by Jodi Taylor
This, however, was not a small army. There were no siege weapons, no – what do they call those people who dig under castle walls? Sappers, that’s it – not that it’s important because there weren’t any here anyway. This was only a hostile neighbour and a group of hastily purchased local thugs taking advantage of the king’s absence. As neighbours do.
Once, long ago – before I came to St Mary’s and when European travel was much easier than it is today – I worked on a dig in the eastern Med. Four of us were billeted in a very dodgy-looking outhouse on a remote farm somewhere in the Taurus mountains. Once a year, the farmer would summon his considerable family, they would go to his boundary fences, uproot the fence posts, and at a word from him, take five long paces forwards and replace the posts. At a stroke, he would have gained a sizeable tranche of land. They did it every year, apparently. It had acquired the status of a ceremony and there was a giant family knees-up afterwards.
The five-paces-forwards strategy was obviously far too subtle for Guy of Rushford and his brother Jerald. They were going for the whole manor, thinking that when Richard returned, St Mary’s would be snugly ensconced within their own boundaries. No one would care and everyone would have more important things to think about anyway. I wondered if this sort of thing was happening anywhere else around the country.
Tam was shading his eyes. Famed for his long sight, he was counting. Around fifteen mounted men and between twenty and thirty on foot seemed to be the total. And no siege engines. I felt absurdly cheerful. Well, that wasn’t too bad. We had nearly twenty men here. Good men who would fight for their homes, whereas the Rushford forces must surely comprise either hired men who had no loyalties and would fight for whoever paid them, or sulky serfs who just wanted to go home. All we had to do was hold them off until Richard was overthrown. Henry Bolingbroke must surely have landed at Ravenspur by now. All over the country men would be flocking to his banner. It was only a matter of time before someone turned up here to save us. All we had to do was stay quietly behind our walls, hold on, and not do anything silly. There was no need for any violence at all. All we had to do was wait.
I heard the thunder of hooves grow closer. William glanced back briefly over his shoulder, saw us all clustered in the kitchen doorway and gestured us back inside. Fat Piers chivvied us all into the kitchen and not without some difficulty, because it was never closed during summer or winter, they got the door shut.
We stood in silence, listening. Well, they did. Walter of Shrewsbury appeared suddenly and beckoned to me to follow him. I had a feeling this wasn’t good.
He led me back into the hall and pointed to the corner. I went and stood quietly, trying not to feel anxious. He had his doubts about me. I was a stranger. I was odd. I knew things I shouldn’t. I’m convinced he was convinced I was some sort of spy – if not for the king’s commissioners then for the Rushfords. He said something to one of the men with him who peeled off to come and stand by me. This was bad news. Not only was I to be closely watched, but I was to be closely watched by the onion-smelling gate-guard from the kitchen. The one to whom a masterless woman was a challenge.
I refused to look at him as he stood grinning at me. I folded my arms in an unwomanly manner and stared at the floor, listening as hard as I could. Not that it did me any good. The walls were thick and only the very loudest sounds floated through the shutters. I could vaguely hear shouting so it seemed safe to assume we were being ordered to surrender St Mary’s. I wondered if the Rushfords would pretend they were acting under the king’s orders, or whether they were just going for out-and-out theft.
I had no details as to what would happen next and the historical records I could remember were not accurate. If they were wrong – what else was wrong? Had my presence, in some tiny but important way, changed the course of events?
I stood quietly in my corner, straining my ears for clues as to what was going on outside. I was certain I’d managed to convince William Hendred of Henry, Duke of Lancaster’s return. Obviously, I hadn’t told him Henry would be king, but I’d emphasised, over and over again, that Henry would come back, bringing Hugh Armstrong with him. Knowing that, surely he wouldn’t surrender St Mary’s without a fight.
No, he wouldn’t. I heard his voice shouting defiance. Other voices joined in which was reassuring. If they were shouting at each other then they weren’t fighting.
The shouting continued for some time and then William appeared in the hall, looking about him.
At the same time, Walter appeared through the other door, and gestured to me.
Onion man pushed me forwards. There was no need – I was already moving but I suppose it was the only way he would ever get to touch a woman.
I stood in front of Walter, entirely forgetting the chaste, dutiful, obedient role of medieval womanhood.
‘You – what do you know of this?’
‘Nothing but what I have said, sir.’
‘How long have you known this?’
‘Since I arrived, sir.’
‘Why are they here today?’
This is the trouble with knowing things you’re not supposed to and then having to lie your head off – you have to think of everything. I had no idea why they hadn’t turned up before today. I felt a stab of annoyance. I was trying to help them out here. I shouldn’t have to think of everything.
I shrugged. ‘I do not know, sir.’
William joined us, saying mildly, ‘It might have taken them some time to gather this force. But they are here now and we must deal with them.’
Walter was not one to give up. ‘How do we know this – woman – is telling the truth?’
His voice led everyone to believe only an idiot would involve a woman in their schemes.
I looked over to William
‘We don’t,’ he said mildly, ‘but she did not have to warn us.’
‘She is playing both sides,’ said Walter, giving me considerably more credit for deviousness than I felt I deserved. ‘And now it is too late to send her away. She will go straight to Guy and his brother and tell them how things stand here.’
I didn’t like the way this was heading.
‘You should make up your mind, Master Walter,’ I said. ‘Everyone here will remember that I tried to warn you of this on my first day here. You told me to be silent. You cannot now blame me for the events I did my best to warn you of.’
Onion man went to fetch me a casual slap. ‘Be silent before your betters.’
William Hendred knocked his arm away. ‘No one touches this woman without my permission.’
I glared at onion man. He glared at William. William glared back at onion man. Walter glared impartially at everyone. There was a long silence. And then – a shout of warning, a long hissing sound and a thunk. I’d heard that sound before. At Agincourt. The Rushfords had unleashed a volley of arrows over the walls. I could hear them clattering off the stonework outside and the roof over our heads. One or two thunked into the wooden shutters. They penetrated to some considerable depth. I remembered a good archer could put a cloth-yard arrow through a church door from one hundred yards away. I don’t know why I always remember these things at the wrong moment.
I’m proud to say I didn’t move. Actually, standing in my corner, I was probably the safest person in the room – but onion man flinched. He saw me grinning. I just can’t help it – I’m lost in time, in the middle of an armed conflict in the Middle Ages, alone, friendless and whichever side won I’d be in trouble – and as if none of that’s bad enough, I’m winding up the bloke who’s had it in for me since we first met. You can see why I can’t get life insurance, can’t you?
Over all the shouting I could hear a deep booming noise – a pause – and then it came again. They had a battering ram. They had an actual battering ram. I must remember to tell Professor Rapson. And then I realised that I’d never tell Professor Rapson anything ever again.
The shouting intensified. I could hear William Hendred bellowing instructions outside.
He was concentrating his men over the gatehouse. They would be firing at those wielding the battering ram. The noise arose to a crescendo – shouts of warning, shouts of defiance – and the rhythmical boom of the battering ram. Which, I have to say, sounded considerably more effective than poor old Grond of happier days. Whatever William Hendred’s men were doing to repel the attack was effective though – the booming noise ceased.
Silence fell. None of us was stupid enough to think they’d given up and gone away. I suspected they’d gone for a fast, surprise attack and now that had failed they were setting up camp for a siege.
It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Early summer is never an easy time. People think getting through the winter is the problem, but that’s not true. Winter is usually not too bad. The harvest is gathered in, animals have been slaughtered and salted, and the store houses are full. Then that’s all gradually eaten away and everyone crosses their fingers that their dwindling supplies will last at least until mid to late summer, when the crops and fruit are beginning to ripen. A bad harvest in the previous year can cause considerable hardship in the next.
I don’t know whether the Rushfords had taken this into account, or whether they were simply taking advantage of events, but, as I said, it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Our storehouses had been almost emptied. The remaining sacks of grain and flour, the stores of salted meat and fish – nearly everything had been taken away. Partly to feed others and partly for safekeeping.
But those of us who had remained behind had enough to get by. And we had strong walls and good men. Best of all – we had water. We would be fine. I looked around again. It was hard to see how anything could go badly wrong. But it would.
Because I knew that the siege of St Mary’s ended in fire.
Two days passed and I have to say that after the initial excitement, being under siege is actually quite dull. Perhaps things were livelier on the other side of the wall, but in here … dull. Very dull.
William kept the walls constantly manned. There was even someone at the top of the north tower, with instructions to scan the horizon. Whether for reinforcements for the Rushfords or the possible return of Hugh Armstrong, I don’t know.
The shifts were short – three hours only – and then another set of men would take over. Those off-watch ate and slept – as soldiers do. Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. Fight when you must.
And then, on the third day, it all went wrong.
I was still in the hall under Walter’s watchful gaze. They fed me – a little – and I was allowed outside to visit our state-of-the-art midden – under escort, of course. At the time, I found it quite irksome and embarrassing and then it turned out to be the best thing that could have happened for me.
I awoke at dawn to find Roger from the kitchen handing me a beaker of weak beer and a bowl of porridge. I thanked him and tucked in. Draining the last of my beer, I stood up and requested a midden break because my guard had changed during the night and this one wasn’t onion man. There was no way I would ever go outside and lift my skirts with him in the vicinity.
My guard nodded, yawning, and we unbarred the door and stepped out into the cool, early morning air.
I stretched and looked around. Nothing had changed since my last comfort break. There were still men on the walls and another one up on the tower. Silent buildings huddled around an empty courtyard. Everything was shuttered, or bolted, or put away, or covered over.
I took two steps and then stopped. Something was different. I looked around. What was different?
My guard poked me in the back to get me moving again. This was probably the end of his watch and he was eager to get his head down.
I turned to face him and said, ‘Wait. Something is wrong.’
He was only a country boy but he was William Hendred trained. He pushed me against the wall, put his hand on his sword and looked around. We both did.
I pointed. ‘There.’
The well was uncovered. Against all instructions – the well was uncovered. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.
We set off across the courtyard and peered in.
Shit.
Floating in the water, guts trailing like long red ribbons, dead as a doornail, was one of the stable cats. My guard’s breath hissed through his teeth. This was a disaster. And it wasn’t an accident, either. I looked around. The well cover was nowhere in sight. Someone had been here in the night, removed the well cover, thrown in a more-than-dead cat, and then left the well open so everyone could see the water was no longer drinkable. Everyone could there would be no point in continuing the siege. It was all over.
A stupid nursery rhyme jangled in my head.
Ding dong bell.
Pussy’s in the well.
Who put her in?
I couldn’t remember who put her in but I knew it wasn’t me.
My guard was good. He said, ‘Wait here.’
I nodded and watched him set off for William, just now walking the walls and talking to his men. I saw my guard take him a little to one side and whisper discreetly in his ear. He didn’t want to start a panic.
The two of them climbed down the steps and leaned over the well. William’s face didn’t change. He stood staring into the depths, arms braced against the stone lip and thinking.
After a moment, he said, ‘Check the other well.’ The man nodded and trotted away to the scullery which contained the second, smaller well. We stood together. Neither of us spoke. Around us, St Mary’s was waking to its third – and last – day’s siege.
I looked around. If the kitchen well was spoiled too, then we were finished. Apart from water drawn the night before, we would have nothing. There was beer in the barrels, but you can’t cook with beer. Or give it to the horses. How long could we last without water? Not long enough was my guess. And who had done this? I couldn’t help feeling a small measure of relief. No matter who might have done it, one person couldn’t possibly be the guilty party and that person was me. I’d been guarded all night. I had an alibi. I was the one person in all of St Mary’s who couldn’t be blamed for this.
Unless my guard lied, but why would he? If it had been onion man then I wouldn’t have fancied my chances of convincing people of my innocence, but he wasn’t here. I looked around. No, he wasn’t, was he? Men were emerging from the gatehouse and making their way to the walls. Those who’d been on watch throughout the night were climbing down. Those who’d eaten were crossing the courtyard and those who were about to eat were crossing in the opposite direction. Sleepy early-morning greetings were exchanged.
But there was one person who wasn’t here. I couldn’t see onion man anywhere. I turned slowly – no, no onion man in sight. Unless …
I tweaked William’s sleeve and nodded in the direction of our plein-air bathroom. He nodded curtly, his mind elsewhere.
Onion man wasn’t there. I walked all around the steaming heap – several times, in fact – before availing myself of the facility and returning to William.
‘He is not here.’
His gaze snapped at me. ‘Who is not here?’
‘The man who was my guard. Not him …’ I gestured to the returning man. ‘The one who smells of onions.’
The guard rejoined us, whispering in William’s ear. This time William’s expression did change and I knew that, somehow, the other well had been poisoned too.
He snapped a curt command and the three of us returned to the hall where Walter of Shrewsbury was waiting.
William took him aside and spoke quietly and I could see immediately who was Walter’s number-one suspect.
He took a deep breath to accuse me but before he could utter, William had him by the arm and was propelling him through the doorway into the private family quarters. This was not a matter for public discussion.
They went first, then me, then my guard. We turned left into a large, sunny room I had never seen before. I had no time to notice anything other than the rather handsome red and black clay t
iles on the floor before Walter rounded on me.
I saw the blow coming and rode it as best I could, but his clenched fist caught me on the cheekbone and it hurt. It hurt a lot. Stringy he might be, but he packed a hell of punch. I went down like one of those demolished factory chimneys but with less style and more dust. I lay on the cold floor wondering whether I should get up so I could be knocked down again, or stay down so he could kick me more easily. It struck me that if I had an office job then the only decision I’d be making at that moment would be whether to do my photocopying before my filing or the other way around. Office jobs have many hidden benefits.
Ian Guthrie’s voice ran through my head. ‘Are you going to lie there all day, Maxwell?’ He was right. I should get up and put in an honest day’s work being their prime suspect. Get it over with, so to speak. If I couldn’t convince them of my innocence then in less than an hour I’d be hanging from one of the rafters in the hall as a warning to others.
I climbed to my knees and from there to my feet. I didn’t cry, or put my hand to my face, or plead for my life. Bollocks to all that. I was certain the man they wanted was onion man. I was equally certain he wasn’t here any longer. He’d climbed out of an upper window hours ago. Nothing I could say would make any difference. All my hope was on William Hendred, who wasn’t a stupid man. And, truth be told, neither was Walter. All I had to do was not let him hang me before someone worked out I was innocent.
Walter had rounded on William. The flurry of words was too quick and too hot for me to understand but I suspected the gist of it was that he’d always said I was working for the Rushfords. That I was a spy, planted by them to undermine us. To sabotage the siege. I’d never seen him so angry. There was no stopping him and William didn’t even try. We all stood waiting until finally he ran down, chest heaving, eyes glittering with fury and my untimely death looming large on his horizon.
William was questioning the guard. When had he come on duty? Had I left the hall at any time? For any reason? Even for a moment? Had he left me unguarded at any time? Even for a moment? No harm would come to him if he had. He – William – wanted only the truth.