Wildewood Revenge

by B. A. Morton

  The fat man had coveted his rations greedily while others had little, and forced foot weary women and children off the road with the ill-mannered riding of his equally fat pony. Naturally the man baulked and threatened all manner of retribution against the travellers for not coming to his aid and at the Scotsman for interfering with his mission, but the travellers merely bowed their heads, stifled their smiles and continued their journey. Angus closed his ears to the man’s whining and took a stick to the idle pony. The Scotsman kept him riding throughout the night and it was a weary pair, both Mayflower and his pony who found themselves back at Wildewood.

  Miles, by comparison, was well rested and in good spirits. Wildewood was suddenly alive with activity and industry. He’d sent John away with some of the men to begin the restoration of the dilapidated ancillary buildings. Under John’s instruction the unstable and fallen stone was cleared away and stacked for reuse. The Forester’s were sent into the wood under the protection of the Scots clansmen, to fell the timber required for the repair of the roof and the construction of new timber framed dwellings. Under Edmund’s watchful eye all of the children were set to work fetching and carrying whatever they could to assist.

  Grace sat with John, protected from the biting wind against the shelter of the stable wall, and together they poured over the plans Grace had sketched. John had never seen the like of the buildings Grace had drawn, but she assured him with his skill they were possible. John had an eye for detail and as a master mason he also possessed mathematical abilities far beyond Grace’s, despite her university education. He poured over the measurements and quickly calculated the amount of additional stone required to complete the first phase of Miles’ plans.

  “Where shall we get what we need?” asked Grace.

  “The nearest quarry is on Gerard’s land,” replied John. “It may therefore prove problematic.”

  “Miles will think of something.”

  John smiled. “I have no doubt, but in the meantime there is plenty that can be done before we need worry about stone.” He took the plans from her and rolled them carefully and placed them inside his shirt for safety. “Next to my heart, my lady,” he joked.

  “Your work means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

  “My work yes, but knowing it is appreciated by people I respect means more.”

  “I know how you feel,” replied Grace a little sadly as she thought of her painting and how her best intentions had gone terribly wrong.

  * * *

  Martha and the rest of the women were setting food out in the great hall for all of the workers when Angus Baird and Mayflower arrived. The aroma of freshly plated fare was enough to cause the man to visibly salivate. So obsessed was he with the demands of his stomach that his anxiety over his immediate predicament was temporarily forgotten. His eyes darted about furtively as members of the household took their fill and returned to their labours. He eyed the rapidly decreasing feast with alarm and the Scotsman observed his growing discomfort with relish as they awaited Miles.

  After what seemed an age to Mayflower but in reality was only moments, Miles appeared and greeted the Scotsman warmly.

  “Did you have any trouble?” he asked as he watched the bishop’s man drool over what remained on the table.

  “Nae, no one in his party was inclined tae offer any resistance.”

  I wonder why? thought Miles.

  “Please eat and rest awhile before you return to your men. I am grateful to you. I am in your debt.”

  The man shrugged. “The food from yer table is payment enough.” He proceeded to fill a platter which he took with him as he left the hall.

  They were alone then, Miles and Mayflower, and Miles let the silence between them grow as he studied the man who ogled the remains of the food. He was indeed a fool thought Miles; he thought more of his belly than any danger he may be in.

  “We have some matters to discuss, Master Mayflower.”

  The man dragged his eyes reluctantly from the food and Miles was sure he heard the giant belly howl its protest.

  “Indeed,” said Mayflower indignantly. “My abduction, for one. You seem a mite partial to kidnapping if I may be so bold.”

  Miles shook his head. The man truly was a fool if he thought he could redeem himself with that attitude. He relaxed back in his seat.

  “Forgive my manners, Mayflower you must be hungry after such a journey, please eat your fill. We will discuss the ways in which we can assist each other when you are sated.”

  The relief on the man’s face was palpable and he moved with surprising speed as he filled his plate with enough to feed an entire family. Miles chose not to watch as he ate. The act of guzzling and slurping was enough to make the strongest stomach churn. He studied the remains of the tapestries on the walls instead and considered idly whether they could be repaired or replaced. The room lacked the warmth that had abounded in his mother’s day. He wondered how far Grace’s skills extended. To date she had surprised him with her many talents. He would speak with her later when she’d finished with John and he was finished with the porcine fellow seated before him.

  “You are in an unfortunate predicament, Mayflower,” Miles said at last when the man had eaten his fill.

  “On the one hand if you align yourself with Gerard in this little witch hunt pretence, you may save your skin now, but lose your soul in the hereafter, for causing the death of an innocent; and Mayflower, you do know she is innocent. When your subterfuge is made public, and be assured that it will, you will be cast aside by your bishop who will see this charade for exactly what it is, and may well end up hung for your troubles. On the other hand you may consider you have no option, for fear of Gerard’s wrath, if you do not carry out his wishes. Gerard does not care what you may suffer as a consequence of your lies. He cares only for his own position.”

  Mayflower squirmed with discomfort. “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “I intend to offer you a solution to your problem, an alternative course of action that will see you exalted by your bishop and rewarded by your king.”

  “And what might that entail?” asked Mayflower, eager now to wriggle out of Gerard’s clutches.

  “Firstly, I need you to bear witness to the fact that Grace is no witch. To confirm that in your presence she behaved exactly as you would expect a young lady to behave, and at no time did you hold suspicions she could in fact be in possession of the dark arts. That, all talk of witchcraft was instigated by Sir Gerard as a way to get to me.”

  Mayflower regarded him gravely. “Do you consider she behaves as a young lady should?”

  The man had a point. “I do. Perhaps, Master Mayflower you are not quite as informed on the behaviour of young ladies as you would like to think.”

  “That is all well and good, but if I denounce Sir Gerard and his accusations, how then do I protect myself from his inevitable retaliation? Having already experienced a tour of the dungeons at Ahlborett, I have no wish to end my days languishing in a subterranean cell.”

  “Gerard has made an unfortunate error in retaining for himself a large amount of Crusader spoils which by rights were destined for the king’s coffers. I know of its location and need a witness to collaborate this.”

  “And what’s in it for me?”

  Even now the fat toad of a man was attempting to line his own pockets. A greedy man was easily turned.

  “The king will no doubt reward the finder and restorer of such wealth. It is entirely up to you whether you decide to carry out your righteous act on behalf of your bishop and add your reward to the church’s coffers, or keep the loot for yourself. Either way you will be made for life. The king’s gratitude, and a sizeable reward, or the king’s gratitude and your career enhanced by a beholding bishop.”

  Miles watched as Mayflower assimilated the options and considered his response.

  “And what’s in it for you? Why do you not just take the loot for yourself and say naught?”

  “I have a score to se
ttle with Gerard, and it is best served this way. The king, when he learns of Gerard’s deceit, will deal with him appropriately and you will be protected from any retribution.”

  “And no doubt you will be very much in the young lady’s favour for saving her from the stake. She will be very much in your debt, will she not?” Mayflower gave a sly smirk and Miles shrugged.

  “It doesn’t hurt to keep on a woman’s good side.”

  “Where is the treasure?” asked Mayflower.

  “The location of the treasure will be revealed in the fullness of time. What I need from you now is an answer. Will you help us and redeem yourself or do you choose to remain aligned to Gerard?”

  Mayflower considered in silence, and Miles watched the indecision reflected on his face. The man clearly held no affection for Gerard, and judging by his reaction at being outsmarted by Grace, he did not hold Miles in high esteem either. The difference between the two of course, was one offered fear, pain and possible death and the other riches and the notoriety he so craved. There really was no decision to make. Miles smiled lazily and waited.

  “Are you certain, Sir Gerard will not exact his revenge?”

  Miles could not be certain of anything at this stage, but he needed this man. “I give you my word I will protect you.”

  “Then, Sir Miles of Wildewood, you have my word that I will assist you in your plan.”

  Miles rose and took the man’s hand, it was greasy with food and Miles stifled his initial response to draw back his own. He shook Mayflower’s hand firmly.

  “We have an accord then, Master Mayflower and may God look favourably on our endeavours.”

  “Amen to that,” replied Mayflower. “Amen to that.”

  “The king is in residence at Alnwick Castle. He will be attending High Mass at Alnwick on Sunday; I intend to seek an audience with him after the service. I will require your testimony as soon as required, during or following that audience. You must be prepared by then.”

  “And when will I see the treasure?”

  Miles looked at him, considered the risks involved in returning once again to the crypt.

  “You do not need to see the treasure, you only need to know it is there and testify to that when questioned by the king.”

  “And what if you are mistaken and I am caught in a falsehood?”

  “I am not mistaken. I have seen it with my own eyes, along with Grace and John the Mason. We will all back up your testimony. I cannot run the risk of showing you the treasure before we meet the king. Time is short and Gerard must not know you are here and that we have formed an alliance.”

  “I must at least know where it is, the king will expect me to know of its location.”

  Mayflower was correct but it pained Miles to reveal the location, he did not entirely trust the man. “I will reveal the location in good time, Mayflower. For now, be happy in the knowledge that you are safe from Sir Gerard and you have only two days before you become a rich man.”

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Gerard returned to Ahlborett Castle, safe in the mistaken knowledge, that the thorn in his side, the bastard Miles of Wildewood, was safely secreted at Kirk Knowe under armed guard and could pose no threat to him while the king was in attendance at Alnwick.

  There was no earthly reason for the king to know about the treasure, he had vast wealth. He was not in need of any more, whereas Gerard had a specific reason to accumulate as much as was possible. The uneasy peace that existed between the English and the Scots for the better part of the 13th century was beginning to grow stale and there had been mutterings for some time about a resurgence of hostilities from across the border. Despite his family enjoying a history of co-operation with the Scot’s in times past, he himself suffered losses from his outlying farms and had not the resources to police the entire border. The Scot, Alex Stewart was behind it all, he was sure of that, though despite dispatching his men as soon as reports of sightings were made, he failed to catch the man.

  He would not be beaten by an outlaw. His family had kept the border land safe for generations and he expected his son, Robert, and in time his son’s son would follow on after him. If he were to nip this in the bud he needed more than adequate militia and that demanded more funds than he currently had. He could not go cap in hand to the king and admit he could not manage the defence of his own lands. It was his responsibility to ensure appropriate funding and his alliance with Guy de Marchant had done just that until the discovery of Guy’s sordid little secret.

  He’d no idea what Guy had been doing, how or why he collected so many trophies of the dead, but he would make it his immediate mission to discover the truth. He would not have his honour tarnished by Guy. He’d suspected Guy was a little touched. Hell, people thought that of him, but it bothered him naught. Everything he did had reason behind it. He simply chose not to reveal his motives to all and sundry. Guy however was different, he had a reckless streak, a penchant for cruelty and Gerard heard things about him that made even him, shudder. However, he found his obsessive hatred of Miles useful and cultivated it for his own ends.

  Miles had been an irritation to him, since childhood, but even more so while he held the title to Wildewood. Wildewood with its remote location was crucial to Gerard’s plans for defence and yet he could not contemplate what was planned, with Miles and his hapless band of followers ensconced there. Rumour had it that Miles was sympathetic to the Scots; he could not allow a sympathiser to hold a strategic position within his domain.

  He thought of the girl. Miles’ girl. Who was she? Where did she fit in to this? She claimed she was related to Hugh de Reynard and they did share some characteristics, courage and outrageous behaviour, but he did not believe her claim. Either way she was daring, and her spirit, teamed with Miles’ bloody self-righteousness, was not a match he could allow to flourish. But that was for later, after the king had gone. He may even let Guy loose on them, as long as his own hands were not bloodied, Guy could have his fun.

  The surgeon had seen to Guy’s leg and he was splinted and a little high on opium when Gerard returned to the castle. His wife had cast him a withering glance when told Guy would be staying. Gerard knew she found him offensive and did not think him a suitable guest with a young child in residence, but Gerard also knew despite this, she would not voice her opinion and it irritated him to think how spineless she was. The girl, Grace, would have let her opinions be known; he had no doubt about that. He wondered distractedly how Miles dealt with her forthright nature. He himself thought it refreshing.

  He found Guy ensconced in his chamber, fire blazing, his trusted cohorts Percy and Simon at his side. Both had been wounded by Miles and attended by the surgeon at considerable expense to himself. He found them in a delicate state having imbibed rather too much of his wine along with the opium and he was furious with all three. What a pathetic display, Miles had taken all three of them and still managed to save the girl and find the treasure. His admiration of the deeds vied with his dislike of the man and almost outweighed his contempt for these so called knights.

  “Get out,” he bellowed at the two hangers-on as he hauled them out of the door by their collars. He called to the men at arms. “Take these misfits to cool off in the barracks I will not have them in my home.”

  He turned then to Guy who gazed at him with bleary eyes.

  “What news, Gerard, have you captured our errant knight?” He grinned and raised his glass.

  “Forget Miles, I am more interested in your little hobby, Guy.”

  Guy shrugged and blinked so slowly Gerard thought he had fallen asleep. He caught him by the front of his shirt and shook him violently; Guy startled out of his stupor, snapped to attention.

  “Tell me about the armour, Guy?”

  “The armour?”

  “Yes, the armour stashed at Kirk Knowe, you ignorant toad. What have you done? And don’t lie to me, Guy, or I’ll snap your neck here and now.”

  Guy smirked. “Just a collection, Gerard. Did you ne
ver collect things?”

  “Yes, I collected bird’s eggs as a child. It was something I grew out of when I became a man. Are you not yet a man, Guy?”

  “Of course I’m a man,” grinned Guy. “And I have developed a man’s hobby. It’s good to have a hobby, Gerard, it expands the mind.”

  “I will be more than happy to expand your mind, Guy, with a sweep of my sword, unless you tell me what is afoot. The English armour, how did you acquire it?”

  “From the battle-field, Gerard, where else?”

  “And the owners, were they fallen knights or pushed knights?”

  Guy laughed, “I like that, Gerard—did they fall or were they pushed— how droll. Well I’ll tell you, Gerard, just between you and I.” He leaned forward conspiratorially and almost fell from his seat. “Some were fallen, but most just got in my way.”

  “But they were on our side, Guy, why would you take out your own men?”

  “Not my men, Gerard, the king’s men. And who are you to criticise, do you not plan to take out your own brother?”

  “My dispute with Miles does not come in to this. On what basis did you take these knights?”

  “Why, Gerard, where did you think your treasure came from? Do you think I merely asked and they happily gave what they had? Now that would have been altogether too easy. No, Gerard, I believe it was what you may call a mutual agreement. You got the treasure which you so crave while I got the pleasure of taking it and when the gallant knight was no more, I also got his armour to add to my collection.”

  Gerard stared at him in disbelief. “You murdered all of those men in cold blood and kept their armour as some kind of sick trophy?”