by Nerys Jones
‘No. One day he will be the earl. I shouldn’t give people reason to hate him.’
Edwin, who hadn’t anticipated this matter, felt stumped.
‘I know,’ he said, suddenly remembering his own earlier thoughts. ‘Tell them that the king has learned there has been a rash of witchcraft in many parts of Mercia. Hence the punishment of heregeld. It’s probably true, Godiva. People do make heathen prayers and sacrifices when hunger starts. And you have been quite tolerant in such matters, have you not?’
‘Yes. I haven’t investigated rumours. I suppose I could say that to them. Thank you, prior. Pray for me.’
She got up to go and Edwin walked with her to the side-door.
‘One thing more,’ she asked, ‘did Lovric come here last night, as he left Coventry?’
‘No. I heard the sound of his horse approaching from the manor, and I hoped he would come and pray with us. But no, I’m afraid he galloped off as though in a fury.’
Godiva said nothing and looked away. Then she crossed herself again and left.
It was mid-morning when she got back to the manor, where everyone had scattered to do their own work. She went to the hall and told Odo to assemble all the people at once. Then she sat down on the big chair that Lovric used when he presided over their feasts and looked round at the empty hall, its high, oak-beamed ceiling, its rush-strewn floor and its gigantic cindery fireplace. How often had they sat here together, and how clearly the songs they sang still echoed in her head, as empty now as the hall itself. Husband gone. Money nearly all gone. Sons gone. Daughter gone, too, in her own way. Future gone, or at least grown misty. Her beauty going rapidly, and after that her stamina, and then perhaps her life. If that was so, then all that mattered was today, and what she could make of it. But no surge of courage flooded her heart as she formed this resolve. Today was a necessity to wrestle with, leading to nothing except tonight and then another similar day, and yet another, stretching on to who knew what dreary lengths for the sake of mere survival and nothing more than that. The latch that connected her to the mundane and the routine had slipped when she had not seen it happen. She was like an unyoked ox, looking at boundless freedom and seeing for the first time that it was nothing but an infinity of grass, one blade just like another, a sea of green ending only where the sea of blue began and the horizon drew the line that showed where possibilities came to an end. Her mind wandered to the vagrants who had ended their lives on a branch above the pool at Stivichall. She had spoken some empty words then, about people laying down the burden of life. Only now did she know what that meant.
‘Lady, a word with you!’ Odo’s mouth was close to her ear and he was whispering urgently. ‘Before you address the manor’s people, tell me what you are going to say to them.’
‘Why? This is not your concern,’ she said, trying to sound resolved.
‘Yes, it is. There are rumours going round that the earl has left us. Tell me what you will say to the people.’
‘I am leaving to go to Cleley to talk to the king. He is going to impose heavy taxes on us, the heregeld. This is punishment for the acts of witchcraft that have taken place in our forests. Sh!’ She held up her hand to stop him interrupting. ‘We all know these have taken place. I’m going to have to plead with him to spare us.’
‘For God’s sake, lady, don’t tell them that. Don’t even mention the heregeld. How do they know you’ll succeed with the king? If one word about this threat reaches the townsfolk, many of them will leave at once, with whatever they have left, rather than risk being here when the king’s men raid us. And if they leave you, you won’t get them back.’
One or two people were already entering the hall.
‘But what else can I tell them?’ she whispered.
‘A lie. The bigger, the better. Say Queen Edith wants your advice on developing a new manor she has acquired. Say anything, but not what you planned to say. And tell them Lovric will be home soon.’
Odo hurried away and began bustling around, checking to see who had turned up at the meeting and who was still missing. Moments later, when it seemed that everyone was there, he came back and told Godiva that Milly had returned to the sick-room and would not come out.
‘She’s not sick, though, not according to the nurse. But she’s turned her face to the wall and won’t eat.’
‘Then she can go hungry,’ Godiva said, and Odo smiled in relief. It seemed the mistress still had some common sense.
Godiva climbed up on Lovric’s big chair and cleared her throat. Some called out a blessing on her name, and someone else blessed the house of Lovric. Then silence settled on the wary crowd.
‘Good people,’ she began. ‘I must go away for a few days. I am going east, to Cleley in the Forest of Salcey, to talk with the king. And Queen Edith, too,’ she added, unsure which explanation to offer. ‘The hall will be run by Odo, as usual, with Bertha and Agatha running the manor until Gwen or Mildred is in better health. Lord Lovric will be back soon, perhaps before I return myself. I understand that our supplies are good, but you must all continue to enforce short rations and fair distribution in the town. The rules regarding hunting will remain the same and drovers are still barred from entering my lands. In addition, I want you all to be on guard for any signs of the spread of the summer cold, or malnourishment, or trouble of any sort in the outlying hamlets. Don’t listen to rumours, and try to keep everyone calm. You have my word that I will not be gone long.’
She stepped down and only then did she realize that she had not offered them an explanation, and no one had shouted out to ask for one.
‘Good,’ Odo said. ‘Least said, soonest mended.’
Odo found Bret as he was leading a horse across the yard to the stables.
‘Mistress will ask you to ride with her to Cleley. Do you know the way?’ Bret nodded. ‘Good man. You’ll be going with only four others, but all fully armed. Go and see her now and then get over to the armoury. I’ll meet you there and get you the best weapons in the hall.’
As Bret entered the hall Godiva was deep in conversation with Agatha, giving her instructions and answering her questions. To his surprise, Agatha seemed to be having a disagreement with her mistress.
‘I must go with you,’ the girl pleaded. ‘You’ll need me to help you . . .’
‘You’ll slow me down,’ Godiva replied. ‘You don’t gallop well enough yet, and your favourite horse has just taken a stone in her shoe. Anyway, Bertha will need you.’
‘But, mistress, I do gallop well. You just ain’t seen me ride because you was always ahead of me.’
‘Nonsense. I’ve asked the captain and he says you must improve before we go on another long journey. Practise while I’m gone. Tell your mother I want you to take time away from your work, and get a good horse from the stables and someone to help you.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ Agatha said hopelessly, but just then she saw Bret and her little face turned dark as bad wine. ‘He should stay here too,’ she said heedlessly, and then she burst into tears and ran away.
‘She guessed you’re to come with me and she doesn’t approve.’
‘But Odo does,’ Bret replied, glancing round to see if they were alone. ‘Those days we spent apart were worth it, Godiva. If anyone suspected anything, they don’t any more.’
He fell on one knee and kissed her hand, and though Godiva stood quite motionless and was at the other end of the hall from her, Agatha, lingering near the door, could have sworn that she was trembling. That bastard Bret, she thought. He’s fooling everyone again. But not me. One day I’ll make him pay for what he’s doing to mistress, so help me holy Mary.
How different in every way was this expedition to Cleley from Godiva’s journey with Lovric to Winchester. Then, while travelling south together, there had been intervals of leisure, while now there was only hard riding; then there had been singing and good humour, but now there was only the company of a small and worried band of men, all keeping some distance from their lady. They we
re dogged by low spirits and enervated by stilted, staccato conversation. Exhausting days were followed by dreary nights at farmhouses whose owners, paid for their hospitality, showed no pleasure in caring for the wife of the Earl of Mercia and her men. Nor did the land they traversed show them more kindness, or indeed show them anything at all, for this was the watershed of the middle of England, where rivers that could easily flow east actually drained to the west, and those that should have gone west followed some imperceptible rise in the contours of the land and meandered off to the east. In forests that were thick with undergrowth and bog, the tangle of twisting trails and bridle paths made it difficult for the horses to keep their pace, and the lead riders too were strained, being unsure in the absence of clear landmarks which route was the correct one at each fork in the trail, and gaining no compass from the sun that lay hidden in cloud beyond the dark-green canopy above their heads.
A few days into their short journey, as they approached Salcey Forest, the landscape changed. The swampy woods began to thin out and small villages appeared beside streams that cut into the lighter soils beneath the surface. In some places there had been forest clearance, and with the greater sunlight came an increase in flowering plants. Godiva had never before felt so thankful to see the earth once more alive with colour.
‘Pottery,’ Bret said to her, in one of their rare exchanges. ‘Folk here use the clay soils to make fine vessels, but they live on drier land where they can keep garden lots by their houses. Most of the pots from hereabouts go to Cleley, to Egg Ring.’
‘Egg Ring? We’re not going there!’ Godiva was dismayed, for Egg Ring had a lurid reputation.
‘Yes.’
‘I thought we were going to Grafton, to the king’s manor.’
‘No. The manor is small and only used occasionally by the queen when she visits. We’ll be sent on to Egg Ring. That’s where the king does his business. We should start running into his outlying guards soon.’
In the event they saw no guards for the rest of the day, and it was only as they approached the small farm where they were to spend the night that a messenger arrived bearing instructions for the remainder of their journey. The man, who was invisible inside his helmet, which he did not remove, rode up to Bret, ignored Godiva and reeled off a list of directions about the route to be followed – to Egg Ring, as Bret had foretold. Godiva’s men exchanged worried glances, then one of them spoke up.
‘Bret, friend, what is the meaning of this? That man’s tunic bears the cross of St George. English mercenaries up north wear this sign. Why are they down here in Mercia, with the king?’
‘It’s nothing new,’ Bret said, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘A core of Knights of St George joined King Edward in his first year in England. He keeps them in places like this, where few see them and no one will take offence that they are not men of the fyrd.’
‘Places like this?’ another asked. ‘What does that mean, Bret? Does the king keep other secret places? And what for?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Bret replied. ‘Just Cleley and another place in Yorkshire, near the coast. He does this so as to receive missions from abroad in secrecy, and traitors are brought here for questioning. The Knights provide the guards at these camps.’
‘I don’t like the sound of this at all,’ said Arne, who had spoken little since Odo instructed him to accompany Godiva. ‘Why did our mistress have to come here? Why not somewhere more open?’
‘It’s not too far from Coventry,’ Godiva said quickly, ‘and the king happened to be here just when I needed to talk with him. That’s all there is to it. Nothing to worry about, thank you, Arne.’
‘Mistress, I must disagree. Odo confided the true reason for your visit to the king, and he swore us to secrecy so as not to frighten the people of Coventry. But I am frightened now, and so are the others.’ He looked round at his companions, who frowned in assent. ‘The king threatens you with heregeld, does he not? Those men in their red crosses have already burned villages in several parts of England, in the name of the king’s law and God’s word. They pretend to be well-born knights in holy orders, but they are ruffians. Just ordinary soldiers putting on airs. Many hold them to be as bad as Vikings, though they wear the cross. And those are the men he will send against Coventry, unless you can change his mind.’
‘There is truth in what Arne says,’ Bret intervened. ‘The king does use them to carry out difficult tasks. His confessor, Father Francis, encourages that. But here, in Cleley, they are under strict control. The king has his own housecarls to keep them in check, and the priests question them closely. You have nothing to fear from them.’
But, Godiva thought, much more to fear from the king than she had thought possible before.
The group dispersed to their quarters, Godiva bedding down beside the farmer’s kindly wife, while the men settled in the barn. The woman entertained her with stories of Cleley and its potters, and soon, bored but soothed, Godiva fell into a sleep in which exhaustion vanquished fear. Matters were otherwise in the barn, however, where the men peppered Bret with questions about Cleley, Egg Ring and the Knights of St George, until finally someone pointed out that whatever lay ahead of them, it was entirely beyond their control. All they could do was protect their mistress and pray to the Lord that she would find the right words with which to divert the royal wrath into some channel that did not lead to Coventry. They all said amen to that.
But the next morning their fear only deepened. They had just started to assemble for departure when the yard filled with a company of armed men, all wearing the tunics that displayed their membership of the military guild of St George. There were more than twenty of them and they completely surrounded the band from Coventry, who were quickly blindfolded and their horses tied to those of the knights. Godiva alone was left free to see.
‘No man may look at the way into Egg Ring,’ the captain of the knights said.
‘And if he does,’ another of them laughed, ‘that’s the last time he sees anything at all.’
He made a gesture that mimicked the way eyes are gouged out by executioners. Then he started imitating a newly blinded man, bewildered and crazed with pain, groping around for something to hold on to. Godiva turned away in disgust. Moments later the blindfolded group from Coventry was led out of the yard, while Godiva followed behind them, riding alongside the knights’ silent captain.
At first she could see no reason why her men should be blindfolded. The road across Cleley lacked landmarks; no one unfamiliar with this parish could possibly find their way back to Egg Ring after just one visit. But then, as they rounded a corner, she realized why the blindfolds were a necessity. There ahead of them to the left, on a small hill, stood a gallows, and hanging from its cross-beam were the swaying bodies of four men. Who these might be she had no idea, but there was every chance that one of her men would know. As she neared the gallows she steeled herself for the sight of the dead men’s faces and turned to look at them carefully. She still did not recognize them, but at this close range she learned something new. Each one had been badly beaten before he died, and one, presumably a spy, had two blackened holes where his eyes had been. Godiva crossed herself and looked straight ahead.
A few minutes later, however, a scene presented itself that was so astonishing that she realized that this, not the gallows, must be the deadly secret of Egg Ring. Spread out over a piece of cleared, sloping land lay a village of tents. It reached all the way from the lane on which they were riding up to the tree line, and with its leather and rope structures of different sizes and their peaks adorned with colourful pennants, it might almost have been a fair, but that the tents were laid out with military precision in orderly rows like the streets of a walled town. As they got nearer she could see groups of soldiers in the tunics of St George moving amidst the tents, while further along most of the inhabitants seemed to be monks. To one side stood a large enclosed field, and here several pairs of knights were jousting with each other, using wooden dummy weapo
ns, but wearing full armour to get used to the weight. Two of these jousting pairs wore the robes of Benedictine monks, over which they had placed chain-mail armour and St George’s tunics.
As they passed by the tent village, a square stone tower came into view, the first permanent structure they had seen in Egg Ring. At first Godiva took it to be a church tower, but then she realized that it had none of the features of a church – no bell tower and no pretty arched windows, for instance. Instead it had a heavily barred door on its front wall and at each side a flight of stone stairs going down to doors that opened to a windowless, underground cellar, or what English people had recently started calling – in the Norman fashion – a dungeon. Suddenly she understood the geography of the tent village. Men suspected of crimes against the king were taken to the dungeon first, where the priests would supervise their interrogation. Once proven guilty, they would be paraded past the tents and on to the gallows, where soldiers would execute them.
Leaving the tents, they entered a thicket of trees that had been left untouched since the days of Cleley’s innocence. Moments later there arose before them the big grassy outline of Egg Ring, which Godiva recognized as one of the enclosures used by ancient, long-dead people, now regarded as the home of dangerous spirits. Was this where Edward held rustic court while visiting his forces at Cleley? It seemed incredible. Why should any king camp in such a place? And yet this was their destination.
The captain stopped the riders and signalled that their blindfolds be removed. Then, after a few moments of blinking and gazing around, the whole group followed him round the embankment of Egg Ring to where a steep-sided cutting offered access to its interior. Here a wooden gatehouse sheltered the watchmen, and the captain called out the password of the day, ‘Chalice and Eagle’.
‘Who do you bring?’ the watchman shouted back.
‘Godiva of Coventry,’ the captain answered.
‘Dismount and enter in the name of St George and King Edward.’