by Keith Moray
Richard laughed and remounted. ‘Politics belong to no man, Hubert. Power is what it is all about, and I do believe that power and the pursuit of it is a great corrupting influence.’ He shook his head. ‘No, for me the most important thing is the law. That is what I believe in and that is what I make my guiding principle.’
Hubert bit his lip pensively for a moment then grinned. ‘And so it is mine too, my lord. So shall we now go to Sandal Castle?’
‘Aye, Hubert. We have been charged by the King to bring proper law back to the area. And we must begin by meeting the Deputy Steward of the Manor of Wakefield, who now holds the castle.’
‘And mayhap we will get a bite at this castle, my lord?’ Hubert asked hopefully.
They made their way past the Sandal Magna village church of St Helens and started on the climb up towards the natural sandstone ridge upon which Sandal Castle stood, a natural stronghold with clear views over the surrounding countryside. By anyone’s standards it was an impressive sight. Its ashlar stones glistened in the late afternoon light. A great keep with four circular towers crested an impressive motte, and a battlemented twenty-foot high curtainwall with turrets at regular lengths along it surrounded a large bailey. The wall crossed the large moat on either side, ascended the slopes of the motte to abut upon the keep. Protruding above the walls, within the curtainwall could be seen the roofs of spectacular halls and dwellings on the bailey and a great central barbican with nearby drum towers connecting to the keep.
As the road wound up to the top of the ridge they approached the outer defensive earthwork behind which was the large moat. Armed men were visible, looking down at them from the battlements.
‘It looks to have had recent fortification, my lord,’ said Hubert.
Richard pointed to a blackened, scorched area on the outer casement of one of the towers. ‘I suspect that area marks where Lancaster must have besieged it. And of course, in the five years that it was in his hands he strengthened it considerably.’
They rode along the side of the embankment and stopped in front of the gatehouse. The drawbridge was already down, bridging the moat, but naturally the portcullis on the castle side was down and locked in place.
‘State your business!’ challenged a gruff voice from behind the portcullis on the far side of the drawbridge.
‘I am Sir Richard Lee and this is my assistant, Hubert of Loxley. I am the Circuit Judge of the King’s Northern Realm and I am here to see Sir Thomas Deyville on His Majesty’s business.’
There was silence for a moment, then the mumble of voices and the sound of a messenger’s retreating feet. Then, ‘You are expected, Sir Richard. Prepare to enter.’
The sound of cranking wheels was followed by a slow creaking as the portcullis began to rise and disappear behind the gatehouse wall, atop which could be seen defensive machicolations for pouring boiling oil and hurling missiles. When it had risen fully, a porter and a man-at-arms with a pikestaff appeared from within. The porter made a clumsy bow and waved them in.
Once inside the castle, the porter signalled to someone in the gatehouse and the portcullis began to descend.
An ostler appeared at a run and relieved them of their mounts, which he then led across the bailey courtyard to the stables block.
Richard looked around and found himself nodding agreeably at the structure of the castle. The keep was huge, rising four storeys from the base of the motte, which was already a considerable height above the level of the bailey. In itself it looked to be a good defensive structure, capable of defence should invaders manage to get past the outer moat and the great six- to ten-foot thick wall. Yet clearly, the barbican, semi-circular in cross section, had been added to further defend the keep. It was protected by a ditch and inner moat of its own, so that it formed a stepping-stone between the bailey courtyard and the keep. Any attackers would then have to cross an internal drawbridge to reach the barbican, then pass through its gate with a portcullis and then fight their way along a right-angled passageway before coming to another gate and portcullis. From there, they would have to traverse yet another drawbridge over the internal moat around the barbican to gain access to the large drum towers that protected an internal stairway leading up the motte to the keep.
‘The architects of this castle were taking no chances of the keep being taken, were they, my lord?’ Hubert asked, mirroring Richard’s own thoughts.
‘And it is a castle with a goodly population,’ returned Richard, pointing to the great semi-circular bailey courtyard, which seemed to be thrumming with people, animals, chickens and activity. ‘It is a fair-sized hamlet in its own right.’
At the far end of the courtyard, some men in aprons and smocks were hefting sacks into what seemed to be a bake-house, while next door smoke rose from the chimney of what was clearly a kitchen block. Dominating the courtyard though was a great hall, a manor house in itself with three storeys and a parapetted roof, with smaller, but no less grand apartments sweeping the curve of the bailey on its left. Hither and thither men and women criss-crossed the courtyard attending to the various tasks of running the castle, while above them on the battlemented walls half-a-dozen men-at-arms kept up a watch, on both the castle interior and the countryside without.
The porter had been standing respectfully in attendance and he now coughed. ‘My master, Sir Thomas Deyville, is come, Sir Richard.’
From a building to their left, a door opened and a small, stocky man in a knee-length purple robe and wearing a beaver hat came down the steps and stood facing Richard and Hubert. He was of middle years with a pepper and salt beard and shrewd eyes which shifted from one to the other, as if appraising them as friends or foes.
‘Welcome to Sandal Castle, Sir Richard,’ he said gruffly, with the slightest of bows. ‘I had expected you earlier.’
His slightly hostile tone did not go unmissed by Richard. From what he had heard about the Deputy Steward of the Manor of Wakefield, he had in fact expected no less. Indeed, it was because of his apparent harshness that King Edward had sent Richard to Wakefield. Richard smiled genially and returned the bow. A pace behind, Hubert followed suit.
‘I am much impressed with the castle,’ Richard said. ‘We had intended on arriving earlier, but we came through Wakefield and we became embroiled in an investigation. A criminal matter.’
Sir Thomas Deyville’s eyes narrowed. ‘A criminal matter? Is this something that should have been reported to me?’ He nodded at the porter, who immediately turned on his heel and returned to the gatehouse. ‘You had best come into my house, Sir Richard. We can talk there.’ He pointed a stubby finger at Hubert. ‘Your man can go over to the kitchens and have refreshment there. We shall dine later, since I have arranged a meal in your honour.’ And turning, he mounted the steps and held the door open for Richard.
They entered an airy room that was plainly furnished with a couple of stout wooden stools, a table covered with scrolls, a map and several earthenware mugs. Sir Thomas rang a hand-bell, and few moments later the door opened and a middle-aged woman in a shapeless grey gown and wimple limped in slowly, followed by a grimy boy bearing a flask and a fresh mug.
‘This is my wife, Lady Alecia,’ Sir Thomas announced.
Richard bowed and took the lady’s hand, noticing immediately the nodules of arthritis that explained her lameness. Yet, as he gazed at her face, he noted that she was still a handsome woman and must have been striking in her youth. He smiled. ‘I was saying to your husband that it is a fine castle.’
Lady Alecia gave a wan smile. ‘Thank you, Sir Richard. It is our hope that His Majesty King Edward will allow my husband the permanent stewardship. I feel that my daughter and I could settle here very well.’ She unconsciously rubbed a marble-sized nodule on her wrist and winced with pain. ‘I would hope that it would be good for my health.’
Sir Thomas snorted. ‘Aye, well, there will be time for talking later, my love. Sir Richard will meet our daughter Lady Wilhelmina later at supper, when they all come.’ H
e snapped his fingers at the boy and pointed at an empty mug on the table. ‘You will have some ale with me, Sir Richard?’
Richard raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘When they come? I hope that you have not gone to trouble for me?’
‘I said that I had arranged a meal in your honour. I have sent for some of the local people to come to meet my adviser,’ Sir Thomas said glibly. He took a swig of his ale and added dismissively, ‘It will be a small supper. Nothing elaborate.’
Richard nodded, secretly amused at Sir Thomas’s description of him as his ‘adviser’.
‘Now we have important matters to discuss, my dear. Where have you arranged for Sir Richard to stay?’
‘In the north tower of the keep, my husband. He will have a fine view towards the town and all comforts are close at hand.’ She curtsied to Richard and took her leave, preceded by the serving boy.
Sir Thomas drained half his mug straight away, wiped beer from his beard with the back of his hand then stood swirling the ale in his mug. ‘I am a plain-spoken man, Sir Richard, and I will not beat about the bush. I do not see why His Majesty has sent you here to advise me. I am perfectly capable of running this —’
Richard laid his mug down on the table untouched. He held up his hand. ‘You had better read the King’s orders again, Sir Thomas. I am not here as an adviser. I am instructed as Circuit Judge of the King’s Northern Realm to oversee the courts. Until I or His Majesty deem it otherwise, I shall preside over the courts and you may watch and learn.’
Sir Thomas’s eyes seemed to smoulder for a moment and his cheeks suffused beneath his beard. ‘That is as may be,’ he said with a grunt. ‘But tell me about this criminal case you talked about. Should it have been reported to me?’
‘It already has been,’ Richard returned unemotionally. ‘A case of rape that has yet to have anything done about it. Apparently it was reported to the ward constable and then the manor clerk.’
‘Ah, it is in hand then. I will get round to it.’
Richard shook his head and hummed, all the while fixing the other with his gaze. ‘I hear that you have been getting round to a lot of things, Sir Thomas. Like two hangings, a few floggings and putting people in the stocks. I saw one such wretch in the stocks today.’
Sir Thomas’s eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘Did you now?’ he asked briskly. He drew himself up to his full height, which was a full head shorter than Richard. ‘I have dispensed law as I saw fit. The King’s law.’
Richard smiled again. ‘I am a Sergeant-at-Law, Sir Thomas, which is why His Majesty has sent me here to the Manor of Wakefield. And from the sound of it, you have actually dispensed with the law and have been dishing out punishments without proper precedent.’
‘The Manor of Wakefield has the right to punish,’ Sir Thomas said. ‘I, as the Deputy Steward, have the right to do so.’
‘I think you ought to consider that Deputy actually means temporary, as Lady Alecia just indicated, Sir Thomas! I shall be reviewing all cases that have been presented to the court since you arrived.’
Sir Thomas’s eyes glared. ‘By the —’
‘And also I shall need to see a list of all those men from the manor who have been outlawed.’
‘Contrariants, you mean! They are outlawed by the King’s order. I hope you don’t intend to try going against the King’s instructions. Or do you intend to answer to him when he comes himself?’
‘His Majesty has no intention of coming to Wakefield, my lord.’
‘Ha! Think you not!’ Sir Thomas snarled triumphantly. ‘Mayhap His Majesty has not told you everything. Perhaps he intends checking up on you, too, Sir Richard. A messenger arrived the day before yesterday from him. He goes to stay at Rothwell Castle for a couple of days and then he plans to come here, to stay at Sandal and to see the Wakefield Mysteries at the festival of Corpus Christi.’
Richard picked up his mug and sipped. This was news that he had not expected. He wondered why His Majesty had kept that to himself. ‘And what mysteries are these, Sir Thomas?’
Sir Thomas began to guffaw. ‘Oh Wakefield is the place for Mysteries, Sir Richard. We have the greatest of mysteries here. Mayhap you will learn more at supper.’
Richard was about to reply when the Deputy Steward raised his hand as if suddenly remembering a trifle. ‘But talking of mysteries, did a messenger pass you on your way to Sandal?’
‘He did. He was wearing the livery of the manor.’
‘He brought me this,’ Sir Thomas said, lifting the edge of the map that lay on the table. Underneath it lay an arrow with grey goose feathers. The arrowhead was sticky with recently congealed blood and with small slivers of strangely gelatinous tissue on it. ‘This arrow was plucked from the body of a criminal this afternoon. You may even have seen him yourself.’
Richard raised his eyes quizzically. ‘I saw no dead body in Wakefield.’
‘No, he was probably alive if you saw him. He was in the stocks near the Tolbooth. The mystery is — why would anyone shoot such a villain as that through the eye?’
4
Richard looked out of the narrow window of his chamber on the third floor of the north tower of the keep. Down below he saw the village of Sandal Magna with its parish church of St Helen’s and the road snaking its way through copses and fields towards Wakefield. There seemed to be a stream of travellers upon the highway.
‘Late to be on the road to London,’ he mused to himself. ‘Or are they coming to the castle?’
And so thinking he crossed the chamber and pulled back the oiled goatskin shutter and looked out of the other window which faced due north. From it, he saw the rest of the road and a clearer view of the travellers coming along the road, either walking, or riding upon horses or donkeys.
‘Why, unless I am mistaken there comes Master Oldthorpe the apothecary and his good wife,’ he said out loud.
There came a rap upon the door and he called out to enter. The stout oak door opened and Hubert entered. He stood on the threshold for a moment and admired the spacious chamber with its tapestries, a comfortable made-up bed, a chest, a cabinet and a table with a pitcher of water, a bowl and a flask of spiced wine. The floor was made of flat stone tiles, and behind a curtained recess was a personal garderobe. A fire crackled in the hearth.
‘This castle has a fine kitchen and an even finer cook, my lord,’ he volunteered, as he advanced into the room, caressing his stomach. ‘I have just eaten the best pigeon pie I have ever had in my life and washed it down with a great big —’
‘Enough, good Hubert,’ interrupted Richard, as he unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table. ‘Unless you have forgotten, I have not eaten for hours and my stomach rumbles and I think it believes that my throat has been cut. I feel slightly sick as a result.’ He sighed. ‘And I have to await the meal this evening.’
‘Are you sure that the sickness is not to do with your festering wound, my lord?’ Hubert asked concernedly.
Richard gingerly rubbed his calf, and then shook his head with a look of surprise. Both of them were well aware that such festering wounds could easily prove fatal in a short time. ‘No, it has felt surprisingly good since the apothecary applied that leather poultice of his. It is possible that the potion that he gave me may have something to do with this nausea, but it is more likely to do with a sickening sight that Sir Thomas Deyville showed me.’ He told Hubert about the arrow that he had seen.
Hubert winced. ‘Shot through the eye! I have seen men die from face wounds on the battlefield, but who would shoot some poor helpless sod who was locked in the stocks?’
‘Sir Thomas has no idea. It is something that we shall investigate tomorrow before I open the court. The body has been locked in the Tolbooth and we shall view it in the morning.’ He snapped his fingers then pointed out of the window. ‘Do you recognize that couple upon the road?’
Hubert peered down. ‘Why, my lord, it is the apothecary and his lady.’
‘That is what I thought. I think that they and thos
e other travellers must be coming to a special meal that Sir Thomas has laid on. He said that he wanted me — his adviser — to meet with some of his locals. It looks as if half of the burghers and guilds folk of Wakefield are on their way.’
Hubert looked aghast. ‘Did you say that he called you his adviser, my lord?’ His hand went to the handle of his sword. ‘The insolent dog!’ he exclaimed indignantly. ‘Shall I educate him, my lord?’
Richard grinned. ‘I advised him otherwise myself. But he was neither amused nor put out, for he had another card up his sleeve. He had news that I was unaware of. Apparently the King is planning to come to Wakefield in three days.’
Hubert raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘But why would His Majesty be coming without your knowledge, my lord, especially when he gave you this commission himself?’
‘I do not understand it myself, Hubert. Sir Thomas was cagey about the whole thing. He said that Wakefield had the greatest of mysteries and that I would find out at supper. He would tell me no more, I think, because he was peeved that I had exposed the fact that he could not read — a handicap for someone who hopes to become the actual Steward of the Manor.’
Hubert held his hand to the window to see if there was a breeze. ‘I am glad that you have been given this chamber, my lord. Had you been given one in the south tower, you would have been prey to the winds from the south and the south-west. The cook and some of the others told me how those winds buffet the castle at times and get into your bones.’
‘Where have they accommodated you?’
‘I have been given a bed in the guard-room upstairs in the barbican, my lord. It is adequate for my needs.’
‘And so what have you learned about the Deputy Steward from your conversation over your dinner?’
Hubert laughed. ‘I was waiting for you to ask, my lord. Well, for one thing he has not been a popular replacement. He is gruff and curt to all, including his wife. Only his daughter, the Lady Wilhelmina escapes his ire, for he dotes on her. Apparently she is of unimaginable beauty and few can understand how Sir Thomas could have produced one so comely. I look forward to seeing if they are right.’ He sighed, for thoughts of the fair sex were seldom far from Hubert’s mind. ‘He drinks heavily, though he is never drunk, and he is a stickler for orders. Apparently he has had handbells put all over the castle and trained the castle staff like dogs. They all know their own bell and must come running when he rings.’