An Honourable Estate (24 page)

“I have information for the king regarding a threat from the
Scots.”

“You need to be more precise than that,” said the man and
turned to leave.

“The news also concerns Thomas, Earl of Lancaster.”  The
man hesitated and William saw that he had his interest.  But it wasn’t
enough.  “I have a letter,” he said as his hand felt for the pouch at his
waist, “that was intended for Lancaster.”  He paused.  “It is signed
and sealed by Robert Bruce, the so-called king of Scotland.”

“Wait here,” said the man with no show of emotion, but
William saw from the way he hurried back across the yard in the rain that it
wasn’t just the weather that made him fleet of foot.  Within minutes he
was back.  “Come with me,” he said.

“Come on then.  What are you waiting for?” said William
to Dicken and, calling Calab to heel, he followed the man to the wooden steps
that led to an upper door in the main building.  In a small ante-chamber
to the great hall another man dressed in crimson cloth of gold, trimmed with
fur, was waiting to greet them.

“Sir William?  Welcome to Langley.  I am Hugh
Despenser, the king’s chamberlain.  I am told you seek an audience?”

Irritably, William gave the man a stiff bow and explained
once again why he needed to see the king.

“Wait there,” said the chamberlain at last and pointed to a
bench near the doorway.  With a sigh William sat down and Dicken settled
beside him with Calab at his feet.  He wished that he had had the
foresight to deal with their hunger and thirst before they approached the
palace because now he dared not leave in search of sustenance, and he doubted
that it would be the correct etiquette to give Dicken some pennies to go and
fetch a slice or two of the roast bird that was driving him wild with its mouth-watering
smell.   

After waiting for most of the afternoon on the hard bench
outside the king’s chamber, William was told to tie Calab to an iron ring and,
after being relieved of every knife and weapon that he carried, he was at last
admitted with the letter in his hand.

King Edward was sitting on a carved wooden chair on a dais
and his chamberlain, Hugh Despenser, stood to one side, near enough to whisper
into the king’s ear to guide and advise him.  William pulled off his hat
and went down on one knee before his sovereign, pulling the overawed Dicken
down beside him.

 “Sire, I am grateful to you for giving up your valuable
time to see me,” he told him.

Even though William had fought at Bannockburn, he had only
caught distant glimpses of the king before.  Now, he could see that Edward
was as handsome as people said, with his wavy fair hair and candid eyes. The
king assessed William carefully for a moment and then his features relaxed into
a wide and disarming smile.

“Arise, arise,” he said, with an encouraging wave of his
hand.  “My lord Despenser tells me that you carry a letter from Robert
Bruce?”

“I do, sire... though you are not the intended
recipient.”  The king frowned slightly as he awaited William’s further
explanation.  “It is a letter that reveals the treacherous villainy of
your cousin, Thomas, Earl of Lancaster.”

“Are you one of Lancaster’s men?” asked Edward as William
stepped forward with the parchment only to be intercepted by Despenser, who
took it from him and looked at the seals before handing it to the king.

“I was, sire.  I was there when Piers Gaveston was
executed at Blacklow Hill.  I am sorry,” he added as he saw the sorrow and
anguish on the king’s face.

“Poor Piers,” he said quietly as he shook his head and gazed
into the distance.  “If he had taken my advice he would never have fallen
into the hands of the earls.  And you, Sir William?” he asked, looking at
him again.  “Are you no longer in Lancaster’s household?” he asked.

“Sire,” said William, with a glance at the chamberlain, who was
watching him shrewdly.  “I have been living as an outlaw for my part in
Adam Banastre’s rebellion against Lancaster.”

“Banastre,” repeated the king. “I know that name,” he said,
turning to the chamberlain.

“Indeed you do, my lord.  We sent him a letter of
support in the hope that he could raise enough men to defeat Lancaster, but the
rebellion unfortunately failed and Banastre was caught and executed.”

The king frowned, then turned his attention back to
William.  “Were you his friend?” he asked.

“I was,” said William.  “I was deeply saddened by our
failure and by his death – and by what the Scots have done to his lands. 
Although that is how I came into possession of the letter.”

He waited as the king read it and then passed it to his
chamberlain. Hugh Despenser examined it carefully, looking closely at the seal
and the signature as well as the content.

“It seems genuine, my lord,” he said.  “I think that we
may have more of a problem with your cousin than we first thought.”

“And what should be done?” asked the king.

“With respect, I find that this is proof of treason, my
lord.  Which means there is only one option.  Lancaster must be
brought to trial.”

 “And executed?” asked the king.

“If it be your will, my lord.”

“It is my will,” said the king as he brought down his fist on
the arm of the chair.  “I have long wished to avenge the death of my
brother, Piers!”  He paused and for a moment William thought that he was
going to weep, but he regained his control and managed to smile again. 
“Will you fight for me?” he asked William.

“My loyalty to you has never been in question, Your Grace,”
he said, going down again on one knee. “I am yours to command.  I would
only ask one thing.”

“And what is that?” inquired the king as he moved forward on
his chair.

“My lands are in your possession,” he explained.  “When
I was declared an outlaw they were forfeit to the crown for a year and a
day.  The lands were the inheritance of my wife, the Lady Mabel de Haigh,
and I beg that they be returned to her.”

“What do you know of this?” the king asked his chamberlain.

“I will make enquiry if you wish it, my lord.  I cannot
say who is in control of the lands at present.”

“It is a Sir Peter Lymesey,” said William and felt Dicken
flinch even at mention of the name.

“Lymesey?”  The king turned again to his chamberlain for
advice.

“He is one of your household knights and his family have
lands at Pirton, around a day’s hard ride to the north.”

“Ah.  I thought I knew the name.  Make enquiry will
you, Hugh?  And see that the lands are returned to Sir William’s wife as
repayment for his loyalty to us.”

“I am in your debt, Your Grace,” said Sir William and bowed
low as the chamberlain moved forward to indicate that the audience was
finished.

“See that Sir William and his page have food and a bed for
the night,” said the king as they left.

 “This man Lymesey,” said William to the chamberlain as
he showed them where they could sleep and called a servant to bring pallets and
blankets for them.  “It was not the king who directly granted my lands to
him?”

“No.  The king has not the time to embroil himself in
every detail, and neither do I.  There are more important matters to take
up our time.”

“Then who?” asked William as he watched the straw mattresses
being unrolled and green, square-rimmed jugs placed on the trestles in
preparation for their long overdue meal.

“Lancaster, or more probably his sheriff, would deal with
it,” he told him.

“I see, thank you,” replied William as the man hurried
off.  And as Dicken stood in wonderment and gazed around at the walls
which were decorated with a huge mural of knights on their way to a tournament,
William realised that the gift of his lands had been in the control of Sir
Edmund Neville.

Chapter Eleven

The Adulteress

Sir
Edmund Neville did not press Mabel for an answer to his proposal of
marriage.  She realised that he was well aware that a choice between
himself and Sir Peter Lymesey would be an easy one for her, and that she had,
by uttering no outright refusal, given him to understand that she was
agreeable.

He had seemed concerned that she had no appetite for her
supper that evening and when she had complained of a headache he had escorted
her back to her chamber.  He had wished her a goodnight, only indicating
by a brief raising of her hand to his lips what his future intentions were.

Mabel had lain awake and fully clothed.   Although
she had been more relieved than she could have imagined to be spared Lymesey
for a husband she could take no pleasure in the alternative.  She loved
William.  Nothing had happened to change that and the thought of any other
man taking her to his marriage bed filled her with revulsion.

The next morning the servant girl brought copious pitchers of
warm water for her to bathe and provided her with scented herbs, a clean silk
kirtle and stockings more expensive than any she had owned before.  Her
fire was built up to a roaring blaze, the food was plentiful and extra candles
were brought as darkness fell, together with a thick woollen gown of a
beautiful blue to keep her warm.

Mabel knew that she was being rewarded and courted by Sir
Edmund and when he sent a message asking her to come down to supper she
realised that she was expected to obey or lose her newfound privileges.

He smiled when he saw her. “Good evening, my lady.  I
must apologise for leaving you alone all day but I have had various tasks to
attend to.  Come and sit near me,” he smiled.  “I have news that I
think will cheer you.  Sir Peter’s health is much improved,” he told her
as he arranged a cushion on the bench beside the fire.  “In fact he is
feeling so well that he has decided to travel home to his lands in
Hertfordshire.  He should be gone within the week.”

“I am glad to hear that news,” she replied.

“And I have made more inquiries into the circumstances
surrounding the attack on Sir Peter,” he went on, “and it pleases me to say
that I can find no evidence whatsoever that you had any communication with the
outlaws.”

“I am relieved to hear that I am exonerated,” she told him as
he sat down beside her, too near for comfort.

“And so there is no reason for you to remain under my care –
unless you wish to do so?”

“I would prefer to return to my home, to care for my
daughters.”

He frowned slightly.  “Haigh will remain in the
possession of Sir Peter until the year and a day are passed,” he said. 
“He will continue to enjoy any revenue from the lands ‒ and to ensure
that he receives his dues I have promised him that I will install a bailiff to
oversee the villagers and the farming.  You will not be concerned with the
management of the manor,” he warned her.

“But they are my villagers,” she protested.  “I have
always had a say in the running of the manor.”

“Not for the present time,” he replied firmly.  “Do not
defy me in this matter, Mabel,” he warned.  “Or I may have to reconsider
allowing you to return there.”

She met his eyes and saw that it would be useless to argue.

“I hope you have someone honest and hard working in mind,”
she said.  “I shall keep a close watch on him.”

After a moment of hesitation, Edmund Neville laughed
softly.  “You are a proud and independent woman,” he said.  “I like
you for it and I will enjoy coming to know you better.  Now,” he said,
“let us eat our supper.  Tomorrow I will introduce you to your new bailiff
so that all your concerns will be allayed.  Then, when Sir Peter has gone,
I will arrange for Haigh to be prepared for your return.  And in the
meantime I hope you will be happy to remain here... as my guest.”  He
gestured to a servant to pour wine and then handed the cup to her
himself.  “And I hope that we will soon be able to announce our
betrothal,” he added with a smile.

“It seems that my future is all mapped out for me,” she
replied.

Bella
and Amelia tore their hands from Edith’s grasp and came running to meet her
before she had even got down from the horse.  Mabel opened her arms wide
and then pulled her daughters closely to her, kissing their heads in turn and
thinking that she would like to hold them forever and never let them go again.

Amelia clung tightly to the folds of her gown and wept
copiously, whilst Bella eventually drew back but remained white-faced and
silent with her hand firmly in Mabel’s.

“Are you well?” asked Mistress Palmer as she came up behind
the girls.  Mabel saw her look of concern and was quick to reassure her.

“I have been treated as an honoured guest,” she reassured
her.  “And Lymesey?  Is he  really gone?”

“Yes, my lady.  He went off the day before yesterday in
a covered litter, muttering that the north was an evil and a hostile place and
that he wished he’d never set foot in it.”