Tabor's Trinket

by Janet Lane

  James, another of his long-loyal knights, shook his head. “Nay. You’ve shown Gloucester your loyalty and restraint.”

  “Not so at last council. I supported Beaufort.” Sweat rolled down Hungerford’s back. Rauf’s attack could be catastrophic.

  Sinking in the growing muck of the crisis, Hungerford returned to his chamber. With each step he took to pull his tired body up the staircase, one thought repeated itself like a dull throb in his aching temples: What if Gloucester thinks I’m responsible?

  * * * * *

  Hungerford released a long sigh and smoothed the two small squares of parchment. Filling the reservoir with ink, he held the pen, poised, over the paper. Was he saving his skin? He thought of George, his faithful bastard son, and his sister, Margaret. Margaret, I tried my best, he said silently to his sister. Now I must save what’s left of our holdings for the Hungerford line.

  He folded the paper and touched pen to it. “To be delivered posthaste to His Grace the Duke of Gloucester, in Bath.” Hungerford had no Bath pigeons, so he would send this to his cousin’s husband, Burton, assistant mayor of Bristol, just twelve miles from Bath.

  He pulled the second square of parchment to him, and his hand shook. He was not long for this world, and he had so hoped that Rauf . . . He dismissed the thought. Within the framework of their birth, all men made their fortunes, and Rauf had rebelled in spite of Hungerford’s best efforts. Now Rauf must live with the consequences. “Your Grace,” he began, “It grieves me to advise that Rauf, angered at Lord Tabor’s insults, left, armed, this morn for Coin Forest. Please be advised he does so without my leave.”

  He sealed the messages, took a weary swipe at the moisture in his eyes, and worked up the energy to walk to the pigeon cotes and send the message that would doom his son.

  * * * * *

  Sharai directed Aydin's horse into the shelter of a sprawling old oak tree. Pursued by Hungerford's knights, she had said a quick prayer for Aydin's soul and run the destrier full speed. Following Aydin's example, she took a northerly direction while they might see her, then turned south in the protection of the trees.

  Destined for the place they were supposed to have met Kadriya, Sharai had ridden for four miles, following the smoke that lingered from the kitchen fire. The little manor came into view, its thatched roof collapsed over the kitchen. The fire had spread to the small cottages circling the manor. Peasants solemnly scoured the remainders of their homes for valuables, and some dozen men hacked away at the charred timbers, cleaning up.

  The destrier balked at approaching the still-smoldering ashes.

  Sharai patted its neck to soothe him and then reined him away to the Roman road. The land dipped in a pronounced, narrow valley, cut by a swift running stream. Over the years, the stream must have changed its direction, for there on the right was an ancient streambed, now overgrown with weeds, over which an arched bridge remained, along with an old road leading south.

  She scanned the weed infested field, looking for a glimpse of the small-framed child she thought of as her own sister. Her heart beat faster of its own accord. She must find her.

  After a cautious check to be certain no one had followed her from the manor, she tethered the horse and searched through the high weeds.

  “Sprig,” she whispered, then became more bold. “Sprig? Ves' tacha, it’s safe. Come out.”

  She walked cautiously toward the bridge. Mayhaps Kadriya had taken shelter there and fallen asleep. Stepping into the muddy streambed, she bent down and looked under the arched bridge. ’Twas empty, but the long grasses had been trounced, as if someone had been sitting there. She felt the dry grasses highest under the arch. Cold.

  “Who are you?”

  A man's calm voice sounded behind her.

  Startled, Sharai straightened, bumping her head on the low bridge. She scrambled out and up.

  A short man dressed in oiled linen from head to toe stood before her. His upper body buzzed with thousands of bees. From somewhere behind the layer of bees, he regarded her. “What are you doing here?”

  Sharai stepped back. “I am no enemy. I’m searching for my sister. My name is Sharai.”

  “Your skin is dark, like the man who set fire to the manor.”

  “He held me against my will. Me, and my sister Kadriya. We were to meet here, but I was delayed. Have you seen her? She is this tall,” she gestured, indicating Kadriya's height, “And her hair is lighter than mine.” She reached for her braids and touched her shorn hair. Her scarf had fallen off and lodged under the saddle. She covered her hair, trying to recover some dignity. “Have you seen her?” she repeated.

  “A girl was here.”

  Sharai's heart skipped. “Curly, brown hair?”

  Something had startled the bees, and thousands of them flew away, revealing the man's thin arm.

  Sharai gasped and backed away.

  “Stay still. I have the queen. They will settle.” His voice held a soothing quality. “A young girl was here. She left shortly after dawn.”

  “Which way?”

  “I cannot say. She was clever in her movements. Like you.” He moved to a large wicker skep five yards away. He lifted the lid and put his right arm inside, keeping it there.

  “Please. Her life is in danger.”

  He removed his arm from the skep. All but one or two dozen bees had left his sleeve. “The fire burned two of our women, one to the point of blindness. Go, before I sound the alarm and they kill you.” He emptied his left arm of the remaining bees and closed the skep. Carrying his net and tools, he left her and headed back toward the burned manor house.

  Sharai wanted to cry out, to stop him, to force him to remember which direction Kadriya had gone, but his threat rang in her ears.

  She rode out of the small valley to the top of a hill. Gentle hills rolled before her for untold miles, dotted with wildflowers and patches of yellow grain, and bordered with dark hedgerows.

  A white bird flew by, and Sharai was reminded of Kadriya’s dove. Kadriya. Somewhere out there she wandered, her soul strong with courage but likely scared, right down to her teeth. Muffling a cry, she blinked to clear her vision and pulled from the strength of her vow to Kadriya: it will be all right.

  “Kadriya. Kadriya,” she shouted, trying to purge the panic rising in her chest. She rode the hills, crying out Kadriya's name. “Sprig. Sprig, answer me!”

  * * * * *

  Gloucester tucked Eleanor's arm more snugly into the crook of his own. Her skin glistened from the moisture of Bath on a hot summer’s afternoon. She wore a pale green silk gown that bared her shoulders, right at the point where she liked him to nibble. Her skin was fair and smooth as a pearl. She’d caught his eye when first they met in Hainault, when he was newly wed to Jacqueline—an arranged marriage to a pleasant woman, but a political disaster he was still working through.

  After years of calamity, the pope finally annulled the marriage, freeing Gloucester to wed Eleanor and legitimize their children. Now, riding with her in the whirlicote down Stall Street after a midday church service, he noted with pride the admiring glances his lovely wife drew from everyone they passed, not only for her physical beauty but also for her unique mixture of inner strength and charm.

  He nudged her. “Elaborate services, weren’t they?”

  “Aye, though I dare say the monks need more voices. Well, melodic voices, at least.”

  They both laughed.

  She touched her brow. “Will we be staying much longer here? I miss the sun, and an occasional breeze.”

  Gloucester stroked the special spot on her neck.

  The corner of her mouth turned sensually.

  He felt himself tighten in response. “A few more days, dear one.” However the peace mission at the Congress of Arras turns out, he must gird himself for Bedford’s return. His older brother had chafed at Gloucester’s power when last he returned home from France, and Gloucester had been busy garnering support to fend off another political attack.

&nb
sp; The char stopped with a small jolt at their manor house, and Gloucester helped Eleanor out.

  A messenger approached, and Gloucester’s knights intercepted.

  “Urgent message from Harry, Baron of Hungerford.”

  Gloucester extended his hand. “Thank you.”

  He had written Hungerford of his decision to verify Tabor’s claim to Coin Forest, but the messenger had not left until late this morn, so Hungerford could not have received it yet. What was he wanting this time?

  He read the message, scrawled in the old schemer’s distinctive handwriting. Rauf had left to attack Coin Forest.

  The arrogant sod. Gloucester had seen the simmering resentment in Rauf’s eyes, a hostility he lacked the intelligence to hide as he watched Gloucester leave Hungerford. Now he had ignored Gloucester’s order confirming Tabor’s right to hold Coin Forest. Defied him. He thought of the old man Hungerford’s loyalties to Beaufort. Could this be a plot to embarrass Gloucester at council? Damn the Hungerfords. Angered, he crumpled the note. “Paul, prepare my garrison, all sixty. We ride before dawn to Coin Forest.”

  * * * * *

  Tabor eased his horse closer to his mother and repeated his question. “Where’s Sharai?” The afternoon sunlight turned the keep’s stones golden, but the tight expressions on the faces of Maud, the buttery maids, and his mother drained the pleasure of his return home.

  Lady Anne worried her fingers. “I knew not where you had gone, Tabor. I could not get word to you—”

  Tabor dismounted. “Where’s is she?”

  His mother avoided his eyes. “She returned to her people.”

  “Her people? What people?”

  “The Gypsies. At St. Giles’ Fair. Count Aydin came for her.”

  “Aydin.” Cold settled in his gut. “She’d never go with him.”

  “But she did. Kadriya, too. Her contract was almost complete, so I released her. She really did wish to leave, Tabor.”

  Panic chewed at Tabor’s gut, and he shook his head. “This is wrong. All wrong.”

  Distress pulled at Maud’s features, and she bit her lip.

  Tabor strode to Maud. “Did Sharai wish to leave?”

  “Aye.”

  He studied her eyes for a sign. “Forsooth?”

  Maud nodded.

  Tabor noted her thin lips. She might say more, but not, it seemed, in front of Lady Anne. He turned away from her and handed his reins to the stable boy.

  Tabor strode to the church, where Father Bernard waited. “I trust you to tell me the truth, Father. What happened?”

  “I was not here. I was called to the village for last rites for the ale master’s wife. Childbirth. Both died, bless their souls. By the time I returned, she had gone.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “I’ve sent word to the priest at St. Giles. He’ll let me know when she arrives there.”

  “Did she leave willingly?”

  “From what I was told, she said she wanted to leave, but not with Count Aydin. She wanted to go to a monastery.”

  “But why? She promised she would wait for me.”

  “She may have been forced. The count brought knights with him.”

  “Knights? Whose livery?”

  “None, my lord.”

  “What would a Gypsy be doing with knights?” Alarm coursed through him. “Did they hurt her?”

  “Sharai was bleeding, but there are several different stories of how. One said her head had been struck, another swore it was her arm, and Maud says it was her earlobe.”

  Tabor strode to the kitchen, armor clanging.

  Maud was lifting a large kettle to a higher hook above the fire.

  He helped her gain the hook and took her shoulders. “What happened last night? The truth, Maud.”

  Her eyes filled with worry. “Count Aydin arrived, with six knights.”

  “Armored?”

  “Aye.”

  “Aydin is a Gypsy. He has no knights. Did you recognize any of them?”

  “Nay. Strangers, all.”

  “How did he hurt her?”

  She hesitated.

  “I’m sure my mother is lying. You know I’ll protect you, Maud.”

  “Thank you, yes.” She took a deep breath. “The count had words with Sharai in the solar. When she came down, she was hurt. Her ear. She and Kadriya tried to run to the church, but they didn’t make it.” She lowered her voice. “Lady Anne told her to leave and gave her some money. The count took her coins and they left.”

  Maud laid her hand on his arm. “She said she loved you and she followed your will, not Lady Anne’s or the count’s.” Her blue eyes were direct. “She did not leave of her own free will.”

  He imagined Sharai, the fear in her eyes, the stiff set of her spine to disguise it. If only he’d taken her with him. Afraid that her dark skin and bracelets would shout her foreign background, he’d thought it best not to bring her. Worried about appearances, he’d failed to protect her. He spotted a mill bag of flour and punched it. The white stuff fluffed into the air, but did nothing to quell his concern for her safety. Where had Aydin taken her?

  He tore through the kitchen, out into the bailey, into the great hall. Ripping his armor loose from the shoulder, he discarded the sleeves as he rushed through, up the stairs to the Lady Anne’s chamber. He kicked the door open.

  Lady Anne was standing at the window. Her hand went to her throat. “Tabor.”

  “Spare me the trembling.” Tabor opened the trunk at the base of his mother’s bed and stripped the chest clean, throwing linen in a wild flurry.

  “By the light of heaven. What are you doing, Tabor?”

  “Packing for you, Mother. For a long trip.”

  “Where? Why?”

  “You defied my wishes and put the woman I love in danger. You’re off to Fritham, posthaste.”

  “Fritham? ’Tis cramped and humid there. I cannot—”

  “You will.” Tabor pulled gowns from her wardrobe, stuffing them in the chest. “I’ll visit you from time to time to see if you’ve learned any compassion and honesty.”

  “How dare you? I have done all for you.”

  “For yourself, mean you. You care more for your social standing than your son. At least your living son.”

  Lady Anne opened her mouth to speak, but held whatever words she thought of saying. She toyed with the pin on her gown. “I am your mother.”

  “You’re cold, untrustworthy, and care not a jot for me.”

  “But you leave for London. Who’ll watch over Coin Forest?”

  “The Hungerford claim is settled. Gloucester ruled in my favor. That surprises you, doesn’t it, because William didn’t do it. I did. Richard, your worthless son. And I didn’t need to sell myself or sacrifice others to do it.”

  “Oh, Tabor, that is good news. I never thought—”

  “Forsooth, you never thought. You released a trusting young woman and an innocent child to a man you knew to be ruthless, all to please Marmyl.” Tabor strode to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find Sharai, and hope she forgives me for leaving her under your ‘care.’”

  Chapter Twenty

  Maud waited at the door of the mill while Sarah, the miller’s wife, collected the flour. The last weak rays of sunlight sifted through the door in soft sprays of gold, making the large grinding wheel glimmer.

  Sarah appeared from the storage room, dragging two twenty-pound bags forward, huffing from the effort. “So Lady Anne lied,” Sarah said. “Sharai was forced to leave. Does Tabor know the truth?”

  “Aye.” Maud lowered her eyes. “I can still see Sharai’s smile, hear her kind words when I first arrived here. No one’s ever done that for me. I should have helped her, but I just stood there with my heart in my shoes.”

  Sarah patted Maud’s arm, her worn face drawn in sympathy. “By rights you were scared. Seven men, and Lady Anne all but pushing them out the gate.”

  Two tawny kittens scampered
in front of Maud, chasing a string that blew in the slight breeze.

  Maud picked up the smaller kitten and held it to her breast, stroking its whisper soft fur, feeling its fragile ribs beneath her fingertips. “I only pray he finds Sharai, and little Kadriya.”

  Sarah wiped a damp curl from her forehead. “You’ve seen Tabor in the lists.”

  “Aye, fierce. Those knights are good as dead.”

  The kitten watched Maud, his eyes a pale blue, clear as the new world it had entered. New and free, like Maud’s second chance in Coin Forest. “I must find a way to help Tabor.”

  “Small deeds count, Maud. If cook has an empty pantry, this flour will help.”

  Maud released the kitten and hoisted the bags of flour over her shoulder. “Aye. I can help with the travel breads and pack the cheese.”

  Sarah made a clucking sound. “What’s best, I wonder? That he find Sharai, or not?”

  “What mean you. She’s a good person.”

  “But the dead lamb, and the spells—”

  “Bite your tongue, Sarah, and pray he finds her unharmed.”

  Maud spun away, leaving Sarah with her small thoughts. She loaded the cart and pulled it through the village. The tanner had closed his boards for the day, and the butcher had left as well. Dogs combed the area, scratching for dropped morsels, and flies crowded on the blood drenched ropes that hung from the slaughtering beam, their wings and motion creating the illusion of glistening black poles.

  Mary and Libby, alehouse whores Maud had worked with when she first arrived, leaned against a weighing table at the market, currently deserted due to the villagers’ scurry to provision Tabor and his knights for their travel. The women waved as she passed.

  “Hello, Maudie.”

  “Good eve, Maud.”

  Kindness. Generosity. Tabor had brought her to this fine place, and now in his time of trouble Maud could do naught but haul flour. She pushed the cart with renewed vigor. She would deliver her goods swiftly to cook and make a special bundle of dried beef and figs for Tabor. At the least, he would not suffer hunger during his search.

  Just past the alehouse, a wavering light caught Maud's eye. Flames licked the corner of the large storage building used to store wool and shelter the horses during storms. “Fire!” she called, dropping the cart handles and running down the street between the alehouse and market shop. “Fire!”