‘Our sheriff does not heed such excuses when the king’s taxes are being gathered. Reap as ye sow!’ came the response.
The swinging knight gave a bad-tempered huff. ‘All right then, you win. Rowena, could you go get the bag of pennies in the rosewood coffer in my chamber?’
She forced the corners of her mouth down. ‘Certainly.’
‘It’s easy to laugh when you are not the one hanging like a brace of birds in a butcher’s shop,’ he muttered, crossing his previously hanging arms. ‘Now, you hellish imps, let me down!’ The demand was loudly directed at the beech tree.
‘You touch the ground when your money touches my hand,’ came the unrelenting reply.
‘By the Devil’s hooves and very tail, I hope you fall into a ten-foot hole on the way home!’ Hartfield’s sheriff bellowed at the tree. ‘Rowena, hurry, would you! I feel like my head is about to explode.’
‘I shall run all the way.’
‘God speed!’ he called after her. ‘Damn vermin…’
Hitching her skirt up, Rowena set off at a brisk trot. She was soon emerging from the greenwood near the base of Eaglestone Castle and skipping across the drawbridge.
As she exited the tunnel under the gatehouse, she nearly collided with a pageboy hurrying the opposite way.
‘Pepin, do pardon me. I’m in that much of a flurry I didn’t see you there!’ she gasped, coming to a sharp halt.
Though only thirteen, the page was already taller than she was. He smoothed his neatly-bobbed golden hair and grinned casually. ‘No harm done, my lady. Where are you off to in such a hurry? Perhaps I could fetch you something?’
‘Well, the thing is!—’ She was forced to pause when a fit of giggles overcame her.
‘Oh do tell, Mistress Rowena!’
‘Sir Richard was walking along the woodland path at the bottom of the meadow when!—when!—’ She started laughing so hard she could barely speak. ‘He was caught by both feet in the women’s hocking noose and hauled five feet off the ground!’
The already widely-grinning pageboy laughed heartily. ‘By Our Lady, that must have been quite a sight!’
‘Yes, but there’s more; he is still swinging there because he had no money on him—that’s what I’m doing!’
The dapper page tried to retain some composure, but ended up laughing so hard he nearly fell to the ground. ‘Let me go and fetch Sir Richard’s money coffer!’ he gasped, when his initial outbreak of mirth had subsided a little.
She nodded. ‘But do hurry. Our valiant sheriff’s mood is everything you’d expect it to be.’
Grinning broadly, Pepin raced off on his errand. Rowena did not have to wait long for the pageboy to reappear with the rosewood box in his hands. He leapt down the steps and ran across the courtyard with the grace of a deer, and the two of them were soon hurrying back to their stricken lord.
Rowena and Pepin reached the stately beech to find Sir Richard still dangling like a leg of ham. The pageboy kept behind Rowena with a hand firmly clapped over his mouth. She could tell young Pepin was barely managing to keep from laughing out loud, but was putting in a very brave effort. Doubtless the page was wary of receiving a clout around the ears from his master or being tasked with some awful job if he laughed at the hanging knight’s predicament.
‘Here is the money,’ she called, coming up to Sir Richard.
‘Christ be praised…’ muttered the grim hostage, whose face was now nearly purple.
‘Bring it over here, if you please,’ ordered the sharp female voice from the safety of the trees.
‘What do you think this is, boy, a damn cockfight?’ Sir Richard growled at his page. ‘Trust that maid to return with a crowd of gawkers in tow…’
‘Sire, I merely came to offer you any assistance you may require,’ Pepin gaffed, failing miserably at keeping a straight face.
The hostage’s only reply was a black glare.
Meanwhile, Rowena had counted out the amount required for the ransom and was in the process of handing it over to the heavily-cloaked Betty. The pile of pennies was quickly counted and pocketed, and then Betty disappeared back into the thicket at the base of the beech tree whose branch Sir Richard was suspended from. A few moments later there was a creak as the rope started to move, and Sir Richard began to slowly descend.
Sir Richard’s clerk and pageboy took his shoulders as he neared the ground, helping him to land on his back rather than his head.
The knight let out a groan once he was safely lying on the ground, and clutched a hand to his head. ‘My head feels like there is a pair of knockers in there hammering away…’
‘Would you like a hand, sire?’ asked Pepin, offering a hand to help Sir Richard up.
He shook his head. ‘No, let me just sit awhile. My ears are ringing and I can see stars; I’ll likely fall right back down again.’
The page sat down beside Sir Richard on the leaf-strewn ground. ‘I can’t wait for the tournament. I’ve been polishing your weapons every single day.’
‘Good lad—but that doesn’t mean you have a God-given entitlement to laugh at my misfortune,’ replied his still-sulking master.
‘I never thought a boy from a tanner’s family like me would ever get a chance to be squire to a renowned knight at a magnificent tournament,’ Pepin continued brightly, taking no notice of Sir Richard’s bad mood (the boy was learning fast, Rowena observed with approval). ‘Most pages never even get to a tournament with a knight. Mother and Father will be so very proud when I tell them how I helped the valiant Sir Richard vanquish the evil Sir Roger de Wintore.’
Rowena sighed. ‘You’re starting to sound as bad as Sir Richard, Pepin. You do know that Sir Richard could be—could be killed?’
The page rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, of course I know a knight could be killed in a fight; I’m not a baby! But everyone knows that good always overcomes evil in a fight to the death. Sir Roger de Wintore is a murderer and an abductor of women. He will not prevail.’
‘De Wintore is indeed an evil, dishonourable man. But our Sir Richard is not exactly the lily-white Sir Galahad, is he?’
Sir Richard did not need to tell his lady that he thought she was being disloyal. The look he rested on her said it for him.
‘Well you aren’t!’ she hastily defended herself. ‘That business with de Wintore’s sister was less than noble, you said it yourself.’
‘Yes, but look how stupid Sir Percival was,’ chirped Pepin. ‘He still found the Holy Grail even though, to start off with, he did not know his elbow from his a—’
‘Thank you, Pepin,’ Rowena interrupted. ‘I think you may wish to stop and consider the rather unflattering insinuation that line of reasoning contains.’
The pageboy grinned sheepishly at Sir Richard. ‘Beg your pardon, my lord. I did not mean to imply that you were a fool, but merely that you once seem to have had a little difficulty in that area.’
Rowena raised her eyes to heaven. For such a dapper little know-it-all, that page really did have a talent for putting his foot right in it.
If the young chatterbox noticed the gesture, he did not show it. ‘I shall be much admired as I go about in Sir Richard’s livery at the tournament,’ he continued. ‘Everyone will be whispering ‘there goes the only trusted attendant of Sir Richard Hastings, the boldest knight in all Christendom’. As my knight rides onto the field of glory, every eye will be upon him and every lady’s heart will be aflutter as she beholds his noble visage…’ The page trailed off as he gazed into the distance with a glazed, dreamy look on his face.
‘The very same noble warrior whom you were laughing yourself silly over as you observed him swinging by the ankles only moments before,’ added the Boldest Knight in all Christendom.
Pepin patted his master’s arm. ‘Do not worry, I shan’t tell anyone at the tournament that you got hocked by a gaggle of local peasant women.’
‘I wouldn’t give myself too many airs if I were you, Pepin,’ said Rowena. ‘You know the reason you are th
e sole attendant chosen to ride to the tournament is that you are the only person who could be spared.’
‘Yes,’ replied an unperturbed Pepin. ‘But just because I am the only page at Eaglestone Castle does not mean I will not be the most attentive page at the tournament. All the other knights may well have a whole bevy of squires in tow, but I shall be just as efficient as a herd of squires, even though there is only one of me.’
Rowena smiled indulgently. ‘Your ambition does you credit, Pepin. I shall be there too, though I will not travel with you and Sir Richard. My relatives are travelling by coach, so I will go with them. It would not be seemly for an unrelated maiden to be travelling alone with a knight. Tongues will start to wag if I turn up like that.’
‘Indeed. A lady’s role is different,’ said the page. ‘While a knight’s attendant’s task is to stand at the side of the lists and hold his horse, pass him new lances and help him if he is unhorsed, a knight’s lady stands in the viewing gallery weeping and praying.’
‘I see,’ said Rowena. ‘Is that what you wish me to do, Sir Richard?’
‘Absolutely. If your lady is not on her knees quaking with terror, her love for you is highly questionable. It gets quite competitive amongst the watching ladies as they vie for the most requests for their tokens before the knights joust. And the eagerness to seem the most devoted lady is just as fierce. At one joust I fought in, my vanquished opponent’s lady-love had to be prevented from throwing herself off the gallery, such was her anguish at his defeat—although I suspect she was doing it more for show than grief. She and her sister had quarrelled earlier over which of them was the most devoted lover.’
‘Really. I sincerely hope that you are not expecting me to throw myself off anything if you lose a round.’
‘No, certainly not. If you simply fall to the ground weeping and tearing your hair, that will be perfectly satisfactory.’
.22.
The Heart of Ice
and the Heart of Fire
FINE linen grown; newest crimson stockings; pointy-toed shoes of royal blue suede; silk veil. Yes, it was all there.
Rowena gathered together the four corners of the square of russet she had piled the folded items on, and tied them in a tight knot. After casting a final look around her tiny garret room, she lifted the bundle off her little bed and swung it over her shoulder. The red-haired maiden then exited her room and made her way down the attic stairs, through Stoatley’s first-floor passageway, and down the main staircase leading to the grand hall.
The great hall was abuzz with activity. Servants hurried to and fro carrying coffers and bundles out to the two carts waiting outside. All the while, Lord Cunningham’s overseer shouted orders and reprimands as he strutted up and down.
Rowena waited until the last of the baggage was being loaded before stepping outside, where her aunt and cousin stood on the front step.
‘Careful with that, half-wit!’ Lady Cunningham screeched at a thin, nervous girl attempting to heave a large chest up onto the coach’s roof. ‘It is worth more than your blood-price!’
Rowena drew her cloak tightly around herself as the icy breeze nipped at her already-cold body. The heavy flurries of snow that had fallen the previous night were unseasonably late, but the dark clouds had parted just as the dawn was breaking, and now the low sun smiled weakly at the sparkling snowdrifts.
Heavily wrapped in white mink and ermine furs, Lady Sabina lifted her long, full skirt of gold brocade with a white kid-glove encased hand and prepared to enter the coach after Lady Cunningham.
‘What about me—where shall I put my things?’ asked Rowena.
The tall, fur-clad damsel stopped, skirt still in hand. She looked down her thin, straight nose and curled her lip into a disdainful sneer, then suddenly laughed a cold, mocking laugh. ‘What about you? Mother, silly cousin Rowena still thinks she is going to the wedding!’ She let out another peal of her mocking laughter.
Rowena clutched her bundle tightly as she stared at her icy-eyed cousin. ‘What—what do you mean? You said only last week that I could come!’
The regal lily put a hand over her blood-red lips to cover her snigger. ‘You really are even more stupid than I gave you credit for. I have at long last succeeded in attaining my true position in life—one where you and your selfish mother can no longer drag my family down. I shall not be turning up at my noble future husband’s home with a horrid beggar-girl in attendance!’ She pulled a revolted face. ‘Just imagine; I would have to admit that not only was I acquainted with you, but that I was in fact related to you!’
A large bank of cloud which had been creeping ever closer to the weak winter sun finally overtook it. Then a few snowflakes began fluttering down from above like ice butterflies and settling on Rowena’s numb cheeks, where they quickly melted and ran downwards as tears of snow.
The red-haired damsel hardly noticed them. ‘But I have to get to the tournament!’
‘So you can watch dewy-eyed as your beloved fights?’
Rowena nodded dumbly.
‘Ha, just look at you!’ The sneering, richly-clad damsel pulled at the trim on Rowena’s cloak. ‘Rabbit fur. Brown, moth-eaten rabbit fur. Your Sir Richard will be so ashamed of his drab, ugly little mouse amongst all the fine lords and ladies he will barely make it onto the field if you are present!’
Rowena looked down at the bundle in her hands. ‘No, I have brought a nice dress—’
Lady Sabina was roughly snatching at the bundle before her cousin had even finished speaking. ‘Indeed!’ she cried, untying the cloth.
‘Give that back!’
The regal lily took no heed of her anguished cousin. She held a magenta dress up as though it was the head of Medusa. ‘But this gown is not even silk. I would not wear something this plain at home!’
Feeling like a tiny piece of misery and humiliation, Rowena could not think of anything to say. She had been cruelly tricked, and now Sir Richard would die alone.
Lady Sabina fixed cold eyes on her victim. Then, without looking down, she slowly turned the russet square until it was upside down, and waited while all her cousin’s clothes tumbled onto the muddy, snow-covered ground. ‘Now get back to the dust-heap where you belong, filthy beggar!’
And with that, the tall, lily-white damsel gave a haughty toss of the head, lifted her furs and stepped into the waiting coach, which immediately lurched forwards.
Three days. Three days it took to reach Shrewsbury Castle on foot, and the tournament was in two days’ time. It was the only thought in Rowena’s mind as she watched the two coaches rapidly disappearing down the road. Long after they had gone from view, she continued to stare at the tracks the carts had cut through the pristine white snow covering the ground.
‘Let me help you,’ a young voice interrupted Rowena’s numb horror.
She looked down to find the Cunninghams’ servant maid, Millicent, gathering up the clothes scattered on the ground at her feet.
‘She said I can’t come…’ Rowena said in a stunned, barely comprehending whisper, her eyes fixed back on the tracks cutting through the snow.
‘I sure am glad to see the last of that Lady Sabina,’ said Millicent, joining the red-haired maiden in staring at the tracks. ‘She were such a horrible thing. My old gran reckons young Lady Haughty is a changeling child or some such evil sprite.’
‘I do believe she is right. Oh, what am I to do!’
‘All the Cunninghams’ horses are being used to pull those coaches, but you may find a passing peddler or farmer who can give you a lift on his cart—though I dare say not many folk will be out and about in this weather if they can help it.’
‘Yes, if I set out on foot I might be able to beg a lift. But I shan’t get there nearly so quickly as if I had travelled with the Cunninghams. They were allowing a mere day to reach Shrewsbury Castle. The wedding and the feast are to be held on the morrow, and the tournament the day after.’
‘If you miss the tournament, it can’t be helped.’
>
Rowena suddenly turned to Millicent. ‘I’m not missing the tournament; I won’t let it happen!’
‘You’d better get going then. I think a new cloth is required for this bundle, though. The old one is well wet from lying in this here puddle.’
Rowena looked bleakly at the dripping, muddy cloth Millicent held up. ‘I’ll go up and see what I can find.’
Rowena then took the bundle of crumpled garments in her arms and turned for the door, suddenly gripped by a breathless, dizzying sense of urgency.
She had promised. Promised the man who had risked everything for her in a bold and iron-willed rescue that she would be there to support him in his hour of greatest need. Promised he would die in her arms.
She hardly noticed that she was already running along the upstairs passageway until there was an almighty metallic crash. An instant later she was sprawled on her front atop a suit of armour, staring at a helmet which stared grimly back at her through the dark slits in its visor. She lifted her smarting nose from the cold steel and blinked dizzily at it.
‘As if there are not enough cold, hard things around here without you as well,’ she muttered crossly, giving it a shove.
Then she suddenly paused. A suit of armour? Sir Richard needed a suit of armour!
The snub-nosed maiden pulled herself onto her hands and knees with a jerk, and started frantically scrabbling at the laces and buckles holding the pieces together with numb, clumsy hands. The pain in her freezing fingers as they pulled at the rusted, stubborn fastenings was so stinging it made her eyes water, but she took no heed.
She had no familiarity with armour, and every time a piece seemed to finally be free, she took a pull at it only to find yet another buckle holding it on. But her burning, blind enthusiasm was such that the job was soon done, and a pile of steel plates was all that remained of the once grimly-standing vacant shell.
The Heart of Darkness Page 32