‘I think that would be very good for this manor, Edgar. And,’ glancing at him from under lowered lashes, ‘I want to meet this man who was your father’s friend and who knew you when you were a young boy.’
‘He may not remember me, sweetheart. I was very young and very shy.’
Now strength have these nine plants
against nine who from wonder flee
against nine poisons
and against nine infections
Edgar caught the last of Hilda’s song. ‘What is she singing?’ he asked.
‘It is the Nine Herbs Prayer,’ Agathi said. ‘It is to give all who live here protection from evil, and from all poisons that may harm us.’
‘As much protection as Blue’s shivery spiders?’ he teased. ‘Or better still a live spider rolled in butter and swallowed?’
‘You should not make fun of these matters,’ she told him gravely. ‘You do not know how much truth is in them. Hilda says the ash tree has great powers. She says there is one on this manor that used to have a split in the trunk and one winter many children had the coughing sickness. Hilda says they were passed through the split and then it was bound up and it healed itself, and the children were all cured.’
‘I’ve heard that tale told before,’ said Edgar, ‘except the child died though the tree healed itself.’ He saw the anxiety in her face and could have kicked himself for his stupidity. ‘Perhaps there is truth in it, sweetheart, but I’d sooner put my faith in these healing herbs growing here, and those who know their mysteries. Luke says the nuns at Catley Priory are skilled in the use of herbs and medicine – birthing too. I’m sure they will help us.’
Her gaze was reproachful. ‘Hilda and Ellen are both skilled in the use of herbs, husband. You should not mock the wisdom of women.’
‘I am chastised,’ he said. ‘I am sorry, Agathi. I should have known better.’ He hugged her. ‘Come, change this gown. We’re going visiting.’
Roger de Langton did remember Edgar. ‘Like your mother, boy. Spitting image. She had the same golden curls and blue eyes. Hm.’ He had an open, broad face with double chins and fleshy neck; his cheeks and nose were red-veined with good living; his eyes like currants pushed into dough. He patted his belly. ‘Didn’t have this last time you were here. The good Prior of Catley tells me too much good living will be the death of me. I tell him good living makes for a good death. Enjoy this life, boy, just in case the next one is too hot for you.’ He looked across at Agathi. ‘My, but you’re bonny,’ he said. ‘Struggling to know what we’re about? Let me see, now, bonny lass, what I remember from the old days.’ He sat a moment, screwing up his mouth, flaring his nostrils. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, pretty wife of Edgar,’ he said haltingly in Turkish. He watched with pleasure as Agathi flushed and smiled.
‘I am very pleased to meet you also, Father Roger,’ she replied in the same language. ‘I would like you to tell me what Edgar was like, what you remember of him when he was a young boy.’
‘Now, now,’ he said in the French they had been using. ‘I remember only a little of your language. I did some merchanting in my youth. Not so long after the last Crusade. That’s how I learned a bit of your language.’ He smiled again. How good it was to be in the company of a pretty young woman once more, and a gentle little thing. Gentle? What had his bailiff told him? She’d felled that fellow Cedric like an ox, smashing a great log into his balls. What a woman! Just the sort to suit Edgar. Keep him right. ‘You must teach me, Mistress Agathi,’ he said in Turkish. ‘Come here sometimes to keep an old man company and we shall speak in your language.’
‘It will be my pleasure, Father Roger,’ she said.
‘You want to know about young Edgar, hey?’ He reverted again to French, and spoke to Edgar. ‘Told your father it was a foolish idea to send you off to the Abbey. Your mother liked her freedom and open spaces and so did you. Always out and about in the fields and woods, I remember, you and those brothers of yours. Up to mischief in the beck.’ He chuckled. ‘I remember how it was. Drove Simon Bailiff mad, you did. Ridiculous idea, cooping you up in holy piety. One for his own way, your father, and he was desolate without your mother. Don’t be too hard on him, boy. Realised he was wrong-headed when you ran away. Settled Bradwell on you. Told me so. “Not much of an inheritance,” he said, “but he always liked to visit there and it’s well enough for a runaway, should he ever come back. If he can make a go of it, then he’ll prove himself worthy.” Now here you are and making a good fist of it, from what I hear.’ He frowned. ‘Took me a while to realise it was you. My men talked about a new reeve. Never said you’d come to claim your inheritance.’
Edgar stared at him. ‘I am the new reeve,’ he said. ‘Alfred asked me to take care of Bradwell for him.’
‘You? Reeve? Nonsense, boy. Don’t know what maggots Alfred has in his head. Your father bequeathed you Bradwell. Since he died – well – it’s been let go to rack and ruin. Land sold off or leased out. Catley runs sheep on some of the pasture and for sure they can’t pay the bills. Can’t pay the tax they owe, poor devils. In a bad way, they are. Good folk as well, monks and nuns both, and our own St Gilbert’s. Not like some of them foreign abbeys…ah well, shouldn’t speak ill of any of God’s chosen, hey?’
nettle she is called
dashes she against poison
Edgar sat stunned. His father had given him Bradwell Manor? But Alfred had asked him to be his reeve. What did this mean? Agathi looked anxiously at him, not sure of her understanding. Edgar was lord of the manor? Not a reeve? Is this what the old man was saying? She leaned forward, summoning words that were elusive.
‘You say Edgar has this manor? It is his?’
‘Yes. His father wanted it so. Ah, boy, how he regretted what he had done. A hard man but a fair one, and he loved you as much as he cursed you. Forgive him, my boy. Saw your mother in you. He loved her very much.’ The old man shivered with memories. ‘Enough of that. Now, these lands I’ve bought from you…’ He had no sons to inherit the manor, only rascally, grasping nephews. ‘I’ll not give them the pleasure of fleecing me,’ he said. ‘I’ll return the land to you. What do you say to that?’
‘It is Alfred’s land.’
‘My dear boy, haven’t you heard what I said? It is yours. Your father told me so. Made it all legal and such and had me sign to make all right-and-tight. Had Prior Hubert sign as well, and the papers are safe with him at Catley. Your brother has a second set.’
‘Alfred said nothing.’
shepherd’s purse this plant is called
she on stone grew.
stands she against poison
Roger de Langton frowned. ‘That brother of yours diddling you, hey? Wouldn’t put it past him, nor that new wife of his. Airs and graces – that’s what’s running Bradwell to ruin. Not content with leasing and selling land. The quarries have been robbed for all that new build going on at Rochby. Taking more than their share of rent and harvest. Think I hadn’t heard? Talk gets around, boy. Summoned me to the Christmas feastin’, y’know. Didn’t go. No taste for such things. Your father, now, honest-to-goodness he was, for all his failings. No pomp for him.’ He was frowning still, chewing at his fleshy lower lip, his face so suffused with red that Agathi was alarmed. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it was all done deliberately, cheat you out of Bradwell.’ He grunted. ‘Must have given them a shock when you turned up alive and well and wed. What you going to do about it, boy?’
Edgar sat back, thinking. He wondered how much Agathi had understood. ‘I must explain matters to my wife.’
Explain to his wife? Valued her thoughts, then. The old man watched the girl’s face as Edgar explained in Turkish that was fluent enough. No squeaks and shrieks for this lass. Like his own wife, clever woman. Missed her still, truth be told. Ah well. This girl, she sat still, hands folded across her belly. Giveaway sign, that. Brat in her belly for sure. Better for that. She’d do much to keep her husband and child secure, this one. Then the to-and-fr
o of their discussion in Turkish too rapid for him to follow; too many words he didn’t know. What were they thinking, these two young ’uns? Looked like angels, the pair of ’em, but they’d a head apiece and together they had the strength of ten. And the boy, sitting straight and dignified. Like his father, thought Roger de Langton. Just like his father; with his mother’s eyes and hair but with his father’s chin. Hadn’t noticed that before. Iron under the gilding, this boy.
‘Well, young Edgar?’
‘Sir, we need to see this document you and Prior Hubert have signed your names to. After that, we can consider what is best to do. Not immediately. I would like to know more of the circumstances. He is my brother. I cannot believe such ill of him. He was a good brother to me when I was young. We were raised together. We played together.’ He was silent for a long while. ‘I need to discover what Eric knows of this. But first, most important, it is necessary to make this manor secure for the sake of the sokemen and villeins and cottars. Agathi is with child and I would not wish her to be worried, and that she must be, were I to challenge Alfred and his wife.’ Edgar heaved a sigh.
Roger de Langton sank his chins into his chest. He looked down at his clasped hands. He nodded. ‘Perhaps that is for the best, for now, as you say. But not for long.’ He looked up with currant-dark-eyes that were suddenly piercing. ‘Meanwhile, take back the lands I bought from the estate.’
‘I have money enough to buy them back from you, sir.’
‘Have you, stiff rump? That’s good news but keep your gold. I said take back and I meant take back. When I saw the lie of the land,’ he smirked at his own joke, ‘I bought what I could solely to keep it safe for you, should you return, and out of the greedy hands of my nephews and your dear brother and sister-in-law.’ He smiled on them. ‘It is my wedding present to you both. My men shall work the land this year but the harvest is yours.’ He chuckled. ‘My men? The men are yours, boy. They came along with the land, as you know.’ He lifted his heavy hands, turned them palms out. ‘No need to let your brother know our arrangement. He has his secrets; you have yours. Hey?’
Edgar nodded. He was reluctant to practise any subterfuge but Dafydd would be the first to say it was sometimes necessary. He thought of the young men Alfred had called to him, a private army. ‘You are very generous, sir. We cannot repay such—’
‘Good good. Enough of thanks, young Edgar. It’s as much for your father as for you. He’s been tossing in his tomb at all this, I shouldn’t wonder. He’d a rare gift for managing his manors. Seems you’ve inherited his gift, if all I hear is true. You’ve need of a thatcher, they tell me. Old Andrew can’t do the work anymore with that bad-set leg of his, and his son is simple, even for thatching. I’ll send Peter over, with the means for thatching. Good sedge for the ridge and reeds for the thatch. That should see you through a few seasons. No, I’ve said, away with your thanks. Have done. If you must thank anyone, let it be Catley – came off their fens, and they’d be glad of an offering. Glad to see you back, boy, and more like your father than you’d like to admit. A brat on the way? Well, young mistress, that is good news indeed. Work to be done this summer, hey? But remember you’ve promised to keep me company.’
He sighed with pleasure when she put her young arms about his neck and kissed his cheek. Ah, if only he’d had a daughter like this. Or a son such as Edgar. God had not smiled on him and his wife, as they had on his friend Alfred. Foolish Alfred, putting his faith in his firstborn, never knowing that his youngest was pure gold, from his curls to his heart.
Now strength have these nine plants…
…against nine poisons
and against nine infections
13
Swineshead
April 1337
Have pity on me, full of mourning
(Anon: mid 14thC)
She was too late, after all.
The journey through cold country and rough, dark seas had been too late. She was bludgeoned by the flat, dark land merging into water. Land and sea, sea and land; where did one end, the other begin? She who had roamed the high mountains and tumbling crags was overwhelmed by this flat, watery place. They’d waited for the tide to turn before they could sail up the Haven to Boston. These tides! She had seen nothing like it in her life; the sea covering the land, deeper and deeper, trickling at first into creeks and mud banks then a swirl of treacherous water rushing into the dry places.
A channel was marked with posts. ‘Keep getting moved, those,’ the steersman said. ‘Have to keep a good lookout this past year. Silting up, see. Goes on like this, won’t be able to get the big boats up here. Then what will Boston be without its sea trade?’ He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking.’
She wasn’t sure what he meant. All this water. Surely any ship could sail up here?
‘We’re in the Deeps now, miss,’ said the captain. ‘Don’t you be afeared. Soon as we’re in the Haven, soonest we’ll be in Boston.’ But wherever she looked was brown sea, mud and saltmarsh and creeks and channels of brown water and flatness. Even the lowering clouds were brown-tinged. She was deafened by the din of birds, flustered by their swooping and swirling through the rigging and sails of the cog. So many; she had never seen so many flocking together, shrieking like lost souls.
‘Back along, miss, there’s the Abbey of Freiston. Benedictine, that is. And there’s salt workings right along the marshes.’ He laughed his loud, sailor’s laugh, happy to be home. He liked the little lass, though she were frim folk from far away. She’d been brave as owt on the high sea, and now she were frittened by the sight of the land. ‘It’s a good living here, miss, for web-footed-uns like we be. My brother, he’s comes fra well into the Fens, he does. Wouldn’t not never live nowhere else.’
‘Web-footed?’ she asked faintly.
‘That’s how they knows us Fen men.’ He laughed again, showing blackened teeth and gaps where some had been drawn. ‘There’s some as think we really do ’ave web feet. It’s the watter-land. Marshes fed by salt watter and the Fens by fresh watter.’ The cog dipped and jigged in a sudden gust of wind; sails flapped and cracked. For a moment, the heavy swags of cloud shifted to let through late afternoon sun; a shaft of brilliant light silvered down on to the watery land so that it gleamed with dazzling intensity. ‘See that? Watter-jawelled, we call it, the way it shines i’ the sun. Bewtifullest as ever was.’
She was reminded of Blue’s face when he spoke of the Fens, the sadness he tried so hard to hide, standing there on the wharf at Attaleia, staying behind for the sake of Hatice and young Niko, and all the time consumed by longing for this flat, brown, waterland. ‘Yes, beautiful,’ she agreed, for Blue’s sake, and for the kind captain who loved his fenland home. But it was beautiful, she thought, this great sky-light beaming on to the water and lighting up the afternoon, just not the same as the high mountains and bright blue sky and sea.
The captain took Giles to one side. ‘Yer’ll be needing a plaäce to stay the night.’
Giles was startled. ‘We’ll stay at the Abbey, surely, as travellers and guests.’
‘You, mebbe, but not the maid. Won’t not never have females at the Abbey, those Cistercians. ’Specially not the new Abbot. Abbot John. It were different in the old days. If it were a Gilbert house, now, that’s different again. Built for monks and nuns both, they are, though they’re kept well separate, one from t’other. The village is big enough – has its own fair – but best you come back to Boston. There’s a fine guesthouse run by the Shodfriars. Quiet, it is. I’ll show yer its whereabouts, and yer can leave yer tuts.’ He nodded his head at Giles’ expression. ‘Yer right to be wary, it being a port and you strange folk, but yer needn’t worry yerself none about the Shodfriars’ place. They’ll see yer right.’
‘Is the Abbey far?’ He gestured towards Kazan who was still gazing out over the brown water of the Haven. ‘She’s a rare one, the best, but she’s tired, though she’ll never say so.’
‘I can see that.’ The Captain shot a swift,
shrewd look towards Kazan, back to Giles. ‘Only a short stride from town to Abbey. Mind as ’ow yer keep to the tracks. There’s pools as ’ud swaller an ’orse an’ rider.’ He shot another quick look, curious this time, asked the question that had been in his mind since the pair boarded. ‘She your missis?’
Giles shook his head. ‘She’s a sweetheart, but not my sweetheart. Her man had to stay behind in Venezia. We’re worried for his safety. There’s been no word all winter. But the girl promised her grandmother she would come to find her grandfather, and she’s a girl who keeps her word.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Many don’t.’
‘Yer right there.’
‘And I promised Dafydd – her man – to keep her safe so here I am, though I’m a man from the Marches. That’s in-between country as well, neither one place nor the other.’
‘Oh aye?’ The Captain knew only coastlines and watery places. ‘Tell yer what, best send Simon Salter with yer. Knows the ways through these Fens. Back of ’is ’and. He’s known by the soldiers as they’ve got patrolling the coast, an’ all. Not good ter be frim folk these days, what with this war coming.’
The Captain was a man of his word as well. Rough-talking, rough-seeming, but honest. He sent a boy to find Simon Salter. ‘He’ll be home this weather.’ He led them to the guesthouse that belonged, it turned out, to the Dominicans, and it was a comfortable lodging. More comfortable than many of the mountain passes of the High Alps, Giles acknowledged. He wished that Kazan had agreed to bring a female with her, someone to keep her company, but she had been impatient, declared they were all townswomen and would moan and complain and drive her distracted.
The Heart Remembers Page 16