A King's Betrayal

by Sole, Linda

  The French had quickened their pace in order to smash into the English line and at one place they recoiled because the weight of numbers was so heavy, but there were too many of them. In their eagerness to prove themselves the knights had not thought about strategy; they were so close together that they could scarcely wield their weapons without striking one of their own number. Raoul saw that they were hampered by their own numbers and giving a blood curdling battle cry he rode into the fray, striking to the left and right, his sword slicing through armour to wound and kill. Pushed on by the advancing ranks behind, the men in the front line could not retreat or manoeuvre. If they were cut down or knocked over from behind they could not rise and were trodden into the waterlogged ground, some drowning rather than dying of their wounds.

  ‘Fight for God and glory,’ Raoul exhorted the men about him. ‘Remember that it is more glorious to die for glory than live in shame. Give no quarter until the day is won.’

  The archers, many having exhausted their supply of arrows, were seized by the blood lust that gripped every man that day. They took the discarded weapons of the dead or dying; long swords, maces, war hammers, clubs and axes were seized and men fell on the advancing enemy. They had no heavy armour to restrict their movement and in the heat of battle sickness and hunger were forgotten. Throwing themselves on the French knights, they bludgeoned them to the ground, hacking through their armour, using the vulnerable places where the suits of heavy metal were jointed to pierce their flesh.

  Raoul saw English yeomen astride the fallen French knights. Some hammered sharp daggers through their visors, killing quickly, mercifully, with one sharp blow. The knights that died this way were fortunate, for others slowly suffocated in the mud beneath the press of bodies, while others screamed in agony, dying in terrible pain while the killing went on around them.

  Raoul continued to swathe his way through the ranks of French. As the day went on he saw piles of the dead strewn out across the line between the woods and the village. Some of the archers had thrown themselves into the fray, but many kept their discipline and continued to send their deadly weapons into the ranks of the enemy.

  The losses were on both sides. Raoul saw the Duke of York hurled to the ground, lost beneath a mass of writhing bodies and flailing hooves. Once he saw the King brought to his knees but his knights and esquires surrounded him and he rose to his feet again, striking out strongly despite some damage to his helmet.

  ‘They are fleeing.’

  Raoul heard the cry. He looked beyond the melee of knights and soldiers to the rear of the French position where their second division had been situated and saw that it was true. Their commanders were trying to rally the ranks, but seeing the carnage in the front line, the men were breaking away, running or riding off as if in fear of the English devils who fought like madmen and did not seem to understand the rules of warfare.

  ‘Over here!’ Raoul looked towards the Tramecourt Woods and saw that it was Stefan who had called to him. It seemed that a part of the French army intended to attack them from the rear.

  ‘Kill the prisoners,’ Henry shouted at Raoul.

  ‘Sire, they should be ransomed as honour demands.’

  ‘If the French third division decides to attack us from the rear the prisoners may seize their weapons and break us in two. Kill them now before it is too late.’

  Raoul stared at him, feeling horror and disgust trickle through him. Deliberately, he turned away and rode forward to attack a French knight, but from the rear he could hear the screams and cries for mercy as others obeyed their king. They had taken hundreds of prisoners throughout the day, men who had laid down their weapons and asked for mercy and been granted it. These men should have been ransomed to their families.

  To his mind there was no honour in what King Henry had done this October day of the year 1415. Fighting recklessly, Raoul ploughed on through the ranks, killing or wounding. Better to die than live with the shame of what he had witnessed this day. When it was done he would fight no more for this King. If God were merciful he would die with honour before the day was done.

  When he felt the heavy axe strike him from his horse, his last thought was that his prayers had been answered. At least now he would not be haunted by the deaths of men who had been foully slain, nor would Angeline haunt his dreams.

  As he fell to the ground, narrowly missing being pounded into the mud by flailing hooves for a moment he saw the face of the lady of the woods and he smiled.

  Forty Three

  ‘Your abbess has given me permission to speak with you, lady. You are sister Isolde?’

  Isolde looked at the man who was waiting for her in the guestroom of the Abbey.

  Tall and lean, he was a man well into his middle years, dressed as a nobleman in a rich gown that reached his ankles, a jewelled leather belt slung slow on his waist. He was a handsome man, his thick hair sprinkled liberally with grey at the temples, his expression stern, though there was gentleness about his mouth as he smiled.

  ‘Yes, sir. You are Lord Tomas of Ryston Castle?’

  He inclined his head. ‘You sent word to me of a young woman living alone in some woods not far from here?’

  ‘Yes, sir, though that was some months ago.’

  ‘Your letter reached me only recently. I understand you sent it with a pilgrim who pledged to bring it to me. He was taken ill and delayed for some weeks I fear, though in the end he kept his word.’

  ‘It is a pity he was delayed for I cannot be certain Beth still lives in the woods. She may have moved on for her child’s sake.’

  ‘Beth? Is that what she calls herself?’ Tomas frowned, a tiny pulse beating at his temple. ‘She has a child but no husband to protect her?’

  ‘She was alone when I helped her give birth. She told me that the woman with whom she had lived for as long as she could recall had recently been put to the test as a witch and hung for her crimes. Beth took me to her hut in the woods and – she gave me a gold chain. I would not have taken it but I remembered that I’d heard somewhere of a lord who looked for a stolen child – a child that might have been Beth’s age. She told me she had a gold cross that had hung on the chain, which she wears on a ribbon beneath her tunic. She also had a green silk dress, which was hers, when she was found.’

  ‘May I see the chain please?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I brought it with me when Mother Abbess told me that you were asking for me.’ She reached inside her habit and brought out a small purse of leather, which she handed to him. ‘If it is proof that Beth is the child you seek, you may return it to her. I never intended to keep it.’

  Tomas took the purse, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled the strings and opened it, letting the small chain fall into the palm of his hand. He looked at it, examining the clasp for a moment, and then a sigh issued from his lips.

  ‘I did not believe it could be true,’ he said. ‘My wife had accepted that she was dead and then just over a year ago she had a dream. She dreamed that Elspeth called to her and that she comforted her and held her. In her dream our daughter was living in some woods.’ He raised his head to look at Isolde. ‘This chain belonged to Elspeth. It had a little cross hanging from it and she was wearing a green silk gown the day she was stolen from us. It seems that you have found our daughter. I am grateful, Sister Isolde. I have two requests of you: one that you tell me where I may find Beth and the second is to tell me what I may do for you in return for this precious gift.’

  ‘Beth lives in the woods that border Sir William de Burgh’s lands,’ Isolde replied and smiled. ‘There is nothing you can do for me, sir. I have devoted my life to God and to the service of those in suffering and pain. If you would repay me, give alms to the poor. I have all I need here.’

  ‘You are a good woman, Sister Isolde. I shall give alms to all the beggars I meet on the road as I journey to de Burgh’s land, which I know is no more than a few hours ride.’

  ‘May God go with you, sir. I cannot promise that Beth wi
ll still be in the woods, but if you inquire for her someone may know where she is.’

  ‘I have proof that she lives,’ Tomas said and tucked the small purse containing the gold chain inside his surcoat. ‘I shall find her no matter how long it takes.’

  Forty Four

  Ruth brought her a gown of pale blue silk embroidered with silver. It had long sleeves that hung to a point at the wrist and was sewn with beads at the waist and the hem. There was also a short surcote to go over it, which was trimmed with miniver at the front and on the hem. The material of the gown was as fine as the one Mistress Soames had given her, and Beth stroked it with reverent fingers. She looked at Ruth, who was wearing a simple gown of grey silk, obviously good quality but nothing compared to the gown she’d been given.

  ‘Are you certain Sir William said this beautiful gown was for me? ‘Tis fine and must have been costly.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I believe he brought it with him from France – it is a part of your marriage portion. As are these beautiful boots you will wear for riding.’ Ruth showed her a pair of long boots in red leather. ‘But these slippers are for in the house.’

  ‘My marriage portion?’ Beth stared at her, feeling a tingling sensation at her nape. She slipped her feet into the soft slippers, which were made of velvet with leather soles and fitted her as if they had been made for her. They felt strange for she had seldom worn shoes on her feet. Her nerves were tingling as she considered Ruth’s words. Had Sir William been so sure of her answer that he’d told Ruth and her mother she was to be his bride? ‘I did not know I would have one,’ she finished lamely, as Ruth looked surprised.

  ‘Every bride should have her portion when she weds,’ Ruth said and a look of sadness came to her eyes. ‘I put things by for my dower chest every year from my eleventh birthday, and because of that I am not penniless, but when my father died his cousin took the house and gave us barely enough to live on. My father had thought to give me my wedding gift before I was wed and did not make provision in his will. My mother has only her endowment, which is little enough for her – and the knight I was to marry reneged on our betrothal. He said it was done in childhood and he had not given his consent – and then he wed an heiress. A woman twice wed and some years older than himself. She had land, goods and chattels worth more than five hundred gold florins and that is why he preferred her over me.’

  Beth gasped for she could not even comprehend so much coin. Gold coins were often foreign for the English coinage was more usually silver and counted in pennies, which made it heavy to carry; there were gold coins, nobles or florins minted in England, though Beth had never seen one. She had heard it said that King Edward 111 had minted beautiful gold coins of such high value that people melted them down rather than exchange them for face value. Five hundred gold florins was a huge sum and to Beth it seemed impossible that a woman could own so much.

  ‘That was a lot of money, yet he was still a fool for a woman as kind as you, mistress, is worth more than all her goods and chattels.’

  Ruth smiled and shook her head. ‘I fear Michael did not feel as you do, Beth.’

  She lifted the silken tunic over Beth’s head. It slithered over her hips and fitted her perfectly. Ruth handed her a fine leather girdle worked with silver, which she tied in the front. Then she looped a chain of heavy gold links in Beth’s hair, making a coronet of her plait around her head.

  ‘You look as fine as a princess now, Beth.’

  ‘I am merely a woman of the woods,’ Beth said and looked at her uncertainly. ‘It was unkind of your betrothed to treat you thus, Ruth. You must have been sad.’

  ‘I liked Michael well enough but I did not love him. However, I should have had my own house and children – now I am little more than a poor relation that must serve for my keep.’

  There was a slightly bitter note in her voice. Beth looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Sir William told me you were his cousins and his guests.’

  ‘Yes, he has been very kind, but the position is the same. Mother feels it more than I, of course. She was mistress of the house and now she will be merely one of your ladies, Beth – as shall I, though I may marry in time. Perhaps a burgher or a yeoman farmer would take me for what little I have.’

  ‘Would your cousin not give you a dower?’ Beth asked. ‘How much do you need to find a good husband who will care for you?’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘I cannot ask. William made it clear when we came here that he wished us to serve his wife as her ladies, and we agreed.’

  ‘Oh…’ Beth was puzzled and alarmed. If Sir William had said that he must have made up his mind to take a wife long before he told her of his intentions. She was not certain how she felt for it was so much more than she had expected. Had he made her his whore she would have understood that their relationship was for a short time only, but if she wed him she must spend all her life here at the castle. ‘You should ask, tell him that you wish to wed. He might do something to help you.’

  ‘Mother has forbidden it. She says we must wait and see what fortune brings us, that perhaps he will not wed you in the end. I do not understand her. Surely she must know that Sir William truly loves you? It does not matter that you are of the common folk. I am of good family but plain. You are truly beautiful in that gown, Beth. I know that William prefers you.’

  ‘Am I beautiful?’ Beth frowned. ‘I have seen my reflection vaguely when the moon shines on the water in the pool; it shows me an outline but not what my face looks like.’

  ‘You have a short straight nose, a pretty mouth that is naturally pink and a firm chin. Your eyes are a greenish blue and your hair – but you know the colour of your hair.’ Ruth smiled. ‘But there is no need to tell you. I have a small mirror, which hangs from my chatelaine. Here, look at yourself, Beth.’

  Ruth unfastened a small round object and handed it to her. Beth looked at the shiny surface and gasped as she saw a woman’s face surrounded by red-gold hair.

  ‘Is it magic?’

  Ruth laughed. ‘No magic but a mirror. I purchased it from a perfumers’ shop when I bought musk and ambergris, nutmeg and some tweezers to pluck my brows. I could do yours for you one day, if you wish.?’

  ‘Is that really me?’ Ruth nodded. ‘I look nice – do you not think so?

  ‘You are truly lovely. Surely you must know it?’

  ‘I did not know the colour of my eyes, more green than blue.’ Beth sighed. ‘My child’s eyes are blue and her hair is like silver rather than gold – as moonlight.’

  ‘She sounds beautiful?’

  ‘She is truly so,’ Beth agreed and a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. ‘If she is lost or – dead, I think it will break my heart.’

  ‘To lose a child is a sad thing, especially if it be a male child. Had any of my three brothers lived they might have inherited Father’s land and they would surely never have turned us out of our home.’

  ‘I am sure they would not. They must have loved their mother and you.’

  ‘You are a sweet lady,’ Ruth said and smiled. ‘I shall not resent serving you, though my mother may. You will forgive her if she does not smile at you, Beth? She had hopes that Sir William would wed me until he brought you here.’

  ‘Perhaps he might if I went away?’

  ‘No, I do not think so. Besides, I do not truly wish to marry him. Now that I am no longer the daughter of a rich lord, I consider that I may marry where I wish. A wealthy merchant would do well for me – if he loves me and I love him.’

  Beth nodded but she was thoughtful as she went down the twisting stone stair of the tower to the great hall below. It was a large room, built with thick columns of stone to support its vaulted ceiling, which was made of wood painted with red, blue and gold. The paintings depicted scenes of battles, what looked like babies with wings, to Beth, and the sign of the golden rose twined with ivy, which was Sir William’s family crest.

  ‘What are they called?’ Beth asked Ruth, pointing up to the half n
aked children.

  ‘They are cherubs,’ Ruth said. ‘And the man with wings is an angel. Have you not seen such things before?’

  ‘No, I do not believe so – I think I recall a book with some pictures but I cannot recall them.’

  ‘The pictures will be woodcut prints I dare say. Someone once told me that the skill was begun many centuries ago in the Far East and the method is used for making patterns on silk. It was only in the last century that such prints were used on paper in this country and the manuscripts bound in leather. I have heard of such a book but never seen one. All books are rare and expensive, of course, some cost as much as fourteen shillings. It is because they take the scholars so long to complete. I think Sir William has only his bible, as has my mother.’

  ‘Common-folk never see a book except in church and most cannot read or write their name.’

  ‘No, that is a pity. Not everyone can read their letters of course. I was taught when I was young. My father had a book of hours as well as some religious pamphlets, but he did not care for reading much. I read all he had but there were not enough for me. It is a passion with me, an indulgence that some might call a sin, for a woman' s time should be spent in caring for her home and husband.’

  ‘I have seen the Bible the priests use in the church,’ Beth said, wrinkling her brow in thought. ‘I think there were books at the castle where I lived once…before Marthe found me.’

  ‘She was not your mother?’ Beth shook her head. ‘Do you know who your real mother was?’

  ‘No. Sometimes I see a lady in my dreams. She is beautiful and she smells wonderful. I think it was she that taught me my letters but it was so long ago and I have forgotten. I believe I lived in a castle much like this, but it may be just a dream.’