To Sleep No More

by Deryn Lake

  He dominated her doorway being too tall and too broad to pass through easily.

  ‘Now ...’ she said, but never managed to speak another word. As if her invitation to enter had been the sign he was looking for, the soldier gathered her into his arms with a kiss so ardent that Nichola felt swamped — not one of her lovers, nor even her young husband, had ever aroused such an instant response in her.

  She knew that she should push him away, tell him that he was making a terrible mistake, pretend that she was a woman of virtue, but her body was growing limp and she wanted nothing more than to let this strange young man share her bed.

  Eventually he loosened his grip and said, ‘You are so beautiful that I feel you must be expensive. I am not sure that I will be able to afford you.’

  This was the moment when she should have turned him out of doors but instead Nichola said, ‘Most of my clients are soldiers. I charge only what they can pay.’

  ‘Then may I stay?’

  She could not bring herself to answer no but instead let him kiss her again and go with her to her bedchamber, where she threw off her concealing cloak and teased him with her pretty figure until he could bear it no longer and entered her. Neither of them had ever experienced such passion or such fulfilment, they were at one from his first touch to the climax of love. And afterwards, before he returned to the abbey, Hamon kissed her tenderly and wondered why she smiled so secretively when he pressed his entire purse into her strong little hand.

  *

  As her brother Hamon fell contentedly into his bed in the abbey guest house, Oriel Sharndene was making her way through the palace doors and up the stairs to the great antechamber, where, in all his glory and power and arrayed with a ruby ring that flashed at his slightest move, the Primate of all England, the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, stood awaiting her arrival.

  Both she and Isabel de Bayndenn, who followed one step behind her, paid their respects and with his own hands Stratford raised them up after they had saluted the archiepiscopal ring.

  ‘My Lord,’ said Isabel, giving a grave and beautiful smile. ‘My husband and myself accompany Oriel as Master Sharndene is not yet returned from Battle and madam is ill with the great summer fever.’

  Behind the archbishop’s frozen face an expression — surely not of relief? — gleamed for a second before he said, ‘You are most welcome, my Lady, and you also, Adam. And Oriel, of course my dear, you are my honoured guest.’

  ‘My brother Colin will be joining us shortly,’ de Stratford went on. ‘I must warn you all that he is extremely shy and unused to company. His great love is playing the gittern at which, I must say, he surpasses all but the very finest.’

  In her mind Isabel was back in the woods beneath Bayndenn, listening to a stranger with little stubby hands pluck glorious sounds from the instrument’s rosewood heart. She remembered Colin’s innocent smile, all purity and joy, and started as she saw it again from the doorway, where the archbishop’s brother had obviously been waiting some while in silence.

  He advanced into the room, his eyes to the floor and his dark hair brushed neatly into curls.

  ‘Ah, Colin!’ said Stratford. ‘Here are our guests.’

  Slowly, and with the utmost care, the archbishop’s brother bowed and Isabel was reminded of a child aping its elders. She gave him a kindly smile but saw that the man’s light blue gaze had fastened on Oriel in fascination. And then Isabel witnessed the most touching thing. Oriel stretched out her hand and Colin took it and pressed it to his cheek. Isabel was seized with the ridiculous notion that the couple had known one another a long time.

  ‘Will you accompany me to dinner, Madam?’ said Stratford loudly, not leaving a second for her to form a more lasting impression.

  ‘Of course, my Lord.’

  Isabel went to walk beside him, shooting an affectionate glance at her husband as she did so. Much to her consternation Adam appeared to be in a daze, gazing at his feet, then shuffling miserably. And as the feast progressed he grew worse, staring first at Oriel, then Colin, and finally just at his platter. Isabel could not help but notice he ate barely nothing at all.

  It was a great relief to her, therefore, when the archbishop finally waved to the minstrels to be silent and said, ‘Colin, will you play for us? It is at the express wish of Mistress Oriel. She heard you once before and would like to do so again.’

  Into the sudden silence Colin said, ‘Was that the day I ran away from you?’ and Oriel answered, ‘Yes.’

  The words in themselves were not particularly unusual but yet everyone present knew, by the very tone used, that Colin was simple, retarded — a man for whom there was no possibility of manhood.

  All the guests remained frozen, waiting for somebody to show them what to do. Finally it was the archbishop who spoke.

  ‘Colin’s shyness is profound,’ he said, adding slowly, ‘So much so that sometimes he is inclined to withdraw from strangers.’

  It was Stratford’s obvious wish, then, that his brother’s idiocy be regarded as modesty. The two women smiled and the moment passed. Without moving a muscle Stratford said, ‘But Colin will make recompense now. Come along, brother.’

  Was that flat, unemphatic voice hiding deeper emotion or was God’s representative on earth incapable of human feeling? The question remained unanswered as Colin moved a little way away from the great table and picked up his gittern.

  As soon as he touched the instrument a change came over him. It was as if he listened to a signal, a voice, that nobody else could hear. His eyes looked up and then closed; his fingers swept the strings with a tenderness bordering on love, as though he touched a human child. And then great volumes of sound poured out as Colin played a melody fierce and sweet, full of the passion he could never hope to know.

  Nobody moved; nobody could have moved. And it was only Adam who felt something stir in his heart which he was later to identify as hatred.

  ‘He should have been strangled at birth,’ he thought. ‘Put out of his misery, and not be seated here playing to Oriel de Sharndene as if he were a suitor.’

  Without knowing at all why he did so, Adam began to shake as violently as if he still had the ague.

  And this is what he said to his wife when he felt her enquiring gaze turn upon him. ‘The fever,’ he muttered. ‘It has returned. I shall sit in the kitchens until you have done.’

  Standing up he made a bow to the archbishop — who nodded his head imperceptibly by way of acknowledgment — then Adam left the hall, only too painfully aware that neither Oriel nor Colin had even so much as noticed his going.

  Nine

  On his way back from Battle, Robert de Sharndene stopped at Lewes, spending the night there alone, imagining Nichola also alone and thinking of him. And though he had set off early for Byvelham the next day, his mare had cast a shoe on the journey and he had walked her the few remaining miles home. As he had entered Byvelham Woods he had thought — most cynically, for he did not believe in the legend at all — that the dreadful vision of St Dunstan working in his forge would come in very useful at that moment. But he had seen nothing and had made his slow progress to Sharndene pondering how gullible, superstitious and ignorant were the native people of Sussex.

  And now, as his villeins bowed before him, he caught himself despising them for being so dull and cloddish, and thanking God that he was of superior intellect.

  As if the very same God promptly punished him for the sin of pride, Alice said, ‘You are to go to Maghefeld at once, Robert. The archbishop’s secretary has been here and demanded that as soon as you return you must attend his audience.’ So there he was, just as menial as anybody else, and jumping to attention at the thought of the primate sending for him.

  ‘What is it about? Why is it so urgent?’

  ‘I don’t know. He gave no indication. All I can tell you is that it is.’

  ‘Well I must change — and have a drink! I’ve walked the last four miles. God help us, I wonder what the man wants.’ />
  Margaret shrugged her shoulders and turned away. ‘The sooner you go, the sooner you will find out.’

  It was a cool reply and Robert was startled. ‘I am aware of that,’ he said icily. ‘I shall go as soon as I am ready.’

  ‘Good,’ came the answer. ‘Promptness is of the essence, as you are constantly reminding us.’

  What was the matter with her? She had not been so crisp in the last ten years! Robert narrowed his eye and studied his wife carefully. Was it his imagination or had her appearance altered slightly? She certainly looked well; quite rosy of cheek and lip, with sparkling eyes that were very well painted. She had changed their shape somehow by the use of a darker tint.

  ‘How have you fared in my absence?’ he said, with the faintest hint of an undertone.

  ‘The time has gone in a flash. I scarce noticed you were not here.’

  For no reason that he could understand, Robert was furious. ‘I see I need hardly have bothered to return,’ he snapped, and stamped off towards their private chamber, his face flushed.

  Normally Margaret would have gone chasing after him, cajoling and pleading with him not to be angry. But now she ignored him and went on her way, hurrying outside as if she had an appointment to keep.

  ‘You wait!’ said Robert under his breath, and then thought, ‘I must be charitable at all costs. After all she has no youth and no looks to help her.’

  Yet today she had seemed vivid; not pretty — she could never be that — but arresting and colourful; the sort of woman it would be interesting to know. Robert turned to see if he could catch another glimpse of her but Margaret had disappeared from view, only the scent of an unfamiliar musky perfume hanging in the air to remind him where she had recently been.

  And on the journey to the palace Robert found himself still pondering the change in Margaret until he was ushered into the archbishop’s chamber, full of sunshine and shadows and the smell of the herb garden beneath.

  From one of these shadows a white hand motioned Robert to sit down and, looking closely, he saw that Stratford was already there, barely visible in the brightness. The bailiff bowed, suddenly terrified of the still and menacing figure regarding him with a strangely impassive face and so sharp and unblinking an eye. It was not difficult in that moment to imagine Isabella the queen and my Lord Bishop of Winchester huddled together like two black rooks as they plotted the downfall of Edward II with wicked words and hard dark faces.

  But when the primate spoke it was in gentle enough tones. ‘My dear Sharndene, how are you? How is everything at Battle?’

  Was he playing with words? Did he really speak of Nichola de Rougemont?

  ‘Very well, my Lord. And in Canterbury?’

  ‘I have not been there for several days. Matters of import have kept me here in Maghefeld.’

  There was a silence broken only by the sound of Robert shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Finally Sharndene said, ‘You sent for me, my Lord. I was told the matter was urgent.’

  Stratford tensed slightly.

  ‘Really? I apologise. My secretary tends to exaggerate and sometimes grow confused. But he is a loyal servant of long standing — he was with me in Winchester you know — and I am loath to dispense with his services.’

  This remark was unanswerable and Robert said nothing, hoping that he would be able to counter Stratford’s next ploy.

  ‘You know, of course, Sharndene, that you are the man most likely to be chosen as the next Sheriff of Sussex?’

  ‘Really, my Lord?’ The right ring of enthusiasm was not in his voice. He knew perfectly well that the archbishop was merely dancing on the edge of what he actually wanted to say.

  ‘Yes.’ Still that same flat voice. ‘Obviously there are others who will be considered but naturally in the end the king’s choice will fall on whoever has the highest connections and most proven loyalty. In short someone who can be relied on absolutely. A man such as you, Robert.’

  ‘My Lord, so great an honour for me?’ Robert bowed his head, thus hiding his puzzled expression. Could the archbishop possibly be sincere?

  ‘Why not? You are no fool. You have served me well and, of course, with the right family connections ...’

  Robert looked up again. ‘What connections would those be, my Lord?’

  Stratford sat immobile, only his black gown moving over the floor like droplets of ink.

  ‘Those of marriage, Robert. I am saying that you could strengthen your house in one stroke. My brother Colin is offering for the hand of your daughter, Oriel.’

  Robert stared aghast, his jaw dropping almost to his chest.

  ‘Why so astonished? He is but thirty years. He is not pre-contracted and he says he has fallen in love. Where’s the strangeness in that?’

  ‘But my Lord ...’

  How to say aloud that gossip spoke of Colin as an idiot, that stories of his lunacy circulated even in the valley of Byvelham? ‘Yes?’

  Robert shook his head. ‘I do not know what to answer.’

  Suddenly and visibly the archbishop lost patience. ‘I must comment, Sharndene, that I am not flattered by your reaction. I would have thought that an alliance with the brother of Canterbury would have pleased the hearts of most men in the Kingdom.’

  The ruthless opportunist in Robert rose rapidly to the surface.

  ‘My Lord, I meant no offence. It is the very honour you have paid me that has rendered me speechless. Naturally, for me to have met Master Colin would have been an advantage ...’

  ‘Yes.’ The archbishop rose up like a wraith, reaching for the wine flagon with a pale hand and poured out two golden measures. ‘You will no doubt have heard, Robert, of my brother’s excessive shyness. Much of what is said is exaggerated of course! But the truth is that he does not care for people as a whole.’

  ‘But what about Oriel?’

  ‘Your daughter seems very fond of him, and he devoted to her. In fact they are well suited. Or so I thought when Oriel dined here yesterday.’ The archbishop paused and sipped his wine, the thin lips savouring the drops with ascetic enjoyment. ‘Naturally, as my brother has this social disadvantage, the question of Oriel’s dowry would be totally waived. Now what say you?’

  Robert reeled with shock: first Juliana de Mouleshale and now the Archbishop of Canterbury himself! ‘I shall have to consider, my Lord,’ he answered cautiously.

  Without moving a muscle Stratford hardened his eyes. ‘I would have expected a more positive reaction from you, Sharndene.’

  Robert hung his head. ‘My Lord, I can go no further. My conscience tells me that I must ask Oriel if Master Colin’s timidity ...’ He cleared his throat. ‘Gives her any ...’

  He never completed the sentence for from the courtyard below, the sound of a gittern, strange and joyful, rose on the quiet air.

  ‘There,’ said Stratford abruptly. ‘That is him. See for yourself.’

  Crossing to the window Robert looked down. A harmless creature sat below, his head bent to the instrument as if it were his life’s heartbeat.

  ‘Colin!’ Stratford called. ‘Come up here at once. Master Sharndene wants to see you.’

  Startled, the young man stopped playing and Robert saw a pair of light blue eyes give him a frightened glance. And they were no less afraid when, a minute or two later, Colin stood before him, bowing awkwardly.

  The archbishop suddenly appeared savage, bellowing at the poor wretch, ‘Go on! Tell Master Sharndene of your love for his daughter. Speak up. I have made the formal offer on your behalf, now it is up to you.’

  His brother went crimson and shuffled his feet while the archbishop looked as if he would like to strike him. Hard man that he was, Robert Sharndene could not help but pity the creature.

  ‘So you wish to marry Oriel?’ he asked in gentle tones.

  ‘Yes,’ said Colin, dropping on one knee and embarrassingly kissing Robert’s hand. ‘Please permit this, Sir. I would be very kind to her all the time, I promise you.’

  Sharndene’s h
eart sank, that the young man was backward was glaringly obvious.

  ‘I will speak to her,’ he said. ‘That is all I can do.’

  ‘If I can have her,’ answered Colin, ‘I will serve her with my life — as I always have.’

  *

  As Robert de Sharndene left the palace by the main door he saw Colin come round from the kitchens in the company of a tall young man whom Robert had never noticed before. And as he mounted his horse, so, too, did the stranger help Colin into the saddle and then mount himself.

  Seeing the direction of Robert’s eyes Cogger, who had accompanied his master to the palace said, ‘That is a new member of my lord’s household; a Gascon squire here with his patron, the knight.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘To seek redress for the loss of their lands. But as the king is too busy to hear their suit they have sought help at the hands of the archbishop. It is said that the squire has been appointed Master Colin’s new keeper.’

  ‘Then he is mad?’

  ‘Oh totally, Sir,’ answered Cogger cheerfully.

  Robert shook his head, keeping his thoughts to himself, but as he and his steward headed in the direction of Sharndene he saw the Gascon turn with the archbishop’s brother towards Bayndenn.

  ‘I wonder where they are off to?’

  ‘I think they go to the river, Sir. I think Master Marcus is teaching the half-wit to hawk and to fish.’

  ‘And the knight? What does he do?’

  Cogger looked at him straight-faced. ‘Become a firm favourite with everyone he meets. He has already been invited to Glynde and I know that Madam Margaret is only awaiting your return to ask him to dine at Sharndene.’

  Robert gaped. ‘Margaret knows him?’

  ‘Oh yes indeed, Sir. They have been out riding several times and she is showing him various local landmarks.’

  Robert’s eyebrows rose. So here lay the explanation of his wife’s rediscovered vivacity and careful use of cosmetics. The poor thing was flattered by the attentions, probably all imaginary, of a landless Gascon. Nonetheless a slight pang of annoyance swept him and his bright eyes grew calculating.