by S. D. Sykes
‘Twenty-eight indeed?’ said Clemence, who had appeared at the door, like a fly before a storm.
‘Eavesdropping again, Clemence? You might be sorry what you hear.’
She waved away my comment. ‘Eloise Cooper must be thirty. At least.’
I shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. It’s a good match.’
‘Well Eloise Cooper is rich,’ said Mother, now encouraging Hector to lick her face. ‘I’ll agree with you in that respect.’ Then she gave one of her preposterous squeals. ‘And we could use the Cooper house in London when we’re visiting the king.’ Then she frowned. ‘Though we would have to appoint a new cook.’
I tried to catch Clemence’s eye, so we might share a mutual amusement in Mother’s pretensions, but she ignored my attempts at camaraderie and pressed on with her own agenda. ‘I hope you’ve told Mistress Cooper that my son Henry will inherit Versey?’
I despised being needled by my sister, so I lied. ‘Yes. She knows all about it.’
Clemence pulled a face. ‘And she wasn’t disappointed?’
‘Not at all.’
‘You do surprise me, Oswald. I expected Eloise Cooper to want Versey.’
‘Well you’re wrong,’ I said with more bravado than I felt. ‘She is fully aware of my promise to you. Now, can we drop the matter?’
Clemence inclined her head to me, but suddenly we heard a creak from the stairwell, causing Hector to leap from Mother’s arms and run towards the door. I followed the wiry-haired creature, looked down into the dark and empty spiral staircase, but saw nothing but a flurry of dust and the backside of a small dog as he descended the stone steps. I listened for a few seconds before coming away.
Mother was now eating a hunk of rye bread that she had brought up to the solar from the breakfast table. Although it had always been Mother’s rule that we only ate in the hall, she continued to flout her own decrees without the slightest whiff of hypocrisy. Her mouth was full as she spoke. ‘Was it a ghost, Oswald?’
‘No. Just the wind.’
‘No, no.’ said Mother, now waving the bread. ‘I’m sure those stairs are haunted.’
Clemence laughed. ‘Who by?’
Mother pursed her lips. ‘Sometimes an icy hand tickles the inside of my leg as I descend.’ Clemence rolled her eyes. ‘Yes it does,’ insisted Mother. ‘It quite gooses me.’
Not knowing how to respond to this, I didn’t bother.
Hector soon reappeared at the door and Mother enticed him back to her knees by dangling a crust of bread in the air. ‘Is Mistress Cooper expecting a child?’ she asked me, as the dog performed small leaps to reach the titbits.
The question came as a surprise, but I remained composed. ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘She’s not.’
I needn’t have worried about causing suspicion, for Clemence once again burst out laughing. ‘Expecting a child?This is Oswald we are discussing, Mother. Can you imagine him lying with a woman before their wedding night? I doubt he will even manage to do the deed once they’re married.’
I went to protest, but Mother spoke over me. ‘Don’t be so sure of that, Clemence. Look at Geoffrey of Anjou,’ she said, now letting the dog lick the crumbs from her fingers. ‘The boy was only thirteen years old when he married Queen Matilda. And he sired a son soon enough.’
‘But he was French, Mother,’ said Clemence.
Mother nodded. ‘True. I suppose an early start in the marriage bed distracts them from all that awful food. So much garlic.’ Then she frowned. ‘But then again, they do say that garlic stirs up the passions and hardens the wood.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Perhaps we should get hold of some for Oswald. He could eat it daily before he marries?’
I stood up. ‘Will you both be quiet! Mistress Cooper is not with child. But I’m quite sure I’ll be up to the job once we’re married.’ Mother went to speak, but I interrupted her. ‘Even without the assistance of garlic.’
‘So the sap is rising then Oswald?’ said Mother with the most vulgar and horrible grin. Wet bread was stuck between her teeth like the daub in a wall. ‘Is that what the hurry’s all about? Can’t wait to get her into bed?’ Mother winked at me. ‘Mind you, Eloise Cooper is a handsome woman. I’ll give you that.’
Clemence harrumphed. ‘If you like that type of thing.’
‘Shouldn’t you be feeding your child?’ I said, turning to my sister. ‘I’m sure his screaming will begin soon.’
She crossed her arms. ‘You’re not worried that people say Eloise Cooper is a witch?’
Hector barked at this word, as if he had been trained to respond. Mother hushed him with a last crust.
‘I’m not worried at all,’ I told Clemence. ‘For a start I don’t believe in witches.’ Hector repeated his bark, and was only silenced this time by a smack on his nose. ‘And secondly, Eloise has told me the true story that spawned such a stupid tale about witchcraft. She simply nursed her poor dying daughter.’
‘But didn’t die herself?’
‘She had suffered the cow pox as a child.’
‘And?’
‘It can protect a person against the pox.’ I coughed. ‘Everybody knows that.’
‘And so can witchcraft,’ said Mother, now holding Hector’s mouth closed, so he couldn’t bark. ‘I’ve heard that some of them douse their breasts in bull’s blood to prevent infection. Either that, or they eat the brains of a goat.’
What was the point in talking to these women? I quickly took my leave of them both, but as I descended the stone steps, Clemence caught up with me and took me by the arm. ‘Wait a moment, Oswald,’ she said.
I stopped. ‘Why? Are there some insults you’ve forgotten to throw?’
Her voice had lost its harsh and carping edge, and she spoke to me in the soft tones she sometimes used with baby Henry. ‘I’m just concerned about you, Oswald. Are you sure about marrying this woman? I don’t like her.’
‘That’s because she’s a de Caburn. And you’re judging her by the standards of her brother.’
She shook her head, refusing to be riled by my comment. ‘No. It’s more than that. The woman is . . .’
‘What?’
Her face hardened again. ‘Just beware of her. That’s all I’m saying.’
I turned away. ‘There’s no need.’
That evening I watched the swallows return to the stables where they nested each year in the wooden eaves. As they soared and swooped over the gardens, their pink underbellies caught the setting sun and their clicking calls cut through the air. And then, as I watched them catching the moths and flies of dusk, I caught sight of Eloise and her two nieces, their outlines hazy in the evening light.They were dancing in a circle, spinning around and around in a game that was both wild and unyielding, almost fierce in its speed. I would tell you I felt pleased to see Mary and Rebecca so happy, since they had seemed subdued since their return to Somershill, but there was an edge and an energy to their dancing that made me feel uncomfortable.
I wondered if I should join them, but knew I would not be welcome.
Instead I went to my chamber and rested. For the next day we were to make our final search of the estate. We hoped, at last, to find John Barrow.
Chapter Twenty-One
I awoke to the sound of a cold, penetrating scream that caused me to jump from my bed and throw Eloise from my arms.
She sat up, flustered and sweating, her chemise tangled about her body.’What’s happening?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, walking to the door and opening it to look out into the darkness of the short passage. ‘But you need to get back to the solar, before they find you here.’ Eloise had sneaked into my bedchamber the night before, and though I had vowed not to touch her again until our wedding, the feel of her skin and the sweetness of her lips had been too difficult to resist. There was, however, no point in hiding, as we were quickly discovered. Clemence burst into the room. Her hair was wild; the white linen of her gown was gaping. ‘He’s gone,’ she screamed.
‘Who?’
‘Henry.’
She didn’t even look at Eloise. Instead she ran about the room, throwing my clothes from the chair and looking under the bed. ‘Is he here? Have you got him?’ she screamed at me. Then she took me by the shoulders and shook me. ‘Where is he?’
Eloise pulled the sheets tightly about her face.
A sickening dread gripped my stomach. ‘Are you sure he’s gone, Clemence?’
‘Yes!’ she screamed at me. ‘He’s been taken from his crib.’
‘But what about Humbert? He always guards the boy.’
She snarled, as viciously as a rabid dog. ‘The fool fell asleep. And then your ward took Henry. The viper that you invited into our home.’
I shook my head. ‘No, no. It can’t be John Barrow. We’ve searched the whole estate.’
She gripped me. ‘Who was it then?’ She beat her desperate hands into my chest. ‘Who flew in and took him?The butcher bird?’
We ran through the estate. Every man and boy from the village. We had torches and dogs, and we scoured every cottage, barn and byre. We searched the church, the wells, the common pastures and the closes. We listened for the call of an infant or the cry of a deranged man. But we heard nothing, save the prayers of the women who still had their own babies alive, and had hidden their children away in case the murderer returned.
By evening we had found nothing, apart from a starving boy hiding out in a charcoal burner’s hut, deep in the forest near Versey. Featherby dragged him to me for questioning, and as his filthy body unfurled, I saw it was Geoffrey. We had not seen each other since we parted in London.
He snivelled and shook. ‘I’m so sorry, sire. I shouldn’t have left the horses.’
‘Why did you then?’
‘I wanted to pray at Saint Paul’s.’ He wiped the dripping mucus from his nose. ‘And I wanted to hear the lions roar at the tower.’ His face was drawn and pained, and I could hardly recognise him as the same boy. ‘What happened to you, Geoffrey?’
He started to cry again. ‘I fell in with some men, sire.’
‘What men?’
‘They said they would show me the city.’ I groaned at his naivety, knowing full well how this story would end. ‘They were kind to begin with,’ he said. ‘They took me to a tavern. And . . .’
‘And then what?’
‘They weren’t Christian, sire,’ he whispered. ‘I had to escape.’
I will admit to sighing. Loudly. This was trouble heaped upon trouble. ‘What were you doing in the forest Geoffrey?Why didn’t you come straight back to Somershill?’
He covered his face with dirty fingers, and then began to cry. ‘I thought you would be angry with me, sire.’
I placed my hand upon his trembling shoulder, feeling the bones beneath his ragged tunic. He looked no better than a beggar or an apprentice cutpurse. I sent him off to Versey and told him to stop at the kitchen to ask for some bread and frumenty. Before Geoffrey disappeared, however, I called him back. ‘Have you seen anybody else in the forest?’
‘Only John Barrow, sire.’
I looked to Featherby. ‘John Barrow! Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ But then I realised that Geoffrey would have no idea about the terrible events of recent days. ‘When did you see him?’ I asked.
Geoffrey resumed his trembling. ‘It was at dawn this morning, sire.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No.’ He suppressed a sob. ‘I was hiding.’
Featherby grasped the boy and shook him like a branch full of ripe apples. ‘You’d better be telling the truth, boy.’
Geoffrey broke down in tears again, which only prompted Featherby to shake the boy with yet more ferocity.
‘Let him go, Featherby,’ I said.
‘He’s not telling us everything, sire.’
‘Stop it!’
Featherby dropped the boy, but pulled a face to show exactly what he thought of my judgement.
I then led Geoffrey away from the other men and leant down to speak into his ear. ‘Was John Barrow carrying anything?’ Geoffrey looked blank. ‘An infant,’ I said. ‘Did he have a small baby with him?’
‘No, sire. There was nobody with him.’ I looked to the sky and breathed a sigh of relief, but this release was short-lived. ‘He only held a large sack. It was slung over his shoulder like a sheaf of wheat.’
‘Could this sack have contained a child?’
‘Er . . . er . . .’ Geoffrey appeared to find the question confusing. He reddened and said nothing.
‘Think!’
‘It’s possible, sire.’
I groaned in frustration. ‘Where were you, when you saw him?’
‘In the glade by the charcoal kilns.’
‘Which direction was he heading in?’
‘Towards Burrsfield.’
We had already searched this area, but after this sighting of Barrow we would look again, so I collected together a group of men and we rode there without delay.
‘Can the boy be trusted, sire?’ Featherby asked, when we had slowed our speed to a trot. He had sidled up beside me, as I was bashing through the undergrowth with a long stick. The sweet chestnut and hazel was dense in this remote part of the forest and could be hiding any number of fugitives.
‘Why would Geoffrey lie?’ I said, without extending Featherby the courtesy of turning to face him. I’d noticed some of the bluebells were trodden down in the glade to my right. Their violet heads were turning brown, and their polished leaves were flattened in a path that led towards the deepest part of this hollow.
‘Send some men to look down there,’ I said.
Featherby did as I asked, but soon he was back at my side. ‘Just seems very odd, don’t you think?’
‘What does?’
‘That Geoffrey runs off from you in London, and then he turns up in this forest. Just as we’re searching for baby Henry.’
Now I stopped my horse and turned to him. ‘Are you suggesting that Geoffrey has something to do with this crime?’
Featherby didn’t yield. Instead he drew his horse closer to mine, so that our legs touched. If it were possible to loom over a fellow rider, then this man was succeeding. ‘I just find his story suspicious.’
‘He’s a boy, Featherby.’
‘Children are capable of evil, sire.’
I looked at him and kicked my horse. ‘Let’s just proceed with the search, shall we?’Tempest shied and we carried on.
There were more than eighty men with me – every man and boy from Somershill. At Burrsfield I recruited yet more men to join our party. But we had over a thousand acres to search, and other than Geoffrey’s sighting of Barrow, there were no other clues to guide us. We split into smaller and smaller groups, working our way through the hunting forests until I found myself completely on my own. The light was fading quickly and the forest was pulling on its cloak, ready to enter into its second world – a domain that no lord, other than darkness, could rule. I had not heard the calls of my fellow trackers for some time. An owl hooted nearby, and a large bat flitted about Tempest’s head causing him to shy. My mount was also tired and irritable, but I couldn’t turn for home. Henry was out here somewhere. And I had to find him. Even if he were dead.
I dismounted and tied Tempest to a tree, deciding to find somewhere to take an hour’s rest. Settling upon a spot beneath a smooth-barked beech, I soon found the dry leaves disguised the damp mud beneath. I moved to another spot, but found the same again, and then realised that everywhere in this particular dell was likely to be wet and cold.
I moved about for a while until I found a small patch of moss to lie upon, but as I looked upwards into the canopy of leaves, I heard a rustling from somewhere ahead of me in the darkness. Tempest snorted and pawed at the ground. He also sensed a presence nearby.
‘Who’s there?’ I said, getting to my feet and cautiously taking my knife from its sheath. My breath was steaming in the cool air, and the large bat once again flitted about our heads.
Something was watching me from the shadows, but it was not a fox, nor even a wolf. I could be sure of that. It was a man – his fleeting shape briefly appearing and then disappearing between the branches of the undergrowth.
‘Show yourself,’ I said, trying to steady my faltering voice.
Tempest reared and broke loose from his tether as I readied myself for the fight. The shadow advanced – and then, as he came closer I knew him immediately. I went to call out his name, but it was too late. A hard and heavy object hit my head, and the world receded to utter blackness.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I woke in a room that was familiar, though I had not been past its doors since the previous summer, when Walter de Caburn’s dirty servant John Slow had opened its horrors to me with an iron key. It was the small chamber in the south tower at Versey Castle. The room de Caburn liked to use for winter sport.
My arms and legs were tied, and I was lying on the floor. My clothes had been removed, apart from my braies. A cold air whipped against my legs and chest, but this was the least of my troubles, for my head ached acutely at the temple, where the weapon, most probably a rock, had been smashed against my skull. As my eyes became accustomed to the dim light of a candle, I realised there were other people in the room.
I wanted to shout out, but instead vomited down the front of my chest, heaving until there was nothing to spit out but green bile. Then I squirmed desperately to escape, but the ropes about my arms and legs were tied too tightly. During this episode, my captors kept to the shadows of the room, only creeping out when my energy left me. It was Humbert who came forward first, followed by my sister.
The bitter taste of vomit still stung at the back of my throat. ‘What are you doing, Clemence?’ Then I began to cough and couldn’t stop.
She ignored my question and bade Humbert bring me a cup of water. The stupid boy held the cup to my lips and then tipped it so quickly into my throat as to cause another spasm of coughing.
Clemence swept the cup away and leant into my face. ‘What have you done with my child, little brother?’