by Mike Dixon
'I wish we met under happier circumstances, Owen. My only joy is that we are safe and have you and Robin as companions.'
Owen crouched beside the fire and pretended to warm his hands.
'You are only safe so long as folks think they can get rich by sending you to Sir William in France, Sister,' he whispered. 'We must get you out of here before someone decides to go to the earl and see what he is prepared to offer.'
'How soon should we leave?'
'Just as soon as I can put something together. We must find a place where they won't think to look. Then we must find a way to get you over to France.'
Alice's heart sank. Going to France was not what she wanted. She glanced at Steven then at Henriette whose adoring eyes were still on Robin. Looking after them was what mattered. They would go to France if that was the way to stay safe. Harald could join them there. She wondered what had happened to him.
***
Harald struggled from his horse and peered short-sightedly at the inner gatehouse of Wardour Castle. It had begun to rain and the ancient walls looked oppressive in the evening light. He wondered why he had been taken there. His escort said they were going to London but this was hardly on the way. The most likely explanation was that they feared an attack by Duke Humphrey's men and were taking a devious route.
He had been arrested together with his chaplain, Peter de Trent, and the remaining members of the Duke's entourage. These included Margery Jourdain, known as the Witch of Eye, and Roger Bolingbroke who was a secretary to Eleanor and the duke. Alice regarded Bolingbroke as a dangerous man who was using Eleanor for his own ends. His clear ambition was to put Humphrey on the throne and have himself made Chancellor of England. Henry Beaufort had good reason to fear him.
They had spent the first night as prisoners in Sherborne Castle. Then, at daybreak, Peter de Trent left with a detachment of the earl's men. Harald suspected he had bought his freedom. Peter knew where Guy had hidden the French loot and there was more than enough to pay for his liberty.
After a hearty breakfast, he and Roger Bolingbroke were assigned to an armed escort of mounted men and dispatched in the direction of London. Everyone was very civil. There were no threats of violence.
A voice came from inside the gatehouse.
'Sir Roger. You must be feeling tired after your long journey and in such inclement weather. The roads are in an appalling state.'
'This other gentleman is Sir Harald Gascoigne,' his escort said.
'Gascoigne … no one told me about him.'
Harald wondered if he had been arrested by mistake. That sort of thing could happen. Soldiers went into a place and seized anyone who looked important. After a while they separated out those of real interest and let the rest free. The escort's next remark sent his head spinning.
'He's the one that's living with that Alice de Lambert … the one they call the Almshouse Witch.'
'Where is she?'
'Escaped.'
'How?'
'She made off when she knew we was coming.'
'Did she now?'
The man left the gatehouse.
'You have a lot to explain, Sir Harald.'
He came nearer. Harald saw his robes and recognised the face. He had last seen Sir John Clifford in Westminster. That was ten years earlier. Age had altered him but Sir John looked no less formidable. He was the Crown's Chief Inquisitor and a close ally of Cardinal Beaufort. Harald knew he would have to keep his wits about him or face a charge of treason.
***
Henriette pulled her blanket about her and shivered. She was naked underneath. Her smart clothes had been given to one of the families in the mill and another girl was wearing them. In exchange, she had received a new set of garments. They were of the sort worn by country folk. The girl had taken them off and handed them over unashamedly, as if being naked before strangers was an everyday occurrence.
Alice said the clothes should be washed. Owen said a little dirt would do no harm but Alice insisted. They were plunged into hot water and soaked in soda ash. After that they were rinsed in the millstream and hung out to dry. Owen said they were wasting valuable time and he was right. Some rough-looking men had arrived and were asking questions.
Owen wasn't the sort who scared easily. Nor was the tinker. But, when they saw the men, they ran to the back of the mill and told them to hide. Robin had cranked his crossbow into firing position. It had two strings and could fire a pair of armour-piercing bolts in rapid succession.
Alice crouched beside Henriette with Steven between her knees. They were draped in blankets and in a similar state of undress. Down below, beside the grinding stones, the girl in the new dress was arguing with the men. She said she had bought it from some people who had passed by and she didn't know where they had gone.
The men said they didn't believe her. One grabbed her skirt and pulled it up. Henriette saw him through a gap in the beams and felt Robin's hand on her shoulder.
'Don't make any noise.'
By her side, Alice was telling Steven he must keep very quiet and hide. The child pulled the blanket over his face and treated it as a game. Henriette took her dagger from its sheaf. Owen and the tinker had drawn swords.
There were now four men with the girl. Others had remained outside with her mother who was wearing Alice's dress. The men were demanding to know where the owners of the two garments had gone and the woman was refusing to tell them, saying they had passed through hours ago and she had no idea where they were going. Down by the grinding stones, the other men were threatening to rape the girl if she didn't cooperate.
Henriette put her hands over her face as one of them raised his tunic. His stockings ended above his knees and he wasn't wearing any underclothes. She had never seen an adult male undressed and had only heard about what happened when they were aroused. There could be no doubt that this one was aroused.
The girl remained quiet throughout the ordeal. Henriette parted her fingers and caught glimpses of the men queuing up to take their turn. Some didn't take long. Others seemed to hang it out. All of them went outside to do the same to the mother when they had finished with the girl.
She wondered about the wet clothes, hanging out to dry. If the men saw them, they might guess they had not left. What would Robin do then? He had only two bolts in his bow. When he'd shot them he'd have to fight with his sword. Henriette grasped her dagger. She'd stab at them when they came after Robin. She wasn't going to give in. They'd have to fight if they wanted to rape her.
Suddenly, it was all over. Someone had found tracks on the lane leading to Sherborne. The mother said they had gone that way but that was a long time ago. Henriette heard horses and the sound of departing hooves. The mother came into the mill to comfort the girl. Owen stayed by the door, sword in hand. Robin disappeared through a hole in the wall.
He returned with the horses saying they must leave at once. They'd have to put on their new clothes even if they weren't properly dry. There were some old mine workings deep in the forest. He'd take them there. They could light a fire and dry out properly. In the meantime, they would have to keep warm as best they could.
Owen stayed with the mother and daughter. Henriette wondered about the relationship. The girl clung to him as a daughter might do to a father. He was clearly distressed by what had happened but had done nothing to defend them. Yet he had drawn his sword to defend her. Henriette didn't know what to think.
Chapter 4
The Tower
John Baret entered the refectory of the wool merchants' guild. It was where he stayed when he was in London: a veritable home-from-home: a place where he could relax, meet old friends and do business. It was warm and comfortable and he felt the need for both. He had just made a tedious crossing from Flanders with his manservant, Tom.
They had travelled in one of the deep-keeled boats built in the Low Countries. They were designed for speed and could sail close to the wind. Unfortunately, the wind was against them for most of the way. They had
tacked for an eternity and had landed at Greenwich on an outgoing tide.
The guild had servants stationed at the docks. They were ex-army men and provided a much-needed security service. John hired two tough-looking fellows in the guild's uniform and they helped Tom transfer his baggage to a ferry boat, which took them upriver as far as London Bridge. Ideally, they would have gone further but the deluge of water passing between the bridge's stone piers stopped all upstream traffic when the tide was going out.
He hired porters to carry his bags to his lodgings. The guild's men refused to touch them, saying they were employed as guards not baggage handlers. They had a point. Guards needed to keep their hands free. At the same time, the two men were not shy about carrying their own goods. They bought these from sailors at the docks and sold them in the City's taverns. They were evading customs duties and he should have reported them to the guild's bailiff. John wasn't prepared to do that. He had a lot of sympathy for old soldiers.
Now, in the warmth of the refectory, he could relax and unwind. He ordered a hot toddy of wine and spices and went to sit at a small table. As a senior member of the guild he was privileged to sit. Younger members stood at the sideboards which lined the walls. They ate off wooden platters and drank from mugs. Senior members ate off dishes and drank from pewter tankards. The lead in the pewter gave wine a distinctive taste. John wondered what it did to the stomach. His personal preference was for a mug but he always drank from a tankard when at the guild.
Men at neighbouring tables were glancing in his direction. He guessed they wanted to hear the latest news from Flanders. He'd entered his travel details in the ledger at the gate when signing in. That was part of the routine. News was vital in the wool business. Fortunes had been made by people who seized an opportunity before others got to hear about it. Disasters had been avoided by getting out of a dangerous situation while the going was still good.
The big worry was Flanders. It was the main market for English wool and everything depended on the relationship between the Duke of Burgundy and the English crown. The duke controlled Flanders and was a vital ally of the English in their war in France. But things were going badly for the English and the support of Burgundy could never be relied on. John believed the English should get out of France and concentrate on trade. Most merchants agreed but few were prepared to speak their minds in public.
'Master Baret.'
A man at the next table leant across.
'You reside in Sherborne, I believe.'
'That is correct,' John nodded.
'Then you can perhaps inform us of the latest happenings.'
'What latest happenings?'
'The Almshouse Witch. You must surely know.'
John's heart sank. Abbot Bradford was fond of the term. Now, he was hearing it in London.
'The plot against His Majesty, Master Baret. The matron of the almshouse is being sought. She made off with that young fellow, Robin Hood, before the sheriff's men could seize her …'
John could only believe that he was hearing a garbled tale of something that actually happened. The so-called witch was almost certainly Alice and the young man was probably the widow Perry's son, Robin. He explained that he had just returned from Flanders and knew nothing about a plot against the king.
He was told that the Duchess of Gloucester was implicated and Duke Humphrey was under suspicion. Two of their secretaries had been arrested together with the lover of the Almshouse Witch. John concluded that the lover was Harald. He had intended to go straight to Sherborne. Now it seemed he would have to delay his departure and find out what had happened to his friends.
***
A scaffold stood outside Saint Paul's Cathedral. It was a huge affair, surmounted by a canopy and furnished with a gaudily painted throne and other theatrical props. Harald was reminded of the stage sets used for passion plays. No expense had been spared. There was even a covered walkway, leading from the cathedral onto the central stage. He surveyed the crowd, basking in the sun, and wondered what he was doing there.
Over a week had passed since his arrest. For the moment, they were treating him courteously. It was a technique he knew from his days as a lawyer and he found it intimidating. His brother, Guy, had no time for that approach. His tactic was to threaten torture from the start. The people who held him captive knew better. They only resorted to torture if gentle persuasion failed.
He was in the custody of the Beauforts. The Earl of Salisbury was a Beaufort and so was the Bishop of Salisbury. Everyone who handled his case was a Beaufort. All owed allegiance to their esteemed older relative, Cardinal Henry Beaufort of Winchester.
His captors wanted him to give evidence against Duchess Eleanor and the strange company she kept. He had no problem with that. His problem was to damn Eleanor without incriminating Alice. They kept asking about banned books hidden in the manor. His reply was always the same. He said his brother had hidden a lot of loot from France. The family chaplain, Peter de Trent, could tell them about it. Peter was privy to Guy's secrets.
He was being guarded by two soldiers with pikes that looked more ceremonial than threatening. They snapped to attention when the doors of the cathedral swung open and a procession appeared. It was led by a man wearing an executioner's cap and trailing a man at the end of a rope. Harald recognised the astrologer, Sir Roger Bolingbrook, who had been arrested with him. He was dressed in shining robes and wore a conical hat with signs of the zodiac and other magical symbols.
A murmur rang through the crowd as the procession halted before the painted throne and Sir Roger was placed on it. Priests in white robes formed a semicircle at the rear. Harald was reminded of the plays performed by troops of travelling actors. The church often criticised them for playing to vulgar tastes. Now, they seemed to be copying them. To his amazement, the Archbishop of Canterbury appeared, followed by Cardinal Beaufort.
Sir Roger stared back at them like an animal in a trap. His features were drawn as if he had been deprived of sleep. Harald guessed the end was near. He knew the technique. The elaborate show was for the benefit of the crowd and would end with a public confession. The intent was to implicate Eleanor in high treason. There would be some truth in the accusation but truth didn't matter in a case like this. The aim was to bring about the downfall of Duke Humphrey. In the process, innocent people would suffer and Alice could be one of them.
The archbishop led the assault, accusing Sir Roger of consorting with the forces of evil to cause the death of their sovereign lord, King Henry. People in the crowd yelled for his death. Harald guessed they were plants. You only needed a few and others would follow. Soon the entire crowd was howling for blood. The whole thing was totally predictable. Did Beaufort and the archbishop realize that the same trick could be used against them?
Sir Roger's confession was almost an anticlimax. The crowd stopped yelling and listened as he explained that he was but a humble servant of Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester. Harald was reminded of the football games the townsmen played. Cardinal Beaufort had scored a goal. A few more were needed before he would win the game and claim victory over Duke Humphrey.
That meant more victims. A sorcerer would help and a witch would be ideal. Alice would be a suitable candidate. Perhaps that was why he had been brought from his prison cell to witness Roger Bolingbrook's humiliation.
***
Robin dangled his feet in the pond and felt the water between his toes. It was a hot day. Hot like it got in the south of France. He had spent a season there with Guy and preferred not to think about it. The Duke of York had paid for them to go and help defend Gascony. The people there were loyal to King Henry and didn't want to become part of France. At first it was nice. You were treated like friends. Then Guy decided to go raiding. He made out he was going to attack French supply lines. That was just an excuse to get loot and much worse. No one was safe. You lived off the land, robbing peasants and prosperous farmers alike. But it was the big estates that Guy was really after.
Mo
st were defended and Guy sometimes lost men. That was always an excuse to rape and burn. Guy reserved the good looking woman for himself and young William. The boy was no more than fifteen when he started. He liked virgins and once killed a man who deflowered a girl instead of handing her over to him. They were both bad but William was the worse. People called him William the Bastard and he regarded that as a compliment. He was Guy's bastard and proud of it.
Robin pulled off his tunic and searched the folds for fleas. Alice was fussy about fleas. She said there was no need for them. That might be true but there was no way you could stay clear. You'd soon pick them up from someone else. So why try? All the same, he'd do it to please her and Henriette. She didn't like fleas either. Henriette had been brought up as a refined lady. He caught a glimpse of her through the bushes and wondered if she was watching him undress.
It had taken four days to get there and they had walked most of the way. They needed money and had sold two of their horses to a farmer. They would have got a much better price at market but the markets were controlled by bailiffs and they would want to know where they got the horses and that sort of thing. The farmer probably thought the horses were stolen so he would keep quiet and not tell anyone about the deal.
They were staying with a poor family, deep in the country to the south of London. The tinker called them Lollards. Alice said they weren't really Lollards; they were people who didn't like the way the country was being run but that didn't make them Lollards. Robin didn't care what they were called. He felt safe with them. They weren't the sort who would sell you to the highest bidder.
The tinker was with them and so was Owen. Robin had puzzled over why they were putting themselves at so much risk. At first he thought it was because they expected a handsome reward from Sir William. Then he realised they weren't doing it for money. They were doing it for the same reason as he was. Some might regard Alice as a witch. To the three of them, she was more like a saint.
And there was not just Alice to think about. There was little Steven and Henriette. Robin slipped off the last of his clothes and heard someone coming. Henriette was a shy, spotty-faced, little girl when he left for France. Now there was nothing shy about her. He saw her sneaking through the long grass, pulling at the straps of her dress. She glanced behind to see that no one was looking and slipped behind a bush. Despite the cold, Robin felt his passion surge as she discarded the last of her clothing and jumped, giggling, into the water beside him.