble in the art with results that the bishop found quite pleasing. The guest-master at the abbey was well acquainted with local workshops where the new techniques were practised, and glad to introduce Nicholas to several of them when opportunities happened to coincide. Meanwhile the bishop, with plenty of congenial company, a good library to explore, and attentive service from the abbey staff, needed little from his own retinue and allowed Nicholas more than usual leisure to pursue his personal interests. He used much of it to follow up some of the introductions.

  One of the master painters, hoping for a commission from the bishop, thought to gain favour by giving the lad a few hours' tuition, and let him try his hand in a corner of one of the works in hand, to tolerably satisfactory effect. "Quite passable, for a novice," was the verdict, "it won't want much retouching. But don't giv
e up the day job. With time and good fortune you may make a good judge of other people's work, but I doubt whether your own will ever be serious competition!" The bishop was interested to see the piece, and took the opportunity to buy one from stock; not quite what the master had hoped, but any sale was better than none. In an indulgent mood after a pleasant sojourn, the bishop also bought a basic set of materials and equipment for Nicholas. Now that the party appeared to be settled for a while at Ernscar, he was eager to use it.

  His first attempt was to sketch out a simple interior, but he soon tired of its stiffness, and instead started on a still life in the kitchen until he was chased out for getting in the way. Returning to the interior view, he was dabbing away in a desultory manner when Alison paused on her way through on some errand, and looked critically over his shoulder. "You've drawn that box wrong."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The other end's narrower than this one."

  "Well, that's how it looks."

  "But not how it is."

  "Look, the idea isn't to …"

  At that point Alice appeared and chivvied Alison to hurry up with what she was supposed to be doing. "You've no business to be disturbing the young gentleman."

  "It was no disturbance, really, I assure you."

  "It's kind of you to say so, but she will go poking her nose into what doesn't concern her."

  Nicholas was impelled to a touch of gallantry. "A pretty little nose, too. Your daughter?"

  "Get away with you - my grand-daughter, as I dare say you realise very well, you young rascal!" But she was amused none the less, and decided on reflection that he might be of the gentry and have visited all kinds of foreign parts, but he still seemed a very pleasant young man and not at all stuck up with it.

  A few months later Bishop Justin was back again for more conference with Robert, and naturally Nicholas came too, complete with painting kit. He was gradually becoming more adept, and had attempted some portraits though with disappointing results. He needed more practice, and that needed a sitter who wasn't always dashing off on more important business, so when he bumped into Alison again he asked if she would oblige. "All very well for you, young sir. Some of us have work to do, you know."

  "Yes, but when you're passing through, couldn't you stay just for a minute or two while I get the outlines down?"

  "Well … I suppose the odd minute won't do any harm."

  But of course the outline was only the beginning, and getting the gradation of skin tones anything like right needed a more concentrated effort. The odd minute had already stretched well beyond the odd five minutes, and Alice felt she had to take notice. "It's not right," she grumbled to Cedric one evening. "He's taking up too much of her time, and the servants are beginning to whisper. Goodness knows what ideas he's putting into her head."

  "I dare say you can guess well enough. Lads of that age all have the same idea, whether gentry or peasants."

  "Aye, and of any other age too!"

  "But don't worry too much; she's a sensible girl underneath. And after all, he's a better class of company than she'll find in the kitchen. Put a bit of polish on her, perhaps. Let it be for the time being. But don't say anything to Tom - he'd have a fit. The lad's only here for a couple more days. That may be the end of it." And so it was left.

  The time came for farewells, and Nicholas was anxious to catch Alison in a quiet corner. "Look, their lordships need to keep in touch, so there's to be a regular messenger run. If I ask the courier to get a letter secretly to you, is there anyone you could trust to read it for you without spilling the beans?"

  "No need for that. I can read it myself, if your writing's good enough."

  "You can? Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure. Try me if you don't believe it." So he jotted something down, and her blushes showed that she understood it very well.

  It was half a year before Justin's next visit in person. When Nicholas had to be told twice to bring a particular package, and then brought the wrong one, Robert commented on his unusual absent-mindedness. "Is he sickening for something, do you think?"

  "You might say that. I caught him the other day with his nose stuck in a book of Petrarch - that man has a lot to answer for! His age, you know."

  "Oh, so that's it. Any idea who's the lady?"

  "He seems to have fallen heavily for your Master Thomas's daughter."

  "What, Alison?"

  "That's the one. A pretty girl, and pleasant-mannered, from the odd word I've had with her. Well liked, too, I gather."

  "Good lord. Is it serious, do you think, or just a passing fancy?"

  "As far as a lad of his age knows his own mind, I should say very serious. He did have a crush on the chaplain's sister, but he was over that in five weeks. The next one took even less. This time he's hardly looked at any other girl for the past six months, and that's quite something, for him."

  "Hm. It won't do, of course. I don't like the idea of mixing the classes. Could bring all kinds of problems. Look what happened when old Percy's nephew eloped with the shoemaker's daughter."

  "Yes, he did rather put his foot in it."

  "Justin!"

  "Sorry. To be serious, I do see the difficulties. Though I gather that Alison is a cut above the usual run of servants. Nicholas could look a good deal higher and do worse. And his own background isn't all that exalted."

  Justin explained that he had taken the boy on as a favour when his father, who had very efficiently handled a tricky lawsuit for the See, had perished in a fire with the rest of the family while Nicholas was elsewhere. "But that favour's been amply rewarded. It's almost like having a son of my own."

  "Indeed!"

  "And you can take that smirk off your face, Robert Ernscar! I'm no model of priestly virtue, heaven knows, but I've never gone in for that kind of shenanigans. Or the other. But to get back to the point. The lad's going to marry some time, and I'd like to see him happy. More importantly, I'd like to get his mind back on his proper duties."

  "Fair enough. But surely not Alison. Quite apart from the difference in status, how well do they know each other? They can't have had more than a few hours together all told, probably much less, and scattered over the best part of a year. There's probably more imagination than substance in his ideas of her."

  "Quite possibly. How well did you know the Lady Eleanor before you were married?"

  "That's different. The usual family set-up. We met a couple of times, briefly, enough to make out that we didn't hate each other on sight."

  "Exactly. Yet by all accounts it's turned out tolerably well."

  Robert smiled affectionately. "Tolerably indeed. All right, point taken. But just supposing we were to countenance such a union, what should we do about it? If anything."

  "Well, I stand more or less in loco parentis to Nicholas, but there are uncles who will reasonably expect a say in the matter. And there's the girl's father. What does he think of the situation?"

  "I doubt if he has any idea of what's going on. There aren't many people he trusts, but I think I'm one of them, and he hasn't mentioned it. Though maybe he wouldn't anyway. An honest man, but close about his own affairs, and hard as nails. I can't see him coming up with much of a dowry, even if he could, which is unlikely."

  "And the uncles would certainly expect one - it would look very bad otherwise, apart from anything else."

  "Hm. Well, I'm sorry, Master Nicholas, but there doesn't seem to be much future in it."

  "That's more or less what I told him."

  Alison herself was just then taking a moment to look again at Nicholas's last letter when she heard someone coming and put it away hastily. Too hastily; it fell out without her noticing and a new domestic found it on the ground. He had had it thoroughly dinned into him that outside the servants' quarters he was to be seen little and heard not at all, so he checked the impulse to call after her and was too busy to follow. Later, however, he bumped into Tom. "Excuse me, Maste
r Thomas, but I think Mistress Alison dropped this piece of paper, and I couldn't catch her attention before she was off. I wasn't sure whether to pick it up or leave it. Can you tell if it is hers?"

  Tom glanced at it, and quickly put a calm face on his shock. "Yes, lad, I think it is. Thanks. You did right." The boy had never been anything but polite to him, and thanks cost nothing. It even occurred to him that a small tip might be fitting - the shock must have been worse than he realised - but he had no suitable coin handy and the aberration soon passed.

  His anxiety did not. That evening he tackled Alison about it, together with Cedric and Alice who agreed with him on grounds of common experience. Alison's own wishes hadn't been considered, but if she was less blinded by romance than Nicholas, she was at least as attached to him personally as to the prospect of social advancement that a marriage would offer. Alice was not impressed. "He may talk very well, but they all do that when they want something. Even if he really means what he says at the time, lads of that age are liable to change their minds at a moment's notice."

  "He's been saying the same for about nine months now."

  "Yes, and nine months is about the time they lose interest, when the chickens come home to roost."

  "There's been none of that. When would we have the chance, even if I wanted to?"

  "And don't you?"

  "Yes - when the ring's on my finger, and not before."

  Tom loved his daughter dearly, and would be glad to see her happily settled, but had to put the social realities to her. "Look, Alison, he's gentry, probably nobility. What has he told you of his family?"

  "Only that most of them died in a fire. The bishop's all the father he has now."

  "Well, that counts as nobility. Even if the lad's genuine and loyal - and for all the truth of what your grandmother's been saying, it's just possible he may be - even then, he'll be expected to marry within his own class when the time comes. His feelings don't come into it. For these people, marriage is a business arrangement, and what good would an alliance with us do for anyone?"

  So it went on, until at last Tom put a stop to it by forbidding Alison to have any further contact or correspondences with Nicholas. It wrenched his heart to see her misery, but it was for her own good in the long run. She went to bed in tears.