Long after midnight an elderly white-haired knight dressed in black chain mail with a black surcoat stepped silently through the stone wall near the master chamber. His spurs scraped against the floor.
“Good evening, grandfather,” Jobe said, moving out of the shadows.
The knight looked at him with an expression of gentle amazement. “You can see me, Jobe?” he asked in a pleasant voice.
The African nodded. “I have observed you ever since we first came to Bodiam.”
“And do you know who I am?” the knight inquired.
Jobe’s grin flashed in the darkness. “Aye, venerable one. You are the builder of this keep and now its guardian spirit.”
“Very good, my son,” the knight agreed. “You do indeed possess the Sight.”
“So my esteemed father told me,” he replied. “You made a grand show when you rode your fine horse through the hall on All Hallows Eve.”
The knight chuckled. “You think so? Twas the best I could do for Belle. She was always one of my favorite children.”
Jobe moved closer to the ghost. “Twas you who taught her Bodiam’s secrets and its hiding places?”
The knight wiggled his white mustache. “Not all my secrets, but most of them. I was sorry when she grew older, though Kitt was good company until his parents moved north.” He knotted his brows. “Francis was a different kettle of fish altogether. Far too studious for his own good. He didn’t believe in me, so naturally, he never saw me.”
Jobe chuckled. “Take good cheer, grandfather, soon this old castle will ring again with the shouts of little ones.”
“Does your Sight tell you this, my son?”
“Indeed,” Jobe replied.
The knight smiled. “Then you have made a very old man very happy. But I see you are dressed for traveling. Whither away?”
Jobe slung his pack over his shoulder. “This English weather chills my blood and the call of my homeland grows louder in my ears. My work here is finished. I am off to warmer climes to seek new adventures.”
The knight lifted his hand in a blessing. “God go with you, my son.”
Jobe flashed him another grin. “He always has so far, grandfather.” Saluting the knight, the giant African slipped down the stairs to the courtyard where his horse pawed the ground with impatience.
The knight glided along the gallery to the alcove outside the bridal chamber. Kitt, stuffed full of gingerbread, sugared almonds, tansy cakes and wine, slumbered on his truckle bed. The knight adjusted the blanket that had slipped off the boy.
“Good evening, Dexter,” he addressed the cat who lay curled on a pillow beside Kitt’s head. “Have you been behaving yourself as usual?”
Dexter mewed, then licked his long whiskers.
“As I thought—too many sweetmeats. Twill catch up with you one day, my friend. Sleep well.”
The cat shut his golden eyes and laid his chin on Kitt’s shoulder.
The knight passed through the door to the inner chamber and hovered outside the drawn curtains of the nuptial bed. The bride and her groom slept entwined in each other’s arms. The knight blessed them.
“Tis good to have you home,” he said though he knew they could only hear him in their dreams. “I look forward to meeting your children.”
Afterword
Lord and Lady Hayward enjoyed a happy married life. They had two sons, John and Thomas. Sir John Hayward married, at an early age, to a pretty maid of honor in the court of the young Queen Elizabeth. In due time, Sir John inherited Bodiam Castle with its resident ghost. His marriage, though happy, proved to be childless. The couple died together during the plague year of 1578. At that point, Bodiam Castle passed out of the Hayward family.
Sir Thomas Hayward became a valued servant of Queen Elizabeth. He too was blessed with a happy though brief marriage to a distant French cousin of Belle’s Aunt Celeste Cavendish. In 1567, Thomas’s young wife died during childbirth but the infant survived. The Queen graciously stood as the baby’s godparent. Thereafter she took a great interest in the motherless child of her favored courtier. Thomas’s daughter was named Elizabeth after her godmother and she grew up to become a charming young woman.
The story of Lady Elizabeth Hayward and her most unusual romance is recounted in FOOL’S PARADISE. Lady Elizabeth married her own true love in November 1586. A year later, she proudly wore her grandmother’s heirloom—the famous Cavendish ruby and pearl brooch—when her husband was created the Earl of Fawkland.
And thereby hangs my tale.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5941-9
HALLOWEEN KNIGHT
Copyright © 2000 by Mary W. Schaller
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*The Cavendish Chronicles
Halloween Knight Page 26