‘Good,’ Helen said, trying to quell the unexpected animosity between the two men. ‘What else do we need?’
‘A crown for Paul,’ Mike said. ‘A crook, or whatever they’re called, for Charlie, and parchment, quills and inkpots.’
‘Did archbishops have crooks back then?’ Ed asked.
‘We need to check,’ Helen said. ‘Then there’s mail coats and hoods, and those conical helmets with a nose guard for the knights.’
‘And swords,’ Mike put in.
‘Okay, that all sounds a bit pricey,’ Helen said.
‘eBay is a good place to start,’ Sarah suggested. ‘Plenty of theatrical outfitters and LARP companies. I can have a look if you like.’
‘Great, thanks Sarah,’ Helen said. ‘How much do we have to spend, Charlie?’
‘What? Erm, not sure to be honest.’
‘What do you mean you’re not sure? You’re the bloody treasurer,’ Paul shouted, slamming his wine glass on to the table then cursing as the stem broke. ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Someone get me another wine.’
Mike jumped to his feet to go to the bar. ‘Anyone else?’
Helen looked around the table and realised everyone was on wine. When did we all start drinking wine? she thought, the sinking feeling in her belly gathering depth. ‘Here Mike,’ she said, brandishing a £20 note. ‘Get a couple of bottles.’
‘That won’t be enough.’
‘Then add to it,’ she snapped. ‘Sorry, Mike, that’s all I have. Anyone else?’
‘It’s okay, Helen, I’ve got it covered,’ Mike said and rushed to the bar.
Helen took a deep breath, but Paul beat her to it.
‘Charlie? You haven’t answered my question. How much money is left?’
‘I don’t know, about fifty quid I think.’
‘Fifty quid? How the hell is that all we have left from a £500 grant? We haven’t bought the bloody props yet!’
‘Well, we had that night out, I had to pay for the damage Dan did in the Bailiff, and there’s the fees for hiring the theatre for the rehearsals . . .’
‘So you’ve spent it,’ Paul said.
‘No, we’ve spent it,’ Charlie said.
‘Have you got the accounts?’
‘Well, no, not really. The cash is in a jar in my kitchen and I reckon there’s about fifty quid left, but I’ll add it up and let you know.’
‘Are you telling me you’ve not kept accounts?’ Paul demanded.
‘Well, yeah, I guess I am. No one’s needed them before, so I’ve not bothered. Come on, mate, you can trust me.’
‘Can we? You’ve spent over four hundred quid and don’t have much to show for it. Are you sure the money’s gone on this drama group?’
‘Just what the hell are you accusing me of, mate?’ Charlie spat the question and stood.
Paul rose to match him, braced his hands on the table, and leaned over to push his face into his friend’s. ‘I think it’s quite clear what I’m accusing you of, mate.’
‘Guys, guys, stop it, what the hell are you doing?’ Helen said, standing herself and putting her good arm between the men in an attempt to keep them apart. ‘Charlie, can you put some figures together – some accounts?’
‘Yes, sure, I’d have done it already if I knew you didn’t trust me.’
‘We do trust you, Charlie,’ Helen, Sarah and Alec chorused.
‘But I see the rest of you don’t,’ Charlie said.
‘Shit, shit, shit, shit,’ Helen said, slowly retaking her seat.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you, woman?’ Paul demanded.
‘It’s not what’s wrong with her, but what’s wrong with the rest of us, isn’t it, Helen?’ Sarah said.
Helen nodded. ‘We’ve got a big problem.’
‘What? God’s wounds, tell us!’ Paul said.
Helen looked up at him sharply. ‘Remember the spirit board?’
‘Oh don’t be bloody ridiculous.’
‘She’s not,’ Sarah said. ‘Look at us, we’re all . . . different.’
‘And what’s just happened also happened between Henry and Becket – they fell out over Becket omitting to make accounts and Henry accused him of embezzlement,’ Helen said. ‘Don’t you see? The spirit board worked – we brought them through.’
‘Oh don’t get hysterical,’ Paul sneered. ‘What the hell are you doing here anyway? This is the business of kings, begone, Saxon.’ He looked around at everybody. ‘What? It was a joke.’
Chapter 29
June 1171
‘My Lord, horsemen approach,’ Mauclerk said as he burst into the great hall.
‘Who is it?’ Morville demanded.
‘They fly no banner, but one of the riders is Sir William de Percy.’
‘Percy? I wonder what’s brought him so low, that he graces us with his presence,’ FitzUrse said.
‘Should we unbar the gates?’ Mauclerk asked, ignoring FitzUrse’s scowl.
Morville hesitated. ‘How many men does he have with him?’
‘A company, near enough, perhaps fifty men or more.’
‘So many?’ Tracy asked, then turned to Morville. ‘He’s here to attack.’
Morville glanced at him then rose. ‘I need to see them.’ He hurried up the stairs to the top of the keep and peered out at the approaching men.
‘Permit them entry,’ he told Mauclerk.
‘Hugh, do you think that’s wise?’
‘If he were here to attack, he would have more men and brought siege engines.’
‘Yes, but it may be a trick,’ Tracy said.
‘Only one way to find out,’ Morville said and led the way out to the courtyard to greet his guests. ‘My Lord Percy, what brings you to Cnaresburg?’
Percy dismounted but said naught, instead gesturing to the other riders. Morville recognised Hamelin Plantagenet and William de Courcy then focused on the fourth man briefly before dropping to one knee. ‘My Liege, welcome to Cnaresburg,’ he said.
FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett knelt a fraction after Morville, with an audible gasp from Tracy.
Henry Plantagenet pulled his hood from his face. ‘It is a dark day indeed when a king must ride through his own kingdom in secret lest he be recognised.’
‘Welcome,’ Morville said again. ‘May I offer you some refreshment after your journey?’
‘You may indeed,’ Henry said, striding towards the keep and great hall within, without making any indication the knights could rise.
The four glanced at each other, then regained their feet the moment King Henry turned his back to them. Percy smirked at them, but Hamelin Plantagenet and Courcy’s expressions remained unreadable.
‘Hugh, where is Helwise?’
‘William, I did not see you there, why did you not send word you were coming?’
Stoteville glared at him. ‘The King did not wish it. Where is my sister?’
Morville shrugged. ‘About somewhere – the mews perhaps, she seems to spend most of her time with the hawks these days.’
*
Glancing around the table filled with dishes of venison in wine sauce, stewed swan, beef pottage and a spicy Leche Lombard, amongst many other delicacies, Morville was satisfied he had provided a meal fit for his king, even if it was being served by men-at-arms rather than young, pretty and buxom girls. He noticed Henry glare at the men as they brought more rich fare to the table, then the King glanced at Morville, eyebrows raised.
Morville filled his king’s goblet, unwilling to explain that his servants had deserted him. ‘What brings you to Yorkshire, My Liege?’
‘I am on my way to inspect my new mighty castle at Riche Mont, which perchance provides the perfect opportunity to speak to you.’ He raised his goblet to include FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett.
‘It is our very great pleasure and privilege to receive you, My Liege,’ Morville said. ‘To Henry Plantagenet, King of England, Duke of Normandy, Duke of Aquitaine, and Lord of Ireland.’ He raised his goblet in toast as he spoke and ki
ng, earl, barons, knights and men-at-arms drank as one. Silence fell over the gathering.
Henry glanced around, seeming to enjoy the discomfort of the assembled men, and prolonged it further by taking a large gulp of Morville’s finest Rhenish and helping himself to a large portion of venison. The others took this as their cue to help themselves, although Tracy and Brett in particular found their appetites diminished by the atmosphere in the hall.
It was a great honour to host the King, but they could not help but reflect that Henry had arrived incognito. He wanted no one but his most trusted men to know of his presence in Cnaresburg. That did not bode well.
Henry looked around the almost silent hall, then said, ‘It may be advisable to dismiss your men-at-arms before I continue.’ He stared at Morville and FitzUrse, and all four knights gestured to their sergeants. A noisy five minutes later, the only men present were the nobles and their king, although Mauclerk hovered behind his lord.
Chapter 30
‘What news have you of Canterbury?’ Henry began.
‘None, My Liege,’ Morville said. ‘We receive little word of events here in Cnaresburg. What has occurred?’
‘Miracles. At the Archbishop’s tomb. Healings. There is talk of canonisation.’
‘A saint? They talk about making a traitor a saint?’ FitzUrse exclaimed.
‘So it seems,’ said Hamelin Plantagenet. ‘It appears that however high Becket was raised in life, you have raised him further in death.’
Morville opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when no words came forth.
‘But he was a low-born clerk,’ FitzUrse said. ‘He stood against the Young King!’
‘And was murdered before his altar!’ Henry roared. ‘Within the sanctuary of his cathedral!’ He slammed his fist on the table then stood, heaved up the platter of venison, and hurled it to the floor. ‘You have made a holy martyr of him!’ He swept his arm across the tabletop, scattering trenchers, meat, goblets and full flagons of wine. Tracy squeaked in protest, then fell silent at his king’s glance.
Henry leaned both fists on the table and bowed his head, then pulled himself up to his full height, and turned to glare at his knights.
‘I gave Mandeville and Humez a simple task. Arrest Becket and bring him to me. I would have dealt with him. Instead you interfered. I have lost my battle with the Church over the Constitution of Clarendon and will not now be able to hold the English clergy accountable. I was even under threat of excommunication and eternal damnation! Four more troublesome knights I have never had!’ He slammed his fist on the tabletop once more. ‘I would have you all executed did I not think that would ensure my excommunication!’
‘Excommunication? My Liege, that would be unconscionable,’ Morville ventured.
‘Apparently not. The four of you were excommunicated on Holy Thursday.’
Silence.
‘But that was three months ago. We have been damned for three months?’ Tracy whined.
Henry laughed. ‘Three months is nothing, William. Your soul is damned for all time!’
Tracy refilled his goblet and downed the wine in one. Morville, FitzUrse and Brett followed suit.
‘What did you expect?’ Henry shouted. ‘You had all pledged fealty to Becket, then you murdered him. In his cathedral! Did you not expect the Pope to react?’
‘Just as he pledged fealty to King Louis of France, then took his wife Eleanor and half of his lands,’ FitzUrse whispered to Morville.
‘What was that, Reginald?’ Henry asked.
‘Naught, My Liege,’ FitzUrse simpered. ‘I am gladdened our excommunication did not extend to you.’
‘Well it might have.’ Henry frowned. ‘Well it might have.’
The men paused, each taking another drink and contemplating: What to say next?
The King broke the silence. ‘I suggest you each commit yourselves to earn back Rome’s favour.’
‘How do we do that?’ Tracy asked. Henry frowned. ‘My Liege,’ he added.
‘I would not know, although I suggest building and improving churches would make a noble beginning. Rome responds to the chink of coin,’ Henry said, sitting down. ‘The louder the better.’
Tracy nodded and emptied his goblet once more. He appeared close to tears.
‘There is also talk of the four of you serving the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon in the Holy Land for a period exceeding ten years.’
‘The Knights Templar, My Liege?’ FitzUrse and Morville protested together.
‘Fear not. It is unlikely to come to that. But the whole of Christendom wishes to see you punished. They need to believe you are contrite. Although if you do not build enough churches—’ Percy and Courcy grunted and suppressed laughter ‘—you may have to serve if you wish to save your souls,’ Henry warned.
‘You need to tell Pope Alexander what he wants to hear and keep the Saxons quiet,’ Hamlin Plantagenet added. ‘Do not embarrass our king any further.’
The knights nodded, chastened.
‘You must present yourself to Pope Alexander at your earliest convenience. Do what you can to repair your reputation – and mine – before then,’ Henry ordered.
‘Yes, Sire,’ the knights said.
‘We shall take our leave,’ Henry said, rising once more, and the knights escorted him and his party to the bailey and their horses.
‘There will be a joust of peace at Riche Mont Castle in a sennight,’ Henry said, mounting. ‘Do not attend. Do your penance before you show your faces again.’ He dug his spurs into his mount’s flanks.
Morville held his breath, but his men were paying attention and the gates to Cnaresburg Castle opened as King Henry reached them.
Chapter 31
25th July 2015
Helen took a deep breath and opened the door to Spellbound.
‘Oh hello,’ Donna said from behind the counter. ‘How are you?’
‘Hi, I’m fine, thanks,’ Helen said, then hesitated. ‘Well, not really, to be honest.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You remember that spirit board I bought from you?’
‘You’d better come through,’ Donna said, and pulled back the curtain from the alcove behind the counter where she did her tarot readings. ‘Take a seat,’ she said, and took the far chair for herself. ‘Tell me.’
‘You know feva is coming up?’
Donna nodded.
‘I’m with the Castle Players and we’re putting on a play about Morville and the other knights who murdered Thomas Becket then hid out at the castle here.’
‘I see,’ Donna said, drawing the words out.
‘The guys were having trouble connecting with their characters and I thought the spirit board would be a fun and different way to embrace them.’
‘I told you when you came in, the Ouija is not “fun” – it’s serious and you need to treat it with respect.’
‘I know, I know, and I did – I followed all your instructions.’
‘And the others, did they take it as seriously?’
Helen said nothing.
‘Let me get this straight – are you telling me you used the spirit board to contact a medieval king, four of his knights and the priest they murdered, as – what – a theatre game?’
‘Exercise rather than game,’ Helen said. ‘And it worked, the improvement is amazing! I thought at first that they’d let go, relaxed and embraced the characters, but now . . . now I think it’s something more.’
‘Why?’
Helen took a deep breath. ‘Everyone’s . . . changed.’
‘Changed – how?’
‘Well, Dan and Sarah have split after ten years and two kids – and it’s nasty. He’s become aggressive and belligerent, which he never was before, and Sarah . . . Well, Sarah’s lost her mind. She’s taken up with one of the other guys – someone she’s always been friendly with. I reckon he’s fancied her for years, but she never felt the same.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Is there any correlation between that and their characters?’ Donna asked.
Helen thought for a minute. ‘I guess so. It’s hard to know for sure, the historical record’s sketchy at best, but Sarah plays Richard le Brett, who served William de Tracy, who Mike plays. They were the meekest of the four knights, so it stands to reason they were close.’
‘And the husband?’
‘Dan plays Reginald FitzUrse – a brash, vulgar bully. Which is what he’s turned into.’
Donna nodded but remained silent awhile before asking, ‘And what of the others?’
‘Well, Paul and Charlie – they play King Henry and Becket – they’re acting oddly too. They were always good friends with plenty of banter, but lately it’s more – they’re so competitive it’s unreal, and Paul’s getting to be a right pain, throwing his weight around and taking everything over.’
‘Just like a medieval king,’ Donna said.
‘Exactly. Alec and Ed – to be honest, I’m not sure, with the drama of the others, I’ve not really noticed.’
‘So what in particular prompted you to come and see me?’ Donna asked.
‘Last night there was an argument over money – Charlie’s the treasurer – and Paul practically accused him of stealing. It echoed an argument between Henry and Becket and it was just one coincidence too many. I think they’re possessed.’
‘Possessed is a strong word and unlikely, but it is possible that spirits have attached themselves to your friends.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They’re here, feeding off the energy of their “hosts” and influencing their behaviour.’
‘But how can that be? Henry was a Norman king, he didn’t speak English, and the English language that Becket knew bears little resemblance to the one we speak today. How can they be influencing the speech and actions of men they can’t communicate with?’
Knight of Betrayal: A Medieval Haunting (Ghosts of Knaresborough Book 1) Page 11