Wolf Wood (Part Two): The Dangerous years

by Mike Dixon

  Walls had ears.

  False ceilings and thin partitions made rooms vulnerable to eavesdropping. Even rooms with solid stone fixtures weren't safe. Harald had worked in Westminster before and knew about the dangers. Their room was equipped with a cunning listening device.

  It took the form of a funnel-shaped hole in the curved roof of a small alcove. A tube ran from the hole and transmitted sound over a long distance. You listened by putting your ear to the other end. Harald knew because he had used one to spy on foreign dignitaries staying at the palace.

  Alice stifled an urge to stuff something up the offending orifice. That would be counter-productive. It would merely tell them you knew the hole was there and were aware of its purpose. Far better for them to think you were speaking freely. Then you could tell them all those things they liked to hear. You could say how much you enjoyed being at Westminster. You could pour venom on the House of York and you could pray for their majesties.

  Steven sank to his knees before going to bed and prayed loudly to the Holy Mother, imploring Her to look over and protect Queen Margaret and deliver her of a healthy male heir. She suspected that her son remained sceptical about Holy Mother Mary and his prayers were intended for more mundane ears.

  Alice was aware that her attitude towards religion had influenced Steven. She had a deep sense of the divine but little love for the Church. Experience had taught her to keep her views to herself and observe the holy sacraments even if she regarded them as nonsense.

  Her mind was young but her body was showing the signs of age. At only forty-five, her hair was prematurely white and her once rounded figure was sinewy and gaunt. The scars from a childhood attack of smallpox continued to disfigure her face. Alice didn't worry about her appearance. Her mission was to help others and live a good life according to her own standards and not those dictated by others.

  ***

  Dusk was approaching and it was getting cold. Alice and Harald were with a party of courtiers promenading along the banks of the River Thames. Families with small children had started to turn back and they decided to join them.

  Harald glanced back and forth. A detachment of the palace guard was patrolling in the wings. Their presence was reassuring. He never felt safe after dark. There wasn't just the danger of robbery. There was the ever-present risk of political assassination. York had agents in London and some were trained assassins.

  Harald had a horror of violence. His aim was to avoid taking sides in the conflict between Lancaster and York and do all he could to prevent England from sliding into civil war. In his view, the country's woes stemmed from a breakdown of law and order and could not be resolved by force of arms.

  His wife was of a different persuasion. Her support for the House of York was deep seated. Alice thought in terms of taking sides. Harold was concerned with obeying rules. Right now the rules were being flaunted. Magna Carta had shown the way over two hundred years ago. In Harald's view, the realm needed an updated version and the means to enforce it.

  He wasn't sure how Steven saw things. His son was a dark horse. He had an acute interest in politics and kept his views to himself. If he were a horse, you wouldn't know where to place your bet. You wouldn't even know which race he was running in.

  Right now, the young man was experiencing the exuberance of fame. He had been adopted as the court mascot. Harald knew it wouldn't last. Court life was fickle. In the rarefied atmosphere of Westminster, people were always looking for something new and exciting. It was only a matter of time before they would lose interest in his son.

  He quickened his pace and they got ahead of the crowd.

  It was now safe to talk freely.

  'Do you think Henry is dead?' he asked.

  'Steven suspects he's still alive,' Alice replied.

  'But he's not appeared in public for almost two months.'

  'That doesn't mean he's dead.'

  'No. But it does suggest that something is seriously wrong.'

  'Agreed,' Alice nodded.

  'So. Why the secrecy?'

  'Steven thinks they are waiting for the royal birth.'

  'That makes sense.' Harald deviated to avoid some horse droppings. 'Queen Margaret and her cronies rule through Henry. Once he's gone, their powerbase evaporates unless he has an heir. Then she can rule as regent.

  'Margaret is seven months pregnant.' Alice observed. 'Their main risk is that the child be stillborn or female.'

  'That would pose a problem,' Harald agreed.

  'But not an insurmountable problem.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'They can always substitute another. As Steven says, they could go round to the Little Sisters of Mercy and pick one up.'

  'It might not be as simple as that.'

  'No, Harald, but not beyond their means.'

  'And not beyond their scruples either.' Harald smiled. 'What other thoughts have entered our son's fertile mind?'

  'He thinks they see Robin as a possible ally. They've spoken about how he spied for His Majesty at Sevenoaks. Steven says those are the very words they used.'

  'But Robin didn't spy for Henry. He spied for Matthew Gough.'

  'That's not the point, Harald.'

  'Then what is the point?'

  'They think he spied for the king. Remember when Robin was knighted. Margaret raised her head and said in that haughty tone of hers: “You will be the Robin who spied for His Majesty at Sevenoaks.”. Then she told Henry to go ahead and knight him.'

  'Aye,' Harald chuckled. 'It was an extraordinary performance.'

  'Steven thinks Margaret has something to do with the questions about Robin. Commander Gough was dead by the time the court got back to Westminster. He couldn't set the record straight and Robin wasn't prepared to.'

  They reached the palace gatehouse and stopped behind the queue of people waiting to go inside. Harald dropped his voice. 'Tomorrow, we shall be visiting Doctor John Arundel at the Hospital of Saint Mary of Bethlehem. As you know, Arundel is His Majesty's chief physician. He holds you in high esteem as a heeler. He also regards you as a custodian of ancient knowledge.'

  Alice's heart sank. In some circles, ancient knowledge was code for witchcraft. She hoped there would be no repetition of the accusations that had plagued her life on previous occasions.

  Chapter 20

  Bedlam

  The hospital of Saint Mary of Bethlehem was in the Bishopsgate district of the ancient walled City of London and called Bedlam by the locals. Doctor John Arundel was warden of the hospital and a specialist in mental illness. Alice and Harald were taken there in a covered carriage, accompanied by an armed escort of the palace guard. The guard was for their protection, or so they were told. Alice could not escape the feeling that they were prisoners being taken to a place where the criminally insane were locked up.

  Their reception at the gatehouse did nothing to calm her fears. The place was more like a gaol than a hospital. The security at the palace was lax in comparison. Harald had warned her of what to expect. He said the City was better run than the palace. The civic authorities took proper steps to preserve law and order. She hoped there was no more to it than that.

  A beadle was sent to announce their arrival. He returned with a man in a robe trimmed with white fur. He inclined his head respectfully and introduced himself.

  'I'm John Arundel. Welcome to our hospital.'

  Alice was taken by surprise. It was the famous man himself.

  'Let us retire to my office where you will be more comfortable.'

  He extended a gracious hand and indicated the way.

  'I have long awaited the pleasure of your company.'

  He continued to talk and Alice continued to feel uncomfortable. Harald had described the interrogation techniques used by palace officials. They could be disarmingly polite one moment and turn on you the next.

  'Mind your steps on the stairs.'

  He led them up a wooden stairway into a small room. The walls were lined with shelves. Alice cast
her eyes over the impressive display of books and scrolls. When she returned her attention to the doctor. He had pulled off his robe and was dressed in clothes more fitting for the hot summer day.

  'Phew. That's a relief.'

  He wiped his brow on a linen cloth.

  'Her Majesty expects me to dress up when welcoming visitors from the palace. I trust you do not expect such formalities.'

  He pointed to the bookshelves.

  'I saw you looking at my collection, Lady Gascoigne. I would value your opinion.'

  Alice's eyes flowed over the titles. 'I have rarely seen anything to compare.'

  'You will perhaps recognise some of them.'

  'Yes. You have a complete collection of Plato …'

  'I was thinking of these.' His hand tapped one of the shelves. 'They once belonged to you, I believe.'

  Alice recognised the banned books, seized when the Earl of Salisbury raided Wolf Wood twelve years before. There could be no doubt they were the same. Every stain and blemish was just as she remembered.'

  'We want you to have them back.'

  Her mind went blank as she hunted for words.

  Harald came to her aid.

  'Sir.' He turned to Dr Arundel and assumed his lawyer pose. 'You are clearly aware of the unjust and unwarranted charges brought against my wife in relation to books of this nature. It behoves you to give an explanation of why you now see fit to raise this unfortunate matter again.'

  'Her Majesty commands.'

  Dr Arundel opened a box and removed a sheet of parchment. Alice recognised the royal seal. He handed the document to Harald.

  'This is a certified copy of the order which I received, Sir Harald. Aware of your renown as a lawyer, the royal secretaries had a copy made for your records. You will notice that the queen is acting on the advice of her esteemed father, René of Anjou. He lauds the accomplishments of a certain Sister Alice de Lambert, whom we have identified as Lady Gascoigne. Lord René recommends that certain books should be returned to her possession and that she should be called upon to provide translations of those written in the Moorish language.'

  Dr Arundel turned to Alice.

  'I understand that you read Arabic, Lady Gascoigne. That was one of the reasons why the sisters of Shaftsbury Abbey sought your departure. I understand that the term free thinker was used to describe your inquiring nature. As a free thinker, I fully appreciate your appalling predicament.'

  Harald spoke before Alice could get in a word.

  'My wife freely admits to being able to both read and write in Arabic, Greek, Latin, French and Flemish. She would be happy to comply with Her Majesty's wish and would willingly undertake the translation of any books, papers or documents in any of these languages. She does not, however, admit to having owned or ever before seen any of the books about which you have spoken. Nor does she …'

  Dr Arundel cut him short.

  'I trust Lady Gascoigne can write in English.'

  'Of course.'

  'Good. We would like the translation in that language.'

  Harald pulled a face and Alice felt like kicking him. Her husband had a one-tracked mind. Couldn't he recognise a joke?

  Dr Arundel placed some books in a box. 'If these ever belonged to you, then we are returning them to you, my lady. Otherwise, please accept them as a present. We want translations from the Arabic texts. Annotations in Latin indicate texts on mental illnesses attributable to breeding within families. Please begin with these and see if you can find others.'

  Alice helped secure the lid of the box. The bits and pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. She wondered if she could tell Steven about their visit to Bedlam. Her son would be intrigued.

  Chapter 21

  Robin

  A cold wind blew from the mountains of Wales. Robin Perry peered over the battlements of Ludlow Castle and watched the children playing in the courtyard below. He was wearing his captain's uniform, emblazoned with the Falcon and Fetlock badge of the House of York. Soldiers at the main gate saluted when they saw him glance in their direction. There had been a time when he would have joined them for a drink after work. Those days had gone. Life at the top could be lonely.

  He was now in his early thirties. His hair was receding and his once boyish features had hardened. Long marches had kept his body lean and muscular. His social life rotated around the families of the country gentry and officers of similar rank. Henriette had been brought up in such circles and moved in them effortlessly. She was Lady Perry and he was Sir Robin. The title sat uncomfortably on his shoulders and he preferred not to use it.

  He was the son of a poor country tailor and had been knighted by the Lancastrian King Henry at the behest of his hated French wife. Ludlow was in Shropshire and most people were staunch supporters of John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, who was an implacable enemy of the House of Lancaster and all it stood for.

  News had just come of Talbot's death. He had died trying to save Gascony from the French. For over three hundred years, the people who lived between the River Garonne and the Pyrenees enjoyed the protection of the English Crown. Now their land had been absorbed into France. Calais was all that remained in English hands on the other side of the Channel.

  It was the end of an era. Great campaigners like Matthew Gough and John Talbot were dead and England was reduced to an island nation. Robin felt depressed. Not so much for the loss of English possessions but for the mess that England had become.

  Three years ago, when the French reconquered Normandy, he and his family returned to England with the defeated English troops. They came to a country in turmoil. The government was corrupt and the people in revolt. He helped restore order and hung on in the capital until the Duke of York crossed from Ireland and took control.

  For a while, things took a turn for the better. The duke forced the people in Westminster to mend their ways. Corrupt courtiers were thrown out and royal lands, given to royal favourites, were returned to the nation. But, it hadn't lasted. As soon as the York withdrew his troops, the bad old ways returned. To put it bluntly: the Lancastrians were a bunch of shits who couldn't be trusted.

  A year ago, the duke got fed up with the whole sodding mess and raised an army to sort things out. That was a disaster. A force of over twenty thousand was assembled at great expense and he marched on London with the duke. They could have taken control. But, when it came to the crunch, people feared civil war and everything fell apart.

  The outcome was humiliating. The duke was forced to swear allegiance to King Henry and the army trooped back in disgrace. Robin's stomach turned whenever he thought of it. He watched the children playing happily below and wondered about their future. His daughter Maud and son Simon were amongst them. They were allowed to play with the children of the garrison, even if he was not permitted to drink with their fathers.

  Maud was twelve and Simon eleven. Two of their other children had died. Alice and Harald had lost one of theirs. Their surviving son, Steven, was thirteen when Robin last saw him. Maud was fascinated by her big cousin and often asked about him.

  Strictly speaking, Steven wasn't a cousin. He wasn't even related. But the children called his parents Aunt Alice and Uncle Harald so it wasn't unreasonable for him to be Cousin Steven.

  The Gascoignes had gone off to join the Lancastrian court in Westminster. He and Henriette were firmly based in York's stronghold of Ludlow. Robin hoped that the two parties could overcome their differences. He wasn't optimistic. There was too much entrenched self-interest in the Lancastrian camp.

  Chapter 22

  Spymaster

  Steven took a pair of scissors from his mother's embroidery box and cut a neat hole in a piece of thick cloth. His parents were taking one of their many walks. They said it was for exercise. There was some truth in that but exercise wasn't their main reason for promenading along the banks of the Thames. They did it when they wanted to speak without being overheard.

  The hole in the cloth matched the cow horn he was
shaping. The hollow tip fitted neatly into his ear. All that remained was to trim the other end so that it matched the contours of the plaster around the listening tube.

  It was important avoid making marks because that would leave clues. Their apartment was searched when they went out. They knew because his father was careful to position his writing block so he would know if the palace spies had opened it while he was out and they usually had.

  Steven went to the alcove and slipped the cloth over the hole leading to the tube, taking care to hold his breath. If anyone was listening at the other end, they would hear him breathing and wonder what was going on. The cloth fitted nicely but the cow horn was not quite right. He tipped it from side to side and figured where more trimming was needed. That took a while but he got a neat fit.

  He checked that the plaster was unmarked and returned the horn to the hole. His father said that the other ends of the tubes were often left uncovered. That had struck him as foolish at the time. Now, he knew he was right.

  Sound travelled in both directions.

  He could hear voices. They came and went. He guessed the speakers were walking about. It wasn't possible to hear whole sentences. Most of the time he got no more than the tone of voice and the odd word. There was a woman and at least two men.

  He recognised one of the men. He had a speech impediment and had been pumping him for information about Robin. But, they weren't talking about Robin. They were talking about the crushing defeat in France. Commander Talbot had been killed at a place called Castillon and Gascony had fallen to the French.

  The woman was speaking English with a distinctive French accent. The man with the speech defect couldn't get his tongue round the French names and the lady was showing extreme annoyance. She kept correcting him but to no effect. The atmosphere was clearly tense.