An Honourable Estate (18 page)

She looked as if she might protest, but William was relieved
to see her follow him without a word.  It was not a scene he would have
chosen for her to witness.  She had already seen more than enough bloodshed,
but he wasn’t going to waste words justifying what he had done.  It had
been necessary, though he had taken no pleasure in it.

“Where were they taking you?  Lancaster?” he asked Ned.

“I think so.  It wasn’t easy to ask too many questions.”

“Where did they find you?  Have you been living in the
forest?”

“No.  I was at home.  At Haigh.”

“You went back?” asked William, glancing up at him in
surprise.

“I went back just a few days after Preston, my lord.”

“You’ve been there all winter?  And they’ve only just
found you?  I thought that Neville had been watching the manor,” said
William, wondering if it would, after all, have been safe for him to go home
and cursing himself for leaving Mab alone for so long.

“Neville has been watching all right,” he said.  “But it
wasn’t for rebellion that I was arrested, it was for striking Lymesey.”

“Who’s Lymesey?”

William grew more incensed with every word that he heard as
Ned explained to him what had happened.

“I hope for his sake that this man has not laid a finger on
Lady Bradshaigh,” remarked William as he twitched with anger.

“I do believe that he has hopes of marrying her and keeping
the land permanently.”

“Marrying her!  How in God’s name does he hope to marry
her when she is already wed?”

“Everyone believes you are dead, my lord.”

“Even Mab?”

“Lady Bradshaigh refuses to believe it.  But what she
believes will count for nothing if you are not returned after the year is
passed.  I doubt that she will be allowed to remain a single woman.”

“Then I will have to return,” said William.

“If you try to return, my lord, it will be you who will be
dragged to Lancaster – or taken and beheaded on yonder moor like Adam
Banastre.  If you go back to Haigh then Lady Bradshaigh will be a widow
without a doubt.”

“Dammit!  I have to do something!” shouted William,
kicking a branch out of his way with as much force as he could muster. 
“I’ll kill them all if I have to!”

“Perhaps,” said Martha who had been walking beside them in
silence, “there are other ways in which to act?”

“Such as?” asked William.

“The Scot,” she reminded him.  “You said that we might
use him.  He may know more than he is telling about this message that was
brought for the Earl of Lancaster.  If we could offer some proof to the
king that Lancaster is plotting against him and that he is colluding with the
Scots would it not be enough to bring about his downfall?  And with
Lancaster gone, Robert Holland and Edmund Neville would be powerless.”

“And Adam Banastre had a letter from the king in support of the
rebellion,” Ned reminded him.  “The king knows we are loyal to him.”

 “What
was in the letter to the Earl of Lancaster?” demanded William as he stood over
the prone man and fingered his dagger.  “I’ve already killed one man this
morning so another will not trouble my conscience, especially if he is a Scot.”

“I dinna know, I tell ye,” wailed the man for the third time
as William shifted his foot to put even more pressure on the Scot’s injured
leg.

“But it was delivered?”

“I dinna... aye... aye it was delivered,” gasped the man as
William increased the force. 

“Where?”

“We were to meet up with Neville just west o’ here, at a
place called Upper Holland.

 “And what was in the letter?”

“I dinna know... I beg you!  No!  I’m telling ye all
I know!” he cried out as William moved his boot nearer the man’s groin. 
“It was sealed with the seal of the king, Robert Bruce, and we had to deliver
it to Neville.  But the letter was for Thomas, Earl of Lancaster.  I
dinna know what it said!”

“You’re sure?”

“It may ha’ bin about safe passage... to a meeting.  But
that was only rumour.  I could na say for certain.”

William moved his foot away from the man, content that he had
extracted as much from him as he knew.  A letter from Robert Bruce to
Lancaster arranging a meeting would be damning evidence of treason, but they
would need the letter; a rumour of what it may have contained was not enough.

“Can I tend his leg now?” asked Martha.  William hadn’t
heard her come into the church and he hoped she hadn’t seen too much of what
had taken place.  He found that he wanted her to think well of him and, as
she’d already seen him commit a murder that day, it would not help his cause if
she had also witnessed him torturing the Scot.

“What
troubles you, my lord?” asked Harry as William poked at their campfire with a
rough stick later that evening.

“I can’t get what Ned Kemp has told me about that man Lymesey
out of my mind,” he said.  “I fear for Mab and yet I feel helpless. 
I want to go home, but I have to acknowledge that what Ned says is true; I
would probably be caught and that would not help Mab at all.  Yet a man
who would beat a boy in the way Ned described may not hesitate to beat a wife
as well.”

“I’m sure Lady Bradshaigh will not agree to marry him,” said
Harry.  “I’m sure she will not have given up hope of your return.”

“I fear that Mab may not be free to choose,” said
William.  “Her lands are worth much and Lancaster will be keen to keep
them under his control rather than the king’s.  One way he can do that
would be to see her married to one of his knights.”

“Then we must discredit Lancaster by revealing his plot with
the Scots,” said Harry.

“Yes,” agreed William.  “That is our best plan. 
But how?  The Scot has told us everything he knows, but I doubt the word
of a Scotsman will convince the king.  We need some better evidence. 
We need one of the letters from Bruce to Lancaster.”

“But how will we get hold of one?”

“I don’t know,” admitted William, wishing that Adam Banastre
were still alive.  Adam would have seen a solution, he was sure.

The
next morning, William walked down through the forest to the meadowland by the
river with Martha beside him.  She had said that she needed yarrow leaves
to make a poultice to help staunch the bleeding of the Scot’s leg and assist in
its healing.

It was a fine day with a hint of warmth in the air and
William hoped the coming summer would be dry.  The priest from Croston had
brought some seed that had been spared by the surrounding villages. 
William knew how generous that was when they were all so short
themselves.  He hoped that they would soon be able to sow it in the ground
where the old crop had been spoiled and that God would send the sun and rain in
the right proportions for the plants to thrive and give the women of Chorleigh
food for the next winter.

As he watched Martha brushing aside the damp grasses in
search of the yarrow, he kept his eyes and ears alert for any creature that
might provide them with food.  A movement in the sky above the river made him
look up and he saw the hawk circling, also looking for prey.  He moved
slowly down the riverbank as he watched it, squinting his eyes against the sun
as he kept them trained on it.  This was no random bird.  He
recognised the broad, pointed wings of a trained falcon and as the raptor
plunged to the ground he saw the jessies trailing from its ankles that
confirmed his suspicions.

“Someone is coming,” he said quietly to Martha.  “We
must go back at once.”  He saw her glance at the half filled basket but she
didn’t argue.  As they hurried up the bank she slipped and he reached out
to catch her hand and pull her up to the path. 

“Did you see the hawk?” he asked.  She shook her
head.  She had kept her eyes downcast, he knew, concentrating on her
task.  “There is a hunting party coming,” he told her. “I think it would
be safer for you back in the village.”

They were almost back at Chorleigh when they heard the horses
gaining on them.  Glancing back towards the sound of the cantering hooves,
William knew that they would be seen if they continued along the track.

“I think we must try to conceal ourselves,” he said urgently
as he took Martha’s arm and led her deeper into the cover.  “Stay silent
and still.  If the dogs are on the scent of their quarry they may ignore
us.”

He pulled Martha down and positioned himself in front of her,
laying his bow and an arrow beside him and drawing his knife from its
sheath.  The rhythm of  hoof beats slowed and then voices drifted
towards them on the breeze.  He did not recognise them and their accent
was unfamiliar to him.  He tightened his grip on the hilt of the knife as
he heard the howling of excited hounds as they pushed through the
undergrowth.  He wondered how many there were and whether the villagers
would eat a dog stew for their dinner.

William was praying that they would veer away in another
direction when he heard an animal coming towards them at speed.  He
crouched in preparation, waiting for it to reach him.  His knife was
raised to plunge into its throat, hopefully before its fangs sank into him or
its barking gave them away.

He saw the grey fur fly at him, but before he had chance to
stab at it he felt its paws knock him backwards with force.  As he
stumbled he swore out loud that the animal had bested him and waited to feel
its teeth sink themselves into his unprotected flesh.  But it was the
rough, warm tongue wetting his face that surprised him and suddenly he was
aware of a delighted whining and the thrashing of a familiar tail.

“Calab!” he exclaimed in a mixture of relief and delight as
he flung the knife aside and buried his hands in the thick fur.  “Shh!” he
warned the dog as he pushed it aside and rolled over and up onto his
knees.  “Stay quiet.  Good boy,” he whispered as he closed a hand
around its muzzle and apprehensively peered through the trees.

“Where did the hound go?” asked a voice.  “It bounded
away as if it had a scent of something but there’s no sign of it now.”

“It’s an ill-trained mutt.  I’m sorry we brought it with
us,” came the reply.  “I’ll give it a beating when it returns.  It’ll
soon learn what’s expected of it that way.”

William felt his own hackles rise along with Calab’s at the
man’s words.  He turned to where Martha was warily watching the dog and
motioned her to stay hidden.  With a hand clutching Calab by the scruff he
eased his way towards the path to try to catch a glimpse of the huntsmen,
suspecting that they were Sir Peter Lymesey and his retainers.

Calab began a low throated growl as they reached the track
and a fat little man turned in his saddle.  But it was the horse that
William recognised as he wondered at the man’s audacity in not only hunting
with his dogs but also riding his stallion.  Still, Hengist was probably
far superior to anything the man might own himself, he thought, as he admired
the glowing chestnut coat of his favourite mount.   

He briefly licked his lips and let out a whistle.  Calab
began a frenzied barking and the horse spun around with pricked ears before
rearing up on its powerful back legs, and William watched in delight as the man
slid from the saddle and landed with a resounding thud on the ground.

The men with him looked around in alarm.  “Outlaws!”
shouted one and William was pleased to see Stephen Scallard and William Tegg
step out from the trees on the other side of the clearing.  They too must
have heard the commotion as they were inspecting the traps.  They had
arrows trained on the men, who didn’t wait to see if they would release them or
not, but quickly turned their horses and fled.  The fat little man
struggled to his feet, bellowing at them to come back.  Then he spun
slowly around in a circle as he watched the three men who surrounded him.

William tightened his grip on Calab.  “Stay!” he warned
the dog, sensing its eagerness to take a bite or two from the man.  “State
your name!” he called out.

The fat man fixed him with a narrow-eyed sneer.  “I am
Sir Peter Lymesey, and you will hang, slowly, for this!”

William felt himself smile.  So this was the man who
thought he could take his wife from him.  He let go of Calab and stepped
up to him, gratified to find that he could look down onto the top of his
balding head.  With a clenched fist he punched the man under his jaw and
sent him staggering backwards.  Before Lymesey had time to regain his
balance or reach for anything to defend himself William had followed him and
struck again, pleased to see the man completely lose his balance this time and
stagger to the ground.  He felt the toe of his boot sink a little into soft
flesh and, as the man cried out, he pulled back his foot and kicked him
again.  Lymesey tried to roll over out of his reach and pull himself to
his feet, but William grasped his shoulder and threw him down again against a
protruding tree root.  Then from behind him he saw a flash of grey fur as
Calab, unable to contain himself any longer, jumped on the prone man and sank
his teeth into his arm.  The man screamed a curse, but William did not
call the dog off.  As Calab pinned the man’s arm to the ground William’s
foot crashed down again, first into his stomach and then as he tried to curl
his body into a ball, the side of his head, sending him crashing, breathless
and silent, down the slope towards the river as the excited dog leapt back.