The church was crowded and we took our place in the line of villagers which had formed in the side-aisle leading to the chapel. Disconcertingly, as soon as we joined it, the hitherto orderly queue began to rumble with an undercurrent of discontent. We had been talking among ourselves in low voices and at first were merely puzzled by the mood of growing hostility around us, but then the father of the family standing immediately ahead turned with an ugly glare and began hurling angry invective in a low growl.
‘Filthy foreigners! You have no business with St Edmund. He is England’s saint. You with your ungodly French talk. You defile our church and poison our village.’
Instinctively both Catherine and I clutched our boys to us and I saw her face drain of colour, as I am sure mine did too. Such bitter hatred was alarming, coming completely unexpectedly from a source which up to now had always been civil, if not consistently friendly. Since settling in Hadham we had believed ourselves accepted by the locals. Certainly many of them were happy to earn extra pennies working in and around the hall and we had never heard of any complaints about our residence there. I frequently ventured into the village to distribute alms and visit the sick and the men in the household willingly offered their labour at busy times on the manor, such as stock musters and harvests. There had never been any animosity between hall and village – until now.
I recognised the angry man as one of the older churls seen frequenting the village alehouse and wondered if perhaps he had been there already. Whether he had or not, he was not alone in his resentment, for others in the queue were quick to register their disapproval of our presence, moving to surround us in a threatening manner and to echo the gist of his tirade. Even some of the children took to verbal intimidation.
‘Foreigners! Filth! Poison!’
Catherine cleared her throat and nervously protested, ‘St Edmund is my son’s patron saint. He is named after Him and born in the village. He has as much right as anyone to visit His shrine.’
‘You have no rights here, Madame Stranger!’ The man spat the last words like a curse, his face so close that his spittle showered Catherine’s face, making her jump back and canon into the folk behind who began to stamp their feet while the chants continued, louder and fiercer. ‘Strangers out! No Frenchies! No Welshies! English soil for Englishmen!’
‘Strangers out! Out! Out!’
Gradually the whole queue took up the chant, their faces twisted in hatred. Probably because we were in a church, no one actually assaulted us but we were closely beset, herded into a small protective huddle and the little boys were understandably terrified, clutching our skirts, eyes wide with fear.
Catherine gave up trying to reason with the villagers and spoke instead to Edmund, whom she kept tightly encircled in her arm. ‘Have no fear, my son,’ she said clearly and slowly in English. ‘These people are mistaken. They think us enemies because we sometimes speak French to each other. But they will not harm us because violence would desecrate God’s house. They want us to go and so we shall go – if they will just let us through.’ But the circle of antagonism held fast and I found myself back to back with Catherine, clutching William tight and growing more fearful by the minute. Weapons were banned in God’s house, but I was suddenly terrified that the ringleader might have a knife concealed under his tunic, so ugly was his expression.
Then, as I looked around for any source of help, I saw Father Godric emerge from his vestry. For once he wore a look of authoritative anger rather than his usual benign air and he paused, frowning deeply, before striding down the nave towards us, his deep bass voice booming loudly through his tangled beard, above the villagers’ hateful chanting.
‘Silence! Silence in the church! You offend God with your raised voices. Quiet I say! If I am forced to inform the bishop of this uproar there will be punishments – women on the cucking-stool, men in the stocks. Give way now, churls, and let me through!’
Taunts and curses subsided into sporadic mutterings and expressions altered from open aggression to mulish resentment. The men, women and children ceased to jostle us and began to shuffle back into their family groups, allowing the priest to push his way to our side.
‘Mistress Tudor, Mistress Vintner, boys, I think it would be advisable for you to leave the church,’ he said, casually cuffing an obstinate urchin back into line. ‘Follow me.’
He turned towards the door and we all hastened to obey his order, avoiding eye-contact with the scowling villagers and grateful for the protection of his wake. With his hand tight in mine, I could feel William’s fearful shivering and as soon as the church door banged shut behind us I cast him a consoling smile. Outside, the churchyard seemed reassuringly peaceful; one or two groups of villagers stood gossiping together, apparently unaware of the drama which had unfolded inside. We followed Father Godric to the gate where he stopped and spoke to us, keeping his voice low so as not be overheard.
‘I must apologise for any alarm you may have suffered, especially the children. They of all people should be safe in a church. But there has been much unrest in the village lately, of which you may be unaware. It has been fermenting since we heard news of the alliance between the French and the Burgundians. People now fear an invasion. It may be unwarranted, but there is growing suspicion of you and your household, Mistress Tudor.’
Catherine looked up from giving Edmund a reassuring hug. ‘Well some of us are French, it is true, but Mistress Vintner here is married to an Englishman and I am married to a Welshman.’ Her protest was made calmly, but there was no mistaking the note of indignation in her voice. ‘I do not think we deserve to be treated as spies and interlopers. We have lived among you for six years now without incident.’
Father Godric wrung his hands apologetically. ‘Yes and I have promoted tolerance among the villagers, but you must know that the Welsh have not been liked in England either since they rampaged over the border twenty years ago. I am afraid being married to a Welshman does not improve your popularity in English eyes.’
‘Are you telling me that we are in danger from your flock, Father Godric?’
‘N-no, not in danger of your lives, but you should be aware of the ill-feeling. I did not mean to imply that everyone in the village is against you; it is just that some of the elders stir things up, particularly those who fought in France. Unfortunately they tend to be the men the younger ones listen to.’
‘I will tell Master Tudor what you say. Perhaps we should double the guard,’ said Catherine, her frown deepening.
Father Godric tugged at his beard in agitation. ‘No, I would not do that – not obviously anyway. It might aggravate the situation. But may I suggest that the boys stay away from the village? Sometimes their antics can irritate the cottars.’
William and Edmund exchanged glances and went bright red at this and I made a mental note to question my son on what these ‘antics’ might be. When the two of them put their heads together they could come up with some mischievous pranks which were not universally appreciated, even within the household.
Catherine glanced at Edmund, apparently thinking on similar lines. ‘We will take your advice, Father Godric, and thank you for coming to our rescue. It was an alarming experience and there was no way of telling what the outcome might have been had you not intervened.’
The priest bowed in appreciation of her gratitude. ‘I hope it will not put you off coming to worship at St Andrews. I will make every effort to ensure that there is always a welcome in God’s house for the bishop’s guests.’
Despite what the priest said about a welcome, none of us felt brave enough to attend Mass in the church the following Sunday or for several weeks afterwards. Maître Boyers came from Oxford and said Mass for us in the house and, for a time, we kept a wary eye on those villagers who worked as domestic servants but they did not seem restive. Catherine, Owen and I summoned Edmund, Jasper and William to the main hall for a serious enquiry into their behaviour towards the locals. They often played outside the bailey wall and we had
never thought twice about them going to the village, but it turned out they had been chasing the cottagers’ chickens and throwing stones into the duck-pond and some of the women had complained to the reeve about it.
Jasper and William were contrite, but Edmund took a different view. ‘We were only skipping stones on the pond,’ he complained. ‘Those women are as stupid as their ducks.’
Owen strode forward and took his son by the ear, turning his face up so that their gazes met. Edmund tried to turn away, but his father grasped the other ear and compelled the boy to look him in the eye. ‘Those women are not stupid, son. The ducks and chickens are their livelihood. If they do not lay eggs they do not make any money and they do not lay eggs if stupid boys throw stones at them. Do you understand, Edmund?’
‘No!’ squealed the boy, trying to wiggle out of his father’s painful grip. ‘She was an ugly hag. She cannot tell me what to do. My mother is a queen! I can do what I like.’
‘Edmund!’ Catherine almost shouted in her anger. ‘You are so wrong. No one can do as they like and particularly not queens, or their sons. You will be punished for even thinking so.’
‘I hope you did not say that to the woman, Edmund,’ Owen snapped. ‘You know we do not refer to your mother’s rank.’
‘Yes I did!’ declared Edmund defiantly. ‘But the stupid hag just cackled at me like one of her hens. I never want to go there again anyway.’
‘Good, because it is forbidden territory from now on and you are not to leave the house for a week. You will not ride your pony or play outside and you will remain in your chamber until one of us comes to get you. Starting now – go!’ Owen pushed his son towards the stair which led to the upper floor. ‘And if I see your face outside your door, I will fetch my horse whip.’ Edmund stumbled past me, his bottom lip trembling. William and Jasper watched him go and began to sniffle.
I did not feel sorry for Edmund. Owen was right and he had important lessons to learn, but so did my own son. ‘William you will not go to the village again either. Nor will you sleep in the same room as Edmund until you have learned not to follow blindly when you know something is wrong.’
‘And, Jasper,’ Catherine broke in. ‘Do not think you have escaped. No riding for you either and you will sleep with Margaret for a week, until you and Edmund have both learned your lesson.’
The house was unusually quiet during the boys’ punishment week but gradually, as Christmas drew nearer, plans for celebrations lightened the mood and tension over the incidents in the village abated. No one went there unescorted any more, but in the cold winter months we kept close to the hall anyway. However, reports reached us of riots and demonstrations against foreigners in other parts of the country. Thomas returned from his Michaelmas tour of Catherine’s dower lands having received protests from a number of tenants about paying their manor dues to a Frenchwoman. Then, in spring, a message came from Anglesey saying that the tenants and villeins on two adjoining dower manors had rioted, chasing out the reeves and burning down the granaries and mills. This was very serious because, apart from the need to prosecute those responsible for terrorising manor officials, much of Catherine’s income was derived from the sale of grain to the crown and the fees paid by tenants for having their own corn ground.
‘What worries me most is how will they get flour for their own bread?’ she said when Owen told her of the sabotage. ‘Did these men not think of that when they fired the mills and granaries? Their families will starve. We must do something quickly.’
Owen’s anger was from another cause. ‘I do not know what came over them,’ he growled. ‘These people know me and my family. They are not dealing with foreigners. I do not want to leave you now that you are with child again, cariad, but I will have to go to Anglesey. Only I can deal with this vexing situation.’
Catherine had not yet let it be known generally that she was pregnant again because she was not best pleased herself. Happy with her three healthy children, she had been wearing a jet-stone pendant, a way of preventing pregnancy popular among noblewomen at court, but one which manifestly did not work.
‘Yes, of course you must go. There is plenty of time; the babe is not due until September. But, Owen, what is the penalty for sabotage? I do not want hangings among my tenants.’
Owen shrugged. ‘Yours are crown lands, Catherine. These offences will go before the king’s justices. It is up to them what penalties are imposed.’
She looked seriously concerned. ‘Then for my sake you must make sure you are away from there when sentences are passed, because I expect the justices are as anti-Welsh as the rest of England. Those fools have rioted against paying dues to a French overlord, but they will be tried by an English judge. They are dead men.’
‘I fear you are right, but I will only arrest the miscreants, organise the building of new mills in time for harvest and bring in supplies to avoid starvation in the meantime. By the time the King’s Bench judge comes out to North Wales and sentences are passed, I will be safely back here with you.’
Catherine smiled doubtfully at him. ‘You make it sound easy, Owen, but I know it will not be. These are your countrymen and you will know them personally. Are you sure it would not be better to send Thomas?’
Owen shook his head emphatically. ‘I could not put him in such a position. There will be protests and maybe even more riots, but I will have local support as well. He would have none. I will take Hywell and John and plenty of men. The law must be upheld and it is my job to do it.’
Catherine crossed herself. ‘I will pray for you daily while you are away,’ she said and kissed him on the lips.
Two days later, Owen, Hywell and John set off for Wales intending to hire men at arms on the way north and leaving three women at Hadham praying for their safety – Catherine, Agnes and Alys. To my surprise, Alys seemed to have succumbed to Welsh charm as well and had been mending John’s shirts for him ever since Christmas. Having chosen an Englishman, I could not begin to understand what it was about the Welsh character that appealed to my fellow countrywomen and I sometimes teased Alys about her new amour, but she was as tight-lipped about this relationship as she had been when she fell for Jacques, the father of her children. There had been no suggestion of a marriage to John and I supposed I would not know if they were actually lovers unless another child came along.
It was different with Catherine, who had neither hidden her use of the jet-stone from me, nor her disappointment in its failure.
‘I had hoped for a longer respite from childbearing, Mette,’ she confessed. ‘But it seems we are a fruitful couple, Owen and I.’
I felt a little anxious about her diffidence. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Mademoiselle? Is there sickness?’
She sighed. ‘No, not unwell, just a little jaded. I must not grumble. There are so many who pray for children and do not get them.’ Another, longer sigh escaped her lips and she laid her hands on her belly. ‘When the warmer weather comes perhaps I shall be more positive about it, especially if Owen has returned. I have let my husband become intrinsic to my happiness and that is wrong because I should put God in that position, but it is hard to worry about my soul when I am worried about my soul-mate.’
Her frame of mind did not improve even when the wildflowers bloomed in the river meadows and the maypole was raised in the churchyard for the spring dancing. There were no protests from the villagers when we went to watch the girls and boys laughing and shouting as they wove their complicated patterns around the pole, their heads crowned in floral wreaths and their feet stamping out jigs played by a band which consisted of the blacksmith on the pipes, the reeve on the rebec and one of the villeins on the tabor. Alys and I tapped our feet as we watched Cat and Louise swirl among the girls, threading their gaily coloured ribbons around the pole, but Catherine hung back near the churchyard gate and kept her children by her side. She could not forget the frightening incident in the church on the feast of St Edmund.
‘The man who spat at us is standing near the
band,’ she said, shaking her head when I came across and asked whether the boys would like to take a turn, ‘We will just watch from here.’
Jasper had not been in the church when the villagers turned on us and he was keen to take a ribbon at the maypole, but seven-year-old Edmund stuck by his mother protectively. ‘You cannot leave us, Jasper,’ he told his younger brother firmly. ‘When our father is away we must take care of our mother.’
His sturdy championship of her earned him a hug and a smile from Catherine. In Owen’s absence there was something lost and vulnerable about her which Edmund, now proudly seven years old, seemed to have sensed. William, of course, stayed loyally beside Edmund and so Jasper hung his head sheepishly and stayed with them, but his foot tapped eagerly to the music. Little Margaret was transfixed by the dancing and had crowned her doll with a daisy wreath like the big girls at the maypole but, nevertheless, clung close to the big brothers she worshipped. However she did not mind when I lifted her up so that she could see better. We all stayed where we were, a tight little knot set apart; in the audience but not of them. When the barrel of ale supplied by Catherine for the May celebrations was broached and the men began to caper rowdily with the village girls and women, we collected Cat and Louise and crept quietly back to the hall.
41
Soon after this Catherine received an unexpected visit from the Earl of Mortain who had recently been installed at Windsor as a Knight of the Garter, becoming one of the twenty-four who constituted the membership of England’s highest order of chivalry.
The Tudor Bride Page 42