An Argumentation of Historians

by Jodi Taylor

  The weather had changed drastically. Things were a little soggy underfoot after the rain washed the snow away – not that I noticed. Every time I stood up I swayed like one of those wobbly toys that don’t fall over. Margery, who would burst in through the door in a gust of beer and enthusiasm, would laugh her head off at me, deposit some food, exhort me to eat it all, and depart again.

  I did my best to comply.

  After a day or so I wobbled my way downstairs to see what was happening in the world. I knew there had been a huge storm and the ground was littered with fallen trees and broken branches. As Firewood Supremo, I should be out there, tucking half an oak tree under one arm and an old elm under the other.

  William Hendred looked up from his table by the window, smiled slightly, and then ordered me back upstairs. I was bored and shook my head. We looked at each other for a while. I don’t know if he was worried about my reputation or his. The whole world knew I’d been in his bed for the last week. Although I suspected he hadn’t been in it with me. From something Margery had said, I think he’d gone back to the gatehouse. Great – he’d rather sleep with Tam the Welshman than me. Understandable, I suppose. I do snore.

  I wouldn’t disobey him in front of other people, but we were alone, so I tossed my head and went to sit by the fire. He sighed and scowled heavily at the records he was perusing.

  People were in and out all morning, doffing their caps and bowing. It was all business as usual. Around mid-afternoon, when the light was going and I could hear them banging around with the tables in the hall, he put down his parchment and said, ‘Weather permitting, Lord Rushford comes tomorrow.’

  I jumped, looked up from the fire and enquired why, although I thought I knew the answer to that one.

  ‘To question you on the matter of Guy and Jerald, formerly of Rushford.’

  There was no information I could give him on their whereabouts. They were long gone. Tam the Welshman had taken a party of men to search the burned remains of the hunting lodge and reported there were no signs of them – living or dead. The hunting lodge had only partly burned away – the stairs were gone but they could see up to the landing and the chamber door was open. A sodden sheet was found in the yard and they’d come to the conclusion Guy had used it to lower Jerald out of the window. Having done that, he would have rushed up the stairs, freed his brother and then the two of them had vanished.

  ‘If they’re still alive,’ said Tam. The storms had been severe. One or both of them had probably incurred minor injuries. There was no sign of Guy’s horse so, if they’d both been on foot, their first priority would have been shelter. No one around here would offer them aid, he said, and everyone was assuming they’d left the area as fast as they could. Sir Hugh – sorry, Lord Rushford – was offering a reward for their capture.

  And he was coming here – ostensibly to question me about my kidnapping, but almost certainly to enquire why I’d found it necessary to set fire to even more of his property. I sighed. Once might have been moderately acceptable. Twice …? I sighed again.

  He came the next day. There was no thought of holding court outside so it was all set up in the hall. Half the roof was on, the other half still covered in canvas, but a fire was burning cheerfully on the hearthstone. Behind the high table, I was pleased to see the beginnings of a fireplace. A big one. Life would be a lot more comfortable with a crackling log fire and the smoke going up the chimney in a civilised manner instead of taking the long way around.

  Sir Hugh – sorry, Lord Rushford – sat at the high table with William on one side and Walter of Shrewsbury on the other. I was none too pleased to see that Walter had felt the need to attend today. He’d have me hanging from one of the new beams as quickly as he could knot the rope.

  Warm for the time of year it might have been, but it was still colder here than the solar. I wore my tunic, with the wool dress over that, the surcoat over that, and my cloak over everything. Margery had cleaned and dried my clothes, to my eternal gratitude. I sat on the stool someone had placed for me. As always, everyone crowded around, all eager to hear the latest instalment of the foreign woman’s adventures. Seriously, there was a lot they could have got on with – firewood to be gathered, livestock to feed, ditches to clear, roofs to put on – you’d think they’d have better things to do, wouldn’t you?

  ‘Joan of Rouen.’

  I started. That was me. Again, I really wished I’d chosen a more exciting name. I could have been Griselda. Or Laurentia. Or Hildegarde. I became aware people were speaking to me. I sat up and did my best to concentrate.

  Walter was holding a pen and looking at me. Something was required of me and I’d missed it.

  He sighed loudly so everyone could hear. ‘Your name, please. For the records.’

  He knew my name. It probably haunted his darkest dreams. He was just being difficult.

  I straightened my back. ‘Joan. Formerly of Rouen.’

  And now?

  ‘Just … Joan.’

  He sighed again. A man at the end of his endurance. ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘York,’ I said, trawling the Seas of Untruthfulness again.

  His pen scratched. ‘Joan of York,’ he said slowly.

  Lord Rushford interrupted, rightly realising we’d be here until teatime at this rate.

  ‘You were in the woods?’

  I went to rise but he motioned me to remain seated so I did.

  ‘Yes, Lord.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘No, Lord, I was with others.’

  ‘Did you wander off?’

  ‘No, Lord. A man called to me and I went to see what he wanted.’

  That sounded bad. You could argue I’d been picking up firewood with one hand and touting for trade with the other.

  ‘You had no suspicions he might mean you harm?’

  ‘No, Lord.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then he put something over my head and carried me away.’

  ‘You did not struggle?’ he said, in tones that indicated he found that hard to believe.

  ‘I did, Lord,’ I said indignantly. ‘I kicked him. Several times.’

  Every man present looked as if he could well believe it.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I was taken to a small house. I do not know where.’

  ‘Describe it.’

  I described it. Walter’s pen scratched and scratched. A weak sun shone through the open door. The fire on the hearthstone warmed me nicely.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Guy of Rushford announced his intention of revenging himself upon you. To do this he said he needed to hurt William Hendred. To do that he needed to hurt …’ I stopped for a moment, ostensibly to cough, and then continued, ‘… his people. He would begin with me.’

  I waited for him to ask why me but he didn’t. He didn’t even look at William who was staring thoughtfully at the table. No one said a word. I appreciated their discretion.

  ‘What did you do?’

  I answered truthfully. ‘I drank a great deal of wine to give me courage, went upstairs, threw my clothes out of the window and locked Guy and Jerald in the bedroom. Then I went downstairs and set fire to the lower rooms.’

  A stir ran around the room. Hugh raised an eyebrow at William Hendred who closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.

  I forged on. ‘I went out into the stables and released their horses. I set fire to the stables. Guy and Jerald were trying to climb out of the window so I placed the bolster in the place where they would fall and set fire to that. Then I mounted the horse and rode away.’

  He sat up.’ What horse?’

  ‘The horse I found in the stables, Lord.’

  The destrier?’ said Walter, trying to catch me out.

  ‘No, Master Walter, Jerald’s horse.’

  William whispered in his ear. They exchanged a look.

  ‘Describe this horse.’

  ‘Yellow, Lord.’

  A whisper ran ar
ound the hall and not a few smiles. I gathered the yellow horse had made a name for himself in this part of the world.

  ‘You brought this yellow horse here?’

  ‘No, Lord.’

  ‘And yet it is here in the stables,’ said Walter, swift to catch me in a lie.

  ‘It may be, sir, but I did not bring it. It followed me home.’

  Now it was Hugh’s turn to stare at the table while William appeared to be finding something interesting over to his right.

  Walter, always happy to put things in the worst possible light had a question of his own. ‘Why did you throw your clothes out of the window?’

  ‘It was too high to jump, sir.’

  I could see him sit back to work that one out.

  Lord Rushford hadn’t finished. ‘And you set fire to my hunting lodge?’

  There was no point in denying it. ‘I did, Lord.’

  ‘You could not have just locked them in and escaped without any further loss of my property?’

  He was right. I could have. Quite easily.

  ‘Yes, Lord. I could.’

  ‘Then why?’

  I didn’t stop to consider my reply. ‘I was angry, sir. Bad men caused me to lose my home and my husband. I am penniless. I came to St Mary’s and, of your kindness, I was allowed to remain here. Just as I was beginning to be happy I found myself being used by another bad man to revenge himself upon you, Lord. I was angry.’ I was drunk as well but probably best not to mention that. ‘If you had been there you would have drawn your sword and run them through,’ I said virtuously, with no idea whatsoever of his sword skills, but it never does any harm to flatter a man. ‘I am not a man. I have no sword. So I used what came to hand, Lord.’

  ‘But your clothes,’ persisted Walter, a man with a one-track mind.

  ‘What of them, sir?’

  ‘You took off your clothes. What were your intentions.’

  ‘To throw them out of the window, sir.’

  ‘But why?’ he said impatiently.

  ‘Because it was too high to jump, sir. I would have hurt myself badly.’

  Heads were swinging from Walter to me and back again.

  ‘But the window was too high to jump from whether you were wearing your clothes or not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He struggled. ‘Then … why?’

  William interrupted. I think he felt sorry for him.

  ‘You threw your clothes out of the window so they would think you had jumped.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And while they were looking for you out of the window you locked the door behind them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And then you set fire to my hunting lodge.’ The heads swung back to Lord Rushford again. He did keep bringing that up.

  ‘Yes, Lord.’

  ‘When last we met, did I not instruct you, very clearly, never to set fire to my property again.’

  ‘You did, Lord. You said, “Never do so again.”.’

  ‘And yet …’

  Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet. ‘I disobeyed your instructions, Lord. I wanted to injure them. For what they had done to us last summer.’

  William Hendred raised an eyebrow. Was I pushing my luck?

  I lowered my eyes, remembering, far too late, about maidenly modesty. ‘I disobeyed you, Lord. I am sorry.’

  ‘And yet because of you, Guy and Jerald are far away. Without shelter. Without friends. And possibly badly injured.’

  I said gravely, ‘If we are very lucky, Lord,’ lowered my eyes and stared demurely at my lap.

  There was a very long silence. I resolved to say no more.

  ‘Joan of … ?’

  ‘York,’ said Walter.

  ‘Joan, formerly of Rouen, now to be known as Joan of …’

  ‘York,’ said Walter.

  ‘Joan of York …’

  ‘Lord?’

  ‘Will you accept my judgement?’

  I rose to my feet. ‘I will, Lord.’

  ‘I find myself at a loss,’ he said. ‘That you were taken from the safety of this manor, against your will and to your detriment is a matter of concern to me. That you did your best to defend yourself is understandable. That you set fire to my property – again – is slightly less understandable, but I accept that your actions were well motivated. I am unsure whether to reward or punish you, so I shall do both. Let all here listen to my judgment. The woman Joan of … Joan …’

  ‘Of York,’ said Walter, never giving up.

  ‘… shall receive into her ownership the horse, formerly the property of Jerald Wolf’s Head, as compensation for the injuries she has sustained and punishment for the injuries she caused. Say now if anyone does not accept my judgment.’

  He was a clever man. People were laughing. Even William had a half smile on his face. Walter – who was obviously as familiar with the yellow horse as anyone else – was smiling grimly to himself as he wrote the judgement.

  And I was now the proud owner of the worst horse in the county.

  I was the proud owner of one comb, four hair ribbons, two dresses, a winter cloak, a surcoat, a linen tunic in the Doric style, an extremely battered silk stole, a piece of rock-hard soap that despite regular use was no smaller and looked set to last me till the end of my life, and a yellow horse. I’d been here nearly twelve months. At this rate, by the end of this year I could be a substantial landowner.

  I had everything I needed. Everything except a husband. I could be ordered to marry – Lord Rushford could order me to do so, even to the extent of picking out a luckless victim – or husband, as they’re often known – but so far, no one had put the moves on me. Or even shown the slightest interest. Not even to gain possession of the yellow horse. I was unsure whether to feel relieved or slightly miffed.

  And then, one day, I found out why.

  One lovely morning, my tasks completed earlier than usual, I bunked off. I nipped out of the gate, down to the ford and then walked upstream, past the mill and the storehouses and the barns, out of sight of St Mary’s completely. I followed the bank until I found a pleasant spot, sunny and sheltered, where the stream formed a small pool. Iridescent turquoise dragonflies buzzed around at head height. Sometimes they can be quite aggressive, but I sat quietly and they left me alone.

  Summer was nearly here. The weather was so warm I’d reverted to my linen tunic and Persian stole. It was hard to believe I’d been here nearly a year.

  I took off my shoes and dangled my feet in the cold water. Once I got over the initial shock it was rather pleasant and looking after your feet is important. I carefully put my shoes to air, and had a go at making a daisy chain – something I hadn’t done for years.

  There were flowers everywhere and I wished I knew their names. You don’t see flowers like that in modern times, but here they grew wild, peeping out from under bushes, or just scattered through the meadows.

  I lay back, squinted up at the sky and watched a lark hover.

  I heard the man before I saw him and, given my recent track record, had a hefty branch within easy reach, just in case someone hadn’t heard what happened to the Rushford boys.

  William Hendred appeared on the other side of the stream with a couple of trout dangling from a line. We caught sight of each other simultaneously. He stopped dead and I tried inconspicuously to throw my branch into the bushes. I thought I saw him smile and then he splashed through the shallow part of the stream and came to sit by me on the bank.

  Uncertain how erogenous bare feet might be in this day and age, I curled my feet under my skirt.

  Having made it this far, he seemed content to sit in silence. Well, why not. He was a busy man. Time alone must be as welcome to him as it was to me. And it’s not as if he talked much anyway.

  I picked up my half-completed daisy chain and busied myself. He didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to.

  The morning wore on. My daisy chain grew longer. I knew he was watching me. I remembered that t
ime under his cloak. When I had been in his world. When I held on to him and he to me. Had he kissed my hair? Or had I dreamed it?

  I stole a glance at the man sitting next to me. He looked just the same as he always did. Quiet. Unemotional. Undemonstrative. But I had felt his heart race in his chest.

  We sat for half an hour or so and then he got up and began to make a small fire, feeding it with twigs and small sticks. His movements, like everything he did, were sure and steady. I tended the fire as he took the trout to the stream and carefully cleaned them.

  They took only minutes to cook on two flat stones. When they were ready he shovelled one on to a large leaf – I was delighted at this refreshing new use for broad-leafed plants – and offered it to me.

  I looked at it and then up at him. His face was expressionless, but I could see a tiny pulse beating at his temple. And then I nodded, smiled, took the fish, and we sat together, picking the flesh off the bones.

  Right out of the blue, he said to me, ‘You no longer cry in the night.’

  I hadn’t realised he’d heard me. I’d struggled to be quiet, stifling my sobs as best I could.

  I said, ‘No,’ and we left it at that. No more words were spoken, but I was under no illusions. This man had brought me food and I had accepted it. This had been a significant moment.

  And then, as the sun neared its highest point in the sky, he got to his feet, cleaned his knife in the water, nodded at me, and disappeared down the track.

  I watched him go.

  Noon was approaching when I returned to St Mary’s and there was a real warmth in the sun today. I strolled in through the gate and headed for the solar, to wash my face and hands and get stuck into my afternoon duties.

  He was waiting for me.

  Taking my hand, he led me into his room. He closed the door behind us. I felt no alarm, even though my heart was trying to bang its way out of my chest. I could hear a faint clatter in the kitchen and, not quite so faintly, Fat Piers giving someone hell. This quiet room seemed a long way away from all that.