A King's Betrayal

by Sole, Linda

  Glancing towards Sir William’s castle, she saw the lord was leaving with several of his men. She wondered where he was going. Was it to London for King Henry’s funeral? If it meant he was gone for a while she would not need to fear meeting him.

  As she went into the cottage, she saw that Mistress Soames was sitting on a stool at the kitchen table, sipping a drink she had made herself.

  ‘You are better this morning?’

  ‘A little,’ Mistress Soames agreed. ‘Your herbs helped me. I am still suffering a watery bowel but ‘tis not as bad as it was.’

  ‘I am glad of it,’ Beth said. ‘I have brought you some more of the mixture. While I am here I will take your bed linens to wash in the stream below the castle.’

  ‘Be careful if you go alone, Beth. Sir William is not to be trusted. I think him a better man than his father – but it would be wise to be wary of him. Too many lords misuse their power and ‘tis hard to seek redress against them in the courts.’

  ‘I saw him leaving the castle with some of his men. Perhaps he has gone to London to see the King buried?’

  ‘Yes, I dare say. His absence would be thought disrespectful so he may have thought it best, though I know he hath no love for the late King nor yet his son.’

  ‘How do you know that, Mistress Soames?’

  ‘His father sided with King Richard and was heavily penalised. The de Burgh family was not as wealthy as some others and the fine ruined them. It is Sir William who hath restored their fortunes.’

  ‘How did he do that?’ Beth asked as she prepared the cure.

  ‘He fought as a mercenary in foreign wars and then for King Henry 1V in Wales. If he was lucky his share of the prize money would more than pay his expenses. If he took the son of a noble hostage his ransom might be more than a year’s rents I dare say.’

  ‘Perhaps he has ridden off to another war?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps.’ Mistress Soames smiled at her. ‘What can I give you for helping me, Beth?’

  ‘I want nothing now. You have promised that I shall have your things one day and that will content me.’

  ‘I thought I might die. I must give you something. Look in my small coffer. You will find a wooden box that contains needles, threads and a small silver knife for cutting threads. Take that for your troubles.’

  ‘If I took it Marthe would sell it to buy things we need,’ Beth said. ‘What I have done I have done for friendship. Do not ask again.’

  ‘Very well.’ Mistress Soames looked at her. ‘You have pride beyond your station, Beth. I have oft thought you could not be Marthe’s child. At times you remind me of someone I once saw but I cannot recall who it was.’

  Seventeen

  ‘So Henry is dead at last.’ Beatrice looked at her husband. She had been sewing when he brought her the news, but she put it aside gladly. ‘Do not expect me to show grief or respect for his passing, Tomas. He was a murderer. He killed Richard – and he had my child stolen. If she died he was her murderer too.’

  ‘Beatrice…’ Tomas shook his head at her sadly. ‘We lost her twelve years since. Has the hurt not yet healed?’

  ‘It will never heal entirely. You must know that I can never forget either of them, Tomas. You have given me a new life and I am grateful for it – but that tyrant robbed me of all that should have been Elspeth’s - and mine. She is the true Queen of England.’

  ‘Hush, love. It does no good and would still be thought treason. If you have no thought for yourself have a care for your sons and me.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Beatrice’s eyes brimmed with tears but they did not fall. ‘My own ambition was the cause of such grief. I drove Richard away. Had I been patient as you advised he might have legitimised my child.’

  ‘Elspeth has gone, Beatrice. You must let go of the past. In your heart you know all that has passed.’

  ‘Do I?’ For a moment her eyes blazed and then she sighed. ‘You are right, as always. Forgive me, Tomas. I have never quite given up hope that she lives.’

  ‘Perhaps she does but she is lost to us.’

  ‘Yes – England’s loss as well as ours.’

  ‘Indeed, that is true.’

  ‘So his son will be king in his place. I shall not rejoice for in my heart is only bitterness.’

  ‘I am sorry for it, Beatrice,’ Tomas said. ‘Your sons await you in the courtyard. Go down to them now and try to be happy for their sakes.’

  ‘Yes, I shall,’ she said, stood up and went to him. ‘How do you bear with me, Tomas?’

  ‘I love you now as ever. If I thought she lived I would search the ends of the earth for her.’

  ‘I know,’ she said and kissed his cheek. ‘I thank you for your patience, Tomas. I do not deserve it.’

  ‘I would I could give you all you wish,’ he murmured as she left him. ‘Alas, Richard haunts us still. She is his in death as she was in life.’

  Why could she not accept her life? It was peaceful and she wanted for nothing, but the need for more was there inside her, nagging at her, driving her to think of what might have been. As the mother of England’s rightful queen she would have had palaces, riches and respect…the acknowledgement she had always craved.

  As she bent to pluck a sweet smelling herb she heard the sound of a man’s footsteps and turned, eager as always for the news she had never ceased to hope would come one day.

  ‘Beatrice. How are you this day sister? Tomas said I should find you here.’

  ‘Hugh.’ She made no movement to greet him, though it was an age since she had seen him. Tomas had welcomed him to their house before this, but Beatrice could not forget that he had gone over to Henry’s side when the war with the Welsh began. ‘How came you here?’

  ‘I came to visit you, Beatrice. I think I may soon be leaving England again and wanted to make my peace with you. Will you not forgive me at last? Henry is dead now and his son is not the tyrant his father was before him. He will put right much that was wrong in this kingdom.’

  ‘Can he restore Richard? Can he bring Elspeth back to me?’

  Her brother looked grim. ‘You should put all that behind you, Beatrice. Tomas is a good man but even he may grow tired of your sulks in time.’

  ‘I was not aware that I was sulking. I do what I can to be a good mother and wife.’

  ‘Do you still love Richard?’ Beatrice nodded, silent, eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘We are more alike than you believe, sister. I too know what it is to grieve for a lost love.’

  ‘You? I thought you married for land, Hugh? When Maude died you did not seem to grieve?’

  ‘She was not the love I mourn. There was a woman I loved but her father would not have me, because I was not rich or important enough – and then she died of a fever. I have carried her image in my heart since and none can replace her.’

  ‘If Maude had given you sons you might have felt recompensed. You should marry before it is too late and get an heir.’

  ‘I have my heirs – you and your children shall have what is mine when I’m dead.’

  ‘I have all I need. Marry, find a girl who will love you and be happy.’

  ‘Have you forgiven me at last?’

  ‘There was nothing to forgive. Richard was dead. You did what you had to do.’

  ‘It hurts you still – that he did not acknowledge you and Elspeth?’

  ‘She is England’s rightful queen.’

  ‘Henry is King, Beatrice. Elspeth is dead.’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I feel it in here.’ She pressed both hands to her breast. ‘She calls to me, Hugh. How can she call to me if she is dead?’

  ‘It is your grief,’ he said and moved to embrace her. ‘Forgive me, sister. I wronged you. I should have done more…’

  ‘What could you have done?’ Beatrice saw her husband walking towards them. ‘Tomas comes. You will stay to sup with us? Will you stay a little longer?’

  ‘I will take supper with y
ou, then I must go. I have business that will not wait.’

  ‘Then we must make the most of the time we have.’ She slipped her arm through his. ‘Do not look so, Hugh. I am not always sad – and I have forgiven you.’

  * * *

  Tomas was thoughtful as he rode away that evening. He had almost told Beatrice about Richard’s last letter. He ought to have done so. To keep it from her was wrong. He had believed that she would forget Richard and her lost hopes, but her grief was still strong. Elspeth had gone and nothing could change the course of history now. Even if Beatrice knew the truth she could harm no one.

  Perhaps, when he had finished his work for the King, he would return and give his sister the letter. It was amongst his things somewhere, though he was not certain if he could recall exactly where he had placed it.

  No matter, he would find it. The letter belonged to Beatrice and had nagged at his conscience for years.

  Eighteen

  As the next few weeks passed peacefully and the days became warmer, Beth forgot about the incident over the rabbit and the lord of the manor. She seldom ventured to the river that wound its way through the lord’s lands, content with the food she could forage in the woods or bargain for with the villagers. In truth she thought of little but her mother’s worsening moods and Mistress Soames’s sickness, for after a short respite it had returned with a vengeance.

  ‘I fear she is failing fast,’ Mistress Grey said one morning when Beth visited the village, taking a basket of cures for various ailments, which she hoped to bargain for flour or oats. ‘I do not think she can live much longer, Beth.’

  ‘She is much weaker. I have done all I can for her. My herbs give her some ease but nothing stops what ails her and I think she has pain.’

  ‘I am certain of it. I have seen this wasting sickness before. No one can cure it. It is an affliction sent by God to test us.’

  ‘Is God so vengeful? He must be an unkind god to inflict so much suffering. I think there is no god, except perhaps the spirits of the earth itself. If you listen carefully you can sometimes hear the trees whispering their secrets. I have heard it said that in the old religion they worshiped the spirit of the woods and other living things.’

  Mistress Grey looked startled and hastily crossed herself. ‘You blaspheme, Beth. The priest would be angry if he heard you and you could be punished. I know it is not your intention to insult God for you have not been brought up in the faith, as you ought. Marthe is at fault. She should have found a home in the village and attended church on Sundays, as we do.’

  ‘She says…’ Beth shook her head. It would be best not to repeat Marthe’s opinion of the Church and all it stood for. ‘Excuse me, I must go on for Mistress Soames will be waiting for me.’

  ‘Yes, she will,’ the goodwife smiled and nodded. ‘She looks forward to your visits. Have you heard the news? ‘Tis glad tidings that the new King hath been crowned. Rumour has it that he will try to bring the thrones of England and France closer by some means.’

  ‘It will make little difference to us,’ Beth said. ‘The lives and dreams of kings mean nothing to the people.’

  ‘There have been too many wars between England and France these past years and conflict brings hardship to the people,’ Mistress Grey said. ‘The lords take men from the villages to fight their wars and many never return home. They leave widows and children. Unless the woman can find another husband she may starve and her children with her. You have seen so little of the world, Beth. When Mistress Soames dies you should take her things and go from here. You could find a new life and perhaps happiness.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if fearing someone might hear. ‘I’ve heard whispers about Marthe. The priest preaches against witchcraft in the church. It may not be safe for you to stay here much longer.’

  Beth wondered what she meant but could not stay to gossip. Mistress Grey had a good heart but she would talk all day and Beth could not spare the time to listen. She was anxious to see how her friend was this fine spring morning.

  As she entered the cottage the same sour smell met her nostrils. She approached the mattress where her friend lay and saw that she had her eyes closed, but was still breathing. Beth’s herbs had helped her for a while but now the sickness had her in its grip. It was clear that Mistress Soames was not long for this world, but Beth would do all she could to make her last hours comfortable.

  ‘Beth…my dear child,’ the sick woman opened her eyes, managing a smile of welcome. ‘You have come. Sit with me for a while. I think there is little more you can do for me.’

  ‘I have made a stronger mixture, mistress. Drink a little if you can for I think it will give you ease.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mistress Soames gave a little cry as Beth lifted her in her arms. ‘You are an angel of mercy. You should leave here and seek the Sisters of Mercy out. They are nuns, good women who dedicate their lives to helping the sick. They would take you in, teach you their ways and protect you from harm for you would be of use to them.’ Her hand clutched at Beth’s tunic and for a moment her eyes were dark with fear. ‘I see danger and death surrounding you, girl. When I am dead take my things, sell them and leave here. If you stay…’ She gave a little choking cry and fell back, closing her eyes.

  The mixture had taken effect very quickly. Mistress Soames would sleep now for some hours. Indeed, she might not wake again for the smell of death was on her. It was her own death that she had foreseen.

  Beth made up the fire and tidied the cottage, then took one last look at her patient and said her farewells. Mistress Soames was sleeping and she did not think she would see her alive again. Going out into the fresh air, she saw Mistress Grey gossiping and waved, skirting past the flock of hissing geese and a wandering pig hunting for scraps. The blacksmith was at his anvil. He was wearing his leather apron, a hammer in his hand as he beat at a piece of red hot metal. He paused and glared at her as she passed but she turned her head and would not look at him. He frightened her for there was something evil in the way he looked at her.

  Leaving the village, she crossed the meadow that led to the woods. She had not long left the village when she saw the lord riding towards her on his great horse. He tugged on the reins, brought the snorting beast to a halt and sat looking down at her. His features were harsh and stern, but he was not ugly or disfigured and, as a smile touched his mouth, she discovered that she did not dislike his look, though his reputation made him a person to be feared.

  ‘Good morrow, lady of the woods,’ he said, bowing his head to her. ‘Have you been visiting Mistress Soames? I am told she may not have long to live.’

  ‘It will be a mercy if she does not live to see another day, lord,’ Beth replied, her heart thudding. No one had told her that he had returned. ‘Her pain and sickness is too great to be born.’

  ‘Then God grant her mercy,’ he said and made the sign of the cross over his breast. His gaze narrowed as he looked down at her. ‘Have you thought whether you will come to me at the castle?’

  ‘I cannot come to you, lord. My mother is also not as she was and she needs me to care for her.’

  He frowned, clearly displeased by her refusal. ‘Are you still stealing from me, Beth? I have been tolerant so far but I may not always be so kind. You know what I want of you. Do not seek to blind me with your innocence. Your mother is a whore. You must know what she does. I shall not use you as men use her. Come to me and I will look after you. At the castle you will be safe – and, if you please me, you will never want for anything.’

  ‘I will think of what you have said,’ Beth promised to placate him. ‘Please let me go on, lord. I must get home for my mother will need me.’

  ‘Go then. I shall wait a little longer – but I mean to have you, my lady of the woods. You belong to me, and one day I shall have you.’

  Beth inclined her head and walked on past him. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt breathless. The way he looked at her with those hot eyes frightened her and she knew that in future
she must be very careful.

  Nineteen

  William scowled over the letter that awaited him on his return home that morning. He was summoned to attend King Henry V in London. The letter had come from Sir Raoul D’Avignon, couched in terms of friendship and yet with an underlying hint of command. Unless he obeyed the summons he would not be seen as a friend of the King. His absence from both the funeral of the late King and King Henry V’s coronation in April had been noted and an explanation was required.

  William swore and crumpled the parchment in his hand. Why could he not be left in peace to go his own way? It was inconvenient to make the journey to London when there was business at home that needed his attention. He refused to be kept dangling at court or to join in the jostling for power that would go on as barons and nobles sought to find favour with the new King.

  William owed no allegiance to the House of Lancaster. Richard’s will had named Edmund of Langley as his successor and then Edward, Duke of Aumale, favouring the house of York, as William himself did. The ruling council had rejected Richard’s will in favour of the usurper Henry Bolingbroke but the decision had not sat well with those who had remained loyal to Richard. William’s father had suffered for his loyalty and his son had born the brunt of his disgrace. He would support a rising against the house of Lancaster if it seemed likely to succeed. However, he believed that for the moment the mood was not right for an uprising against the throne. Some might voice their discontent and jostle for the power or profit to be had from an uneasy situation but few had the taste for outright civil war. The long struggle with Wales had emptied coffers and taken too many lives.

  Tossing the letter to one side in disgust, William looked out of the window at the river that became a stream as it wound its way through the village and disappeared into the woods, breaking off into little tributaries before it became one again somewhere beyond his lands. He believed it entered a pool somewhere deep within the wood but had never yet seen the secret place, which was rumoured to have magical powers. As a child his nurse had told him of the pool and of the witch that had drowned there. Her spirit was said to haunt the pool and to lure unwary travellers to their deaths.