Knight of Betrayal: A Medieval Haunting (Ghosts of Knaresborough Book 1)

by Karen Perkins

  ‘A few months? So after feva?’ Helen said.

  ‘Yes, after feva, Helen,’ Paul said, sarcastically. ‘The show won’t be affected.’

  ‘Sorry, Paul. If there’s anything we can do to help, you only have to ask. And honestly, the show’s already been affected,’ Helen said.

  ‘We were just talking about plan Bs,’ Alec said. ‘I’m to be your understudy, Paul, you know, just in case anything else goes wrong.’

  Paul said nothing, his face unreadable.

  ‘And who’s to be my understudy?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I’m not sure, it’s between Ed and Mike,’ Helen said. ‘And I’m sorry guys – it is only plan B. So much has already gone wrong, I’m just trying to be prepared.’

  Nobody said anything until Ed broke the silence. ‘I’m happy to do it – not that I expect I’ll be needed,’ he said, looking at Charlie, who nodded.

  ‘So who’s my understudy?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Helen,’ Sarah said, not quite hiding the glee in her voice at the dismay on Dan’s face. There was a reason Helen stayed offstage.

  Silence again.

  ‘Shall we get on then?’ Paul asked. ‘Can’t sit around here gossiping all day.’

  The resultant laughter broke the tension and Helen gave him a grateful smile before briefing them.

  ‘Becket’s exile,’ she began, but Paul interrupted.

  ‘The year’s 1164 at Northampton Castle. Becket’s gone too far and thinks Henry is a tyrant. Henry is determined to bring him to heel. Becket’s conduct has crossed into treason with a lot of insults and bickering. Nothing is achieved. Becket’s been embezzling – which reminds me, Charlie, have you done those accounts yet?’

  ‘Sod off, Paul, I’ve been a bit preoccupied of late, I’ll bring them next time.’

  Paul nodded then turned back to Helen. ‘Where was I? Oh yes, embezzlement. Attack and counter-attack. Vicious war of words, Becket grovelling.’

  ‘Hardly grovelling,’ Charlie said. ‘Making sound legal argument and proposing excellent compromises.’

  Paul waved his friend’s words away. ‘Then Becket – guilty coward that he is – flees to France.’

  ‘It’s a little more complicated than that—’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Helen interrupted. ‘You know the scene, do you want to take the stage and run through it?’

  ‘See – you’re worrying about nothing,’ Sarah said, leaning toward Helen.

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  Chapter 37

  ‘No, guys, that’s not high enough,’ Helen said. ‘I want Henry overlooking the murder, saying the words that drove the knights to Canterbury. He needs to be higher, overlooking the entire scene, almost godlike. I want to draw the parallels between the two great influences over everybody in England – the Church and the Crown – and the conflict between them.’

  ‘But you said the platform just needed to be raised a bit,’ Alec protested.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like that was what she said. Just admit it, you cocked up!’ Ed said. ‘All that work for nothing.’

  ‘Don’t go putting all the blame on me,’ Alec said. ‘You were there too.’

  ‘No I wasn’t, I was off getting the swords and other stuff.’

  Helen held up a hand to forestall further protests. ‘I don’t care whose fault it is, we don’t have time for blame. Opening night is in one week – we need a higher platform. Henry needs to be above the heads of everyone else – the position he believed he held.’

  ‘But that’s a massive job,’ Alec protested. ‘Can’t we just make do?’

  ‘Make do? Are you kidding me?’ Ed shouted. ‘All the work we’ve put in and you want to make do on the final scene – the scene it’s all been building up to?’

  Alec shrank back from the venom in Ed’s voice. ‘Sorry, it’s just . . . I don’t know how we’re going to do it in time, along with everything else.’

  Before Ed could tell Alec exactly what he wanted him to do, all three were distracted by more acrimonious voices backstage.

  ‘Stay here and work it out,’ Helen said and dashed off towards the sounds of the screams and shouts, leaving Ed and Alec bickering despite the commotion.

  *

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Helen demanded, rushing to Sarah who sat on the floor in a huddle together with John and Kate. She looked to Dan for an explanation, but he stood silent, fists clenched and face red.

  ‘Mum asked Dad for a divorce,’ Kate said solemnly. ‘Dad didn’t take it very well.’

  Speechless, Helen looked from Sarah to Dan and back again. They’ve done this now? And in front of their kids? What the hell is wrong with everyone?

  Helen’s blood ran cold as the thought registered, then took control of herself. ‘Dan, go and help Ed and Alec, they have a problem with the set for the final scene and need an extra pair of hands.’

  Dan didn’t move.

  ‘Go, now Dan. I’ll sort everything out, just go and help the guys.’

  Dan finally looked at her, nodded, and left, all without saying a word.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mike rushed over to Sarah. ‘Love, what happened?’

  In answer, Sarah’s sobbing increased. Mike took her face in her hands and drew in a breath through clenched teeth. ‘He hit you again, didn’t he? The bastard! I’ll sort him out!’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort, Mike,’ Helen said. ‘Stay here and look after Sarah. John, Kate, can I have a word with you?’

  The teenagers looked to their mother – a silent question if she was okay – then followed Helen. Kate was shaking, John trembled with rage.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ Helen said, and led them out to the auditorium, choosing seats out of earshot of everybody else. The argument between Ed and Alec was still going strong on stage – she wouldn’t be overheard.

  ‘I know everything’s a mess, but don’t blame your parents,’ Helen began.

  ‘Are you serious?’ John asked. ‘Dad hit Mum – in front of us, we saw him.’

  ‘And it’s not the first time,’ Kate said. ‘Mum keeps getting bruises and lies about them.’

  Helen took a deep breath, shocked that things were far worse than she’d realised. ‘Your dad isn’t well,’ she said, then stopped at the looks of scorn from John and Kate.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain,’ she tried again. ‘But this is my fault and I’ll fix it.’

  ‘How is it your fault?’ John asked.

  ‘When we started rehearsing, I tried something a bit different to help everyone get into character.’

  ‘Oh, the spirit board,’ Kate said. ‘Yeah, Mum told me about that.’

  ‘You’re not serious? Why are you messing about with that stuff?’ John asked.

  Helen sighed. ‘I know, it was stupid, but – as with most bad ideas – it seemed like a good one at the time.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell us that Mum and Dad are what – possessed?’ John asked incredulously.

  ‘Not possessed exactly,’ Helen tried to explain. ‘But I think the spirits of their characters have . . . attached themselves to everybody.’

  ‘Attached? What does that mean?’ Kate asked.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand it properly myself, but somebody is trying to help me sort it out.’

  ‘So you’re saying that Dad is really FitzUrse, and Mum is Richard le Brett?’ John asked.

  ‘Well, in a way, yes. For the moment.’

  ‘Does that mean Mike’s gay?’

  Despite herself, Helen choked a laugh and the teenagers joined in.

  ‘I doubt it, everything is just . . . mixed up at the moment.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ Kate asked.

  ‘I want you to get out of here – can you go and stay with your grandparents for a while? Your nan’s in Harrogate isn’t she?’

  ‘Um, yeah, we’ve been staying there anyway but I’m sure she’ll let us stay longer. What are we supposed to tell her? Hi Nan, Mum and Dad think they’re m
edieval knights and we’re scared to be around them?’

  Helen laughed again, then realised it was inappropriate and stopped. ‘Maybe not that – just say your parents need some alone time.’

  John nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘But what about the costumes? I’m helping Mum with them and we haven’t finished,’ Kate said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it – I’ll help your mum finish them. I just want you both out of the way and safe.’ Helen reached over and gripped their arms. ‘Trust me. I will fix this. Then your mum and dad will be back to normal.’

  ‘Promise?’ Kate said in a small voice.

  Helen took a deep breath then nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. Shit, what have I just said? she thought.

  Chapter 38

  August 1171

  ‘Horsemen!’ The lookout on the tower of the east gate shouted, and the cry was echoed to the inner bailey where Morville was going through his paces with sword and Mauclerk. He stepped back and removed his mail hood.

  Mauclerk panted with exhaustion for a few seconds and followed suit, but his lord was already running to the tower, despite his mail tunic and recent exertions, to see for himself.

  Up in the battlements he peered into the morning sun. ‘Can you make out who it is?’ he asked his sergeant-at-arms.

  ‘Not yet, My Lord. Maybe when they approach Brig-Gate.’

  Morville pointed; children were running towards the castle, their faces and voices excited and hearty. ‘They are friends not foes. Open the gates.’ This last a shout, and minutes later the heavy gates were unbarred and swung open, the portcullis was raised, and the drawbridge dropped.

  FitzUrse was the first through, followed by Brett and an assortment of their men-at-arms and retainers, all looking weary but relieved to have arrived. Tracy followed, escorting a cart, in which Morville was surprised to see a woman holding two newborns. He guessed this must be the wife Tracy had been bleating on about when in his cups. Finally some good news – Tracy had healthy twins.

  ‘Reginald, William, Richard, welcome! It is good to see you again, my friends. How was your journey?’

  ‘Long,’ FitzUrse said. ‘The less said the better.’ He looked behind him at the gates, still open. ‘I was surprised by Cnaresburg’s welcome. It appears things have changed.’

  ‘They have. I am in favour again, at least in my own town.’

  ‘Although not to the extent of leaving the gates open,’ FitzUrse interrupted.

  ‘No harm in a little caution. How went it with you?’

  ‘Difficult,’ FitzUrse said. ‘The bastard masons tried to charge me at least triple, the carpenters more still. I refused. Tracy fared the worst, insisted on funding three churches, the fool. They’ve left him near penniless, but at least the weeping and wailing when he’s in his cups is reduced to bearable proportions, although he cares about naught but his wife and the babes now.’

  Morville laughed, put an arm round each of FitzUrse and Brett’s shoulders, and addressed Tracy as he guided them to the keep. ‘Come, your old bedchambers are ready for you. I’ll have baths prepared, then rest awhile and I’ll have Jack organise a feast for dinner. Plumton and I took a venison a sennight since. It’s well hung and will serve.’

  ‘Jack is back?’

  ‘Yes, as are they all, down to the serving girls. Sheepish and eager to please, just how I like them.’

  The men guffawed and climbed the narrow stone stairs to their respective bedchambers, Tracy solicitously aiding his wife.

  *

  ‘Ah, I am ready for this,’ FitzUrse said, striding to the lord’s table. ‘Those bastards at Teston virtually besieged me in the manor house, it has been some time since I sat at table like this.’

  ‘You should have paid them what they wanted, Reginald,’ Tracy said. ‘Ease tempers rather than inflame them.’

  ‘Ah, but then I would not have been able to make a loan to you, William.’

  Tracy coloured and glanced at Pomperi, who diplomatically turned to Helwise with a compliment about the stones-and-roses decoration on the walls of the great hall.

  ‘It is but small and temporary,’ Tracy said.

  Morville interrupted before tensions rose higher between the two knights. ‘And what of you, Richard, how did you fare?’

  The young man shook his head and grabbed his goblet to drink.

  ‘Sir Simon barred the gate to him,’ FitzUrse answered in Brett’s stead. ‘Refused to acknowledge him. The boy lived as an outlaw in Sampford Brett, despite the place carrying his name. Sir Simon only admitted him once the first stones of the new church had been laid.’

  Lost for words, Morville drained his own goblet and called for more of the fine Rhenish wine.

  FitzUrse grabbed the serving girl as soon as she deposited full flagons on the table, and pulled her on to his lap. ‘This is better, Hugh, too much hard muscle on a man-at-arms to be serving table.’

  Morville’s men, seated below the knights in the body of the great hall, roared with laughter, every one of them relieved to be sitting to dine rather than cooking and serving.

  ‘Beyond Teston,’ Morville said with a glance of frustration at FitzUrse, ‘our favour appears to be growing once more.’

  Tracy and Brett nodded. FitzUrse ignored the jibe and wrenched a huge mouthful of venison from the joint before him.

  ‘Yes, England is becoming friendly again,’ Tracy said with a fond look at his wife. A smile flitted across Pomperi’s face and Morville wondered at the strain apparent on her countenance. He glanced at his own wife and for the first time recognised the marks of a similar strain on her features.

  ‘And not before time,’ FitzUrse said, the words fighting their way out around the half-chewed meat in his mouth.

  Morville forgot his inspection of the women and reconnected with his train of thought. ‘I think it’s time to call on that favour and grow it further,’ he said.

  ‘What do you have in mind, Hugh?’ Tracy asked.

  A slow smile spread on Morville’s face and he paused before answering, judging his timing well. ‘A tournament,’ he said. ‘Tourney for the nobles and a fair for everyone else.’

  ‘God’s wounds, Hugh, a tourney! Just what I need. But a real one, a proper joust of war and a mêlée. If we do this we do it well.’

  Morville grinned. ‘Just as I was thinking, Reginald. A real spectacle, something for all to enjoy.’

  Brett clapped his hands together with a grin.

  ‘Is that wise?’ Tracy asked. ‘We have risen in favour due to repentance, would not holding a tournament risk losing it again, especially from the Church?’

  ‘Nonsense, William. Why, even the parish priest attended at Harewood. The Church’s position on tournaments is posturing, naught else.’

  ‘Maybe so, but remember what else happened at Harewood,’ Tracy persisted.

  ‘How could I forget?’ FitzUrse said, and pointed a half-gnawed bone at Tracy. ‘One tourney unmade us, another will remake us. Nothing gladdens a noble’s heart more surely than a tournament done correctly, with proper ransoms and every opportunity to shine. Now, to business. Where would be the best place to host the mêlée, Hugh?’

  As the men plotted, Helwise and Pomperi held each other’s eyes for a moment, the despair in each clear enough to require no accompanying words.

  Chapter 39

  September 1171

  ‘Fortune has smiled on us,’ Brett said. ‘It is a good sign the sun has joined us.’

  ‘Yes, and soon so will the nobility of England,’ Tracy said.

  ‘You have decided this tournament is a good thing then, have you, William?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tracy couldn’t quite meet FitzUrse’s eyes. ‘It looks as if the townsfolk are enjoying the fair already.’

  The others squinted into the morning sun. The field ahead was filled with striped tents of every colour. Blue and yellow, red and green, orange and white. Morville counted the peaks of the apexed canvas ‘roofs’. ‘Over a score. Good, and plenty of
people too.’

  ‘Any knights?’ Tracy asked.

  ‘Not that I can see, but they will still be on the road, I don’t expect the nobles to arrive until afternoon.’

  The knights entered the fair grounds and dismounted, leaving Mauclerk to see to the securing and well-being of their palfreys.

  The noise and activity of the fair gave them a moment’s pause; each recalling the occasions they had been shunned, by commoner and noble alike. The sight of so many people gathered together at their behest was welcome indeed.

  The local tradesmen had erected tents – butcher, baker, candlestick maker amongst them – and minstrels and stilt walkers added to the chaotic atmosphere, each desperate to bring custom to their benefactor’s tent of wares or goods. The more their benefactors sold this day, the more they would themselves earn.

  The knights walked past a small enclosure where a group of children were pitting their cocks against each other – the youngsters almost as raucous as the birds.

  ‘A quarter-penny on that one.’ Morville indicated a bedraggled-looking bird missing a sizeable quantity of feathers.

  ‘Hugh, are you crazed? It’s barely standing,’ FitzUrse exclaimed.

  ‘Are you taking my wager?’ Morville asked.

  ‘Assuredly. Let me see.’ FitzUrse scanned the birds, ignoring the expectant faces of their young owners. ‘That’s the one.’ He pointed to the largest, preening its feathers.

  Morville accepted the wager and both men gave quarter-pennies to Tracy to hold.

  As the children chased down their cocks to place them in the fighting circle, Morville remarked, ‘It looks like this is the first fight for yours, Reginald.’

  ‘Yours looks like it’s lost every fight it’s engaged in.’

  ‘To me, he looks like he’s come out of a good scrap still standing.’

  ‘We shall see,’ FitzUrse stated. ‘I stand by my choice.’

  ‘And I mine,’ Morville said.

  Both cocks were released and FitzUrse’s brute charged Morville’s scraggy favourite. It uttered a loud squawk, jumped in the air, clipped wings flapping, and met Brute’s challenge with extended talons. Another squawk and beating of feathers made it clear Scraggled’s tactics were effective. FitzUrse said nothing but looked a little worried. Scraggled did not back off but continued his offensive, jutting his sharp beak into the side of his opponent, yanking out feathers with every peck.