by S. D. Sykes
I blushed a little at these words, as Mother was rarely generous with her compliments.
‘And you have added the Versey estate to our own. That is something my husband never managed.’
‘That was just luck, Mother.’
‘But it is good to be lucky, Oswald. At least the wheel of fortune is turning in somebody’s favour.’
‘But what about Clemence?’
She snorted. ‘Clemence will keep her peace and let you remain here as lord. I’ve made it plain that it’s not in her interests to disobey me. She would bring dishonour on the whole family.’
‘But she might tell somebody.’
‘She thinks she’s so clever, but she has to be forced to think ahead. If you were swapped as a baby, then why not her as well? She could be the daughter of the farmhand and the dairymaid. She would turn the de Lacys into a laughing stock. Her scheming would rebound upon her before she could turn the milk sour.’
‘I’ll speak to her, Mother.’
‘It’s up to you, Oswald. But don’t expect a warm welcome.’
I knocked at the door to the library, the room that Clemence had now taken over as her private chamber, despite its previous life as an exclusively male domain. She called for me to enter, but didn’t look up – preferring to keep at the destruction of the stitching on a tapestry that would never hang. Humbert held her yarn and watched me impassively.
‘I understand you are to stay,’ she said. ‘And that I am to thank you for trying to save my life.’
‘There is no need to thank me, Clemence. Unless you mean it.’
Now she looked up at me uncomfortably and seemed about to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead she returned to her needlework, stabbing her finger and drawing blood. ‘Look what you’ve made me do,’ she said crossly.
‘I wanted to make you an offer,’ I said, as she sucked the blood from her finger.
‘What sort of offer?’
‘I know you cannot be Lady of Somershill. But return to Versey. I won’t stand in your way.’
She kept her eyes focussed on the cloth in her lap. ‘I thought the earl instructed you to manage my estate.’
‘You could do it instead. As long as we kept the arrangement to ourselves.’
‘And when my child is born? Whose estate is it then?’
‘Your child?’
Now she looked up and flashed a smile. ‘Yes, Oswald. You were correct when you guessed I was carrying a child. My son will be both a true de Caburn and a true de Lacy. What do you say to that?’
I couldn’t be sure if she was telling the truth or merely taunting me. But I no longer cared. ‘Then your son shall inherit both estates upon reaching maturity. What do you say to that?’
I would tell you I received an embrace at the generosity of my noble offer, but the reality was rather more muted. In fact, it was subdued enough to be described as a sigh. ‘Thank you, Oswald. But you shouldn’t make such a promise.’
‘Why not?’
‘When you marry you will change your mind. At least Mirabel will expect it for your children.’
‘Mirabel?’
She cocked her head slightly and eyed me curiously. ‘Yes, Oswald. You told me you loved the girl. I assumed you still wished to marry her.’
My mouth hung open.
‘Goodness me. You hadn’t worked it out, had you?’ Now she laughed. ‘And Mother calls you our great investigator.’
‘Worked what out?’
‘My father is not your father. Which means Mirabel is not your sister.’
I stood up to leave. ‘Please excuse me, Clemence.’
Now an odd expression crossed her face. Neither a sneer nor a scornful grimace, it could only be described as a tender smile – though her mouth was unable to hold this unfamiliar pose for longer than a moment. ‘Go quickly, Oswald,’ she whispered.
‘I will.’
The rain had fallen upon many secrets in the last few days, causing them to spring up like dandelions in a field of grain. We had cut their heads or trampled them down, but secrets have deep roots and will always grow again – only the next time they will set their seeds.
So, while I had the chance, it was time to lead my life. I rode to Mirabel’s cottage, hoping to tell her the good news, but dismounting from Tempest I found the place to be eerily quiet. No smoke seeped out through the thatch of the roof, and the door was closed, though the day was warm. I called out Mirabel’s name and tried to push the door open, but the wood was unyielding to my touch and soon I realised that it was jammed fast with a peg.
In the distance somebody shouted to get my attention. I turned, hoping to see Mirabel’s sweet face, but instead it was old Eleanor, who was seated in the garden of the neighbouring cottage with her swollen leg resting on a stool. Her mute grandson was beside her, still bashing mindlessly at his cartwheel.
‘Where is Mirabel Turner?’ I asked.
‘She’s Mirabel Carpenter now, sire. She married young Nicholas.’
‘When?’
‘Two days ago.’
‘And where are they now?’
‘Up country, sire.’ Eleanor laughed. ‘Said she’d never come back.’
Epilogue
Somershill Manor, November 1350
My life has taken many turns in the last year. I am now Lord Somershill – the keeper of more than a thousand acres in Kent. The owner of a village whose inhabitants owe me servitude. And the master of a grand house complete with hunting forests, cellars, and a stable of fine horses. Mother was correct – the wheel of fortune has turned in my favour. I have been blessed, considering I am the bastard son of a lowly priest and a poor spinner.
But the wheel has also turned against me – for sometimes, when I think of Brother Peter, Mirabel, or the Starvecrow sisters, an orb of pain spins in my stomach and rises into my chest. It is hot and biting, and eats away at my heart, making me miserable, if I will allow it. It is then that I find my work on the estate most appealing, for against all expectations, I have come to enjoy my duties. There is solace to be found in routine. And I believe I will make a good lord.
Still, for all the times I have tried to forget the murders and put such troubles from my mind, there remained one stone in this story that I could not leave unturned. My curious nature would not allow me to do so.
A crypt lies beneath the Somershill chapel, where the skeletons of the de Lacy family lie for eternity. However, there was one de Lacy not residing in this crypt. A boy whom Brother Peter had told me was buried in the village churchyard, with the name Thomas Starvecrow scratched into a square of stone above his grave.
At full moon, this September just gone, I rode Tempest to the churchyard and searched for Thomas’s grave – for I had to know if Peter’s story were true. He had told me so many lies.
The moon lit my path, but the weeds amongst the headstones had grown long while the parish waited for the bishop to send a new priest. Pushing aside the cornflowers and fleabane, I found the headstone at last, hidden in the corner of the churchyard, amongst the graves of the many other Starvecrows.
I then dug into the soil, hoping nobody would discover me at my grave-robbing, and after a short while I found the simple wooden box that Peter had described to me. I pulled this coffin from the earth, waited until the moon had passed a cloud, and then prized open the lid – looking inside to see a ragged length of cloth wrapped about a thing that was the size of a tiny infant.
And then I felt guilty for disturbing the remains of a child. A poor boy whose place I had taken. I went to replace the lid, but curiosity once again got the better of me. Reaching into the coffin, I carefully pulled back the cloth, but my fingers did not find the tiny, fragile skeleton I had expected.
Instead they touched something that was cold, hard and unyielding.
The missing wooden effigy of the Christ child.
Glossary
Braies
The medieval version of underpants for men. A loose undergarm
ent – usually made from a length of linen that was wound about the legs and bottom and then tied at the waist with a belt.
Chief Tithing-Man
Medieval law enforcement was controlled at a local level by groups of men organised into groups known as tithings. Formed of roughly ten to twenty men, each man was responsible for the actions and good behaviour of the other men in his group. The Chief Tithing-Man managed this tithing, and answered for their conduct to the constable.
Childwyte Fine
A fine levied in the manorial court against female villeins who gave birth to illegitimate children.
Constable
The constable reported crimes to the bailiff at the Hundreds Court.
Coroner
A local government official whose duty was to protect the financial interest of the crown in criminal proceedings. Any death that was considered unnatural had to be reported to the coroner.
Cotehardie
A closely tailored jacket that became popular in the mid 1300s. Worn over breeches, it developed into a scandalously short and revealing fashion.
Cottar
The poorest class of villeins. A person with very little land, usually only the curtilage of their own cottage.
Crespine
A netted metal device for holding and styling a woman’s hair.
Customal
A document listing the financial and legal arrangements between the lord and his tenants.
Dais
A raised platform at the end of the dining hall/great hall. Usually furnished with a table and benches, it was reserved for people of high status within the household.
Demesne
The fields on the manor estate that were reserved for the lord’s personal use and profit. Local villeins would work this land in return for the ability to rent their own plots. Tenants were often expected to work in the demesne, although they received wages for their labour.
Destrier
A war horse. Used by knights in battle and at jousts.
Hue and Cry
If a dead body was found under suspicious or unnatural circumstances, every man in the tithing was required to join a noisy search party to alert the local neighbourhood to the murder, and to flush out the culprit.
Humours
Harking back to the teachings of Galen in antiquity, the human body was said to be ruled by four humours, or bodily fluids, which needed to be kept in balance. Yellow bile, phlegm, black bile, and blood. The balance of your humours ruled both your health and your disposition. So, for example, an excess of black bile caused a person to become melancholic.
Hundreds Court
A court that dealt with serious crime, or cases that could not be tried by the manorial court. This court was presided over by the sheriff, unless the case involved murder – in which instance a royal judge was summoned.
Indulgences
Taking the form of a letter or receipt, an indulgence was an award for the remission of sin. It was earned by prayer and good deeds, but increasingly in the later Middle Ages through a money donation.
Infirmarer
The infirmarer managed the infirmary at the monastery, where the sick and elderly of the community were cared for. The position was a prestigious post, and the infirmarer was usually trained in basic surgery and medicine.
Kirtle
A tunic-like garment, usually made of wool.
Lay Brother
A monk of lesser status than the ordained members of the monastery. The lay brothers undertook much of the heavy agricultural and domestic work for the community.
Manorial Court
This court was overseen by the lord of the manor. It usually dealt only with minor issues restricted to the manor itself, such as disagreements between tenants, or infringements of the lord’s rights.
Pardoner
A man who was authorised by the bishop to sell indulgences and relics for money. The funds were often used by the Church to finance special projects. The pardoner kept a proportion of his takings as payment.
Pottage
A type of soup often made with dried peas, grains, and sometimes meat or fish.
Purlieu
A deforested area on the edge of hunting forests, still subject to forest law – especially with respect to hunting.
Reeve
An officer of the estate, responsible to the lord for organising and overseeing agricultural work on the demesne fields. A position of status within the community.
Royal Judge
Royal judges, from the court of the king’s bench, were responsible for justice with regards to cases of murder. Travelling to each county approximately twice a year, they tried the criminal cases, which had been referred to them by the sheriff.
Sheriff
The position held the ultimate responsibility to the king for law and order in a shire. Literally the ‘shire reeve’, he had the power to arrest, imprison, hold trials, and organise juries, but not the power to try and sentence a suspect for murder.
Solar
A room set apart from the rest of the household for use of the lord’s family. This room usually had a large window, giving rise to the idea that it was named after the sun. However, the word may also have derived from the French word ‘seul’, which means to be alone.
Sumptuary Laws
A law passed in 1337 and strengthened in 1363, prescribing exactly what clothes each class of person was allowed to wear. For example a yeoman farmer and his family were forbidden from wearing furs other than rabbit, fox or cat. Only the most noble and wealthy person might wear ermine.
Surcoat
A tunic or outer coat.
Tenant
A person who rented farmland from a lord, but who received payment for working on the demesne. The status of the tenant was as a free man, meaning he and his family could leave the estate without the permission of the lord.
Villein
Villeins worked the lord’s lands, but were not waged. Typically they worked for three days a week, with extra services required at certain times of the year such as at harvest. In return for their labour they were able to rent a small amount of land from the lord. Their status was unfree, meaning the lord had a great deal of control over their lives.
Yeoman
A richer tenant farmer, who had the means to rent larger areas of land, and could afford to employ both servants and farmhands. They often acted as officers for the manor, such as the reeve or constable, giving their family greater status. Often more prosperous than the lord himself, in the wake of the Black Death they were known to take over the management of whole estates in return for paying fixed rent.
Historical Note
The bubonic plague of the 1340s originated in the arid plains of central Asia and was the second pandemic of the same infection – the first having been in the sixth century. The fourteenth-century plague was known at the time as the Great Mortality or the Pestilence. The term ‘Black Death’ was not coined until later in the seventeenth century.
The plague was caused by the bacillus, Yersinia Pestis, which lives in the digestive tract of infected fleas. It has three forms – bubonic, pneumatic, and septicaemic, but the bubonic form is the one we most commonly associate with the Black Death. Certainly most of the eye-witness accounts would support this assumption.
The bubonic form is an infection of the lymphatic system, caused by the bites of infected fleas as they move from rat to human hosts. To begin with, the sufferer experiences a high temperature, sweating, and severe aches to the joints. After a day or so the buboes swell in the lymph nodes of the groin area and under the armpits. As these painful lumps, typically the size of an egg, turn from red to black due to internal bleeding, the body is overwhelmed by a bacterial infection that, during the 1340s, was usually, but not always, fatal. It was an excruciating and horrific death that caused mass hysteria.
More deadly however, even than the bubonic plague, is the pneumonic form, which occurs when the same bacillus, Yersinia
Pestis, infects the respiratory system rather than the lymphatic. It is likely that this form of the infection was also at work during these years. Rather than being spread by the bites of fleas, it relied upon airborne transmission and was probably passed on by the coughing up of blood or by the inhalation of flea faeces. This virulent and highly contagious form of the plague was rapid in its onset and always fatal. Pneumonic plague was also less reliant on the climate than the bubonic form, and would explain why the plague continued to claim victims through the winters of 1348 and 1349. Fleas need warm temperatures to remain active, whereas the pneumonic plague could continue to cause infection by human-to-human transmission during the colder winter months.
A third form of the plague is the septicaemic, which affects the bloodstream, once again causing an overwhelming infection, ending inevitably in death.
The plague itself is believed to have originated in Mongolia, and was confined to that area for many centuries before it moved west in the mid fourteenth century. The reason for this new outbreak was a perfect storm of circumstances that provided the bacilli with the opportunity and conditions to spread.
Firstly, there was a resurgence of commerce between east and west due to the opening of new trade routes in the years preceding the plague. There was increasing demand for Eastern goods such as exotic spices and silk – but these were not the only cargoes travelling west. The black rat was happy to live alongside humans, particularly and crucially on ships. But even if the rats themselves were not travelling, these new trading routes were able to transport infected fleas. It is estimated that a flea can survive up to eighty days without a host, which was time enough for these parasites to travel long distances in fabric and clothing.