Dacre's War (38 page)

Cardinal Wolsey hurried to York, where he met the Duke of Norfolk. His first greeting was to inform the Duke that the bishops of Durham and Carlisle had sent word they dared not leave their charges in case the unrest deepened.

‘More likely frightened to set foot outside their gates in case they get lynched,' muttered Norfolk, taking a seat in Wolsey's apartments, and casting a jaundiced eye over the comforts an archbishop could command. Wolsey raised his eyebrows, not disagreeing, and waited until his rich white wine had sweetened the soldier's tongue. ‘If this continues,' Norfolk said, putting down his glass and waving away the servant who would have filled it again, ‘or if the situation grows any more grave, as I fear it will, Henry must come north, and be seen at the head of his army.'

Wolsey looked shocked. ‘Surely it is no more than a brief flaring?' When Norfolk said nothing, the cardinal began to wring his hands in his lap. ‘You think this is serious rebellion?'

‘Most certainly,' Norfolk replied, not unpleased to see the cardinal's anxiety. The man who played monarch in the Star Chamber was a mere commoner, and a cowardly one at that, in the face of armed revolt. Norfolk wondered when Wolsey had last drawn a sword. With a cough, he continued. ‘The insurrection stretches from west to east. The Cumberland rioters are making a point, enraged, one presumes, at Dacre's fate. But from the middle to the eastern marches, each outburst is connected in some way to the next. For once in their benighted existence,' he said, with something close to venom, ‘these brigands are forgetting their differences, and forging a united front. It is a front, I must advise you, that could see the north splinter from the south. That, as we all know, would be disastrous. The king is close to making peace with France as well as Scotland, yet if it becomes known his own people are in open revolt and rebellion it would weaken his position in negotiations, and – perhaps worse – make him a figure of fun far beyond France.'

‘It would seem the bishops were not exaggerating,' said the cardinal, so quietly he might have been talking to himself, ‘and I have underestimated the risks they face.' He raised his head, and looked into the duke's cold eyes. ‘You have a plan for dealing with this, I presume? A hardened campaigner such as yourself generally prefers to give orders than to take them.'

Norfolk ignored the insolent tone, recognising that only when threatened did Wolsey grow uncivil. ‘Indeed I do. It is a last resort, and one the king's lawyers are queasy about, but in the north it works.' Now he beckoned the servant to fill his glass. ‘Usually, anyhow,' he added.

Wolsey too drank another glass. He nodded, his expression grave. ‘I believe I know what you are about to suggest.' His tongue searched for the last traces of wine, and his lips glistened. ‘We must take pledges as security for good behaviour?'

‘Pledges, and many of them. Across all three marches.' Norfolk's voice was that of a commander, instructing his men. Suddenly he appeared to be looking beyond the room, seeing not the rich blue tapestries that hung from the walls but the forests and hills and hidden villages of the borders, whose ceaseless unquiet would follow him, he feared, until the day his mouth was plugged with earth.

‘The most powerful families and the most pernicious clans must be forced to hand over one of their high-ranking men, or several of those less important, who will be held in custody until peace is restored. If trouble erupts and their promises are broken, the pledges will be killed. The borderers hold to a code of honour incomprehensible to those of us who live in the south, but a reminder of the primitive manners and cast of mind they live by. For some reason, it proves effective. Clan loyalty matters to these people in a way none like us can begin to comprehend. For all their barbarous ways, the prospect of one of theirs being killed to atone for their misdeeds seems to keep them in check.'

‘Then why do the king's legal advisers so dislike this tactic?'

Norfolk gave a bark of laughter. ‘Poor, sheltered souls, they are uncomfortable at the idea of an innocent man being made to pay for someone else's crime. Yet these pledges are innocent only, I should add, in the sense that for so long as he – or she – is in custody, they cannot be said to have taken part in whatever outrage then leads to their execution. In all other respects, these pledges are as guilty and culpable as the rest of their brethren, and their deaths disturb neither my sleep nor my conscience.'

Wolsey rose, and took a turn around his chamber. ‘We must settle this without dragging Henry out of London. That will do nothing to improve his temper, which of late has grown ragged.'

‘I had not noticed,' replied Norfolk, merely to provoke. Wolsey ignored him, and paced on. At last, when it seemed he would have worn out his buckskin soles, he came to a halt.

‘Can you undertake to have pledges taken, and swiftly?'

The soldier nodded. ‘The bishops can instruct their men to begin the process at Durham, Carlisle, and all points between. I shall personally oversee pledges in the middle march, where the worst offenders live.' He smiled. ‘The border gaols will be full within the week. A pleasant thought, is it not?'

Wolsey looked at him as if nothing to do with the north would ever be other than objectionable.

‘I suppose,' said Norfolk, to break the silence, ‘our good man Dacre has no advice to offer for the extirpation of the border thugs, and the restoration of peace?'

‘I had not thought to ask,' Wolsey replied, taken off guard. ‘Surely he would see that as weakness on our parts, and confirmation that he alone can keep the north under control.'

‘Even so, we both know Henry will release him one day. Dacre could surely be persuaded that helping us in this matter might bring that day closer?'

‘I wish to have as little to do with him as possible.' Wolsey gestured dismissively with one hand as if the baron's plight in no way mattered to him.

‘Has the king visited him in the Fleet? I am merely curious,' said Norfolk, watching the cardinal's face.

‘I have advised him against it. Not only is the place verminous, but Dacre must be made to feel he has been cut off, and is in a state of utter banishment. Henry would not wish him pampered.'

Norfolk let the subject drop, and even during dinner – a stilted, stuttering evening which both longed to get through so they could retire to bed – he did not raise it again. He did note, however, that the cardinal was drinking hard. Covering his own glass as the bottle was carried round the table, he knew that the man was afraid.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Barton's last visit to Harbottle had been disturbing. Still troubled by his cough, he had led his mare to the stables, her hooves skittering on the glazed cobbles. It was not Blackbird who spoke to him at the door, but a servant he had never seen, who told him his visit was fruitless. The baron was gone to London a few days before, and nobody knew when he would return. ‘I will see her ladyship, then,' said Barton, trying to enter, but the doorman blocked his way.

‘With her father away, her ladyship cannot receive visitors.'

At that moment Barton heard Joan coming down the stairs, chattering to her maid. He began loudly to protest, but Joan's descent took forever, and the servant was eyeing Barton's boot, which was rammed against the door, with a look that suggested he would very soon stamp upon it before at last the young woman heard their voices, and recognised her father's friend. ‘What brings you here?' she asked, the maid at her elbow like a brown velvet shadow.

‘I have business with your father,' Barton said, bowing low, cap in hand. ‘But this good gentleman informs me he is away.'

The life disappeared from Joan's eyes, and she waved a petulant hand at the doorman. ‘I will see Barton,' she said. ‘Please bring ale to the hall for our guest.' Answering the disapproval in the man's face, she added: ‘Fret not, Walker. My maid will remain with me at all times. There's no need to be concerned.'

Rolling her eyes, she led Barton to the hall, where Mary chased off the dogs, who were hogging the hearth, and stoked the fire with fresh logs.

In the warmth, Barton was for the moment racked by coughing. Ale helped douse his bark, and he was soon under the ministrations of two young women who had too little to do and nobody to care for. A blanket was found for his shoulders, and a mug of mulled wine followed the ale. Soon the party was cheerful, Mary as intrigued as Joan by Barton's tales of border life on the far, and darker, side.

‘I cannae tell ye my business with your father,' he said eventually, with regret. ‘But I wish him home speedily. There's trouble brewing at Crozier's Keep, that's for sure.'

‘We've had our own difficulties here too,' said Joan, looking at Mary for confirmation, and the girl nodded dolefully.

‘Like what?'

Joan hesitated. ‘Devils,' she said.

‘Eh?' Barton's leg jumped.

Joan nodded. ‘He was being visited by horned devils, every night. They were making him ill. And now he has been taken to the Star Chamber, and we may never see him . . . we may never see him again.' Tears coursed down her cheeks, and Mary put a solicitous arm around her shoulders, which she shrugged off as if she'd been scalded. Barton's face was all consternation. ‘How long has this been going on?'.

‘Months now,' Joan said, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. There was a look in Barton's eyes she could not decipher. ‘What, do you think you can help?'

He shook his head. ‘I'm not sure, m'lady. Something about this is very odd, that's all I'm saying.' He stood up, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he thought of Antoine and his incantations. ‘It is possible I know the source of his troubles. But I must get back, and fast.'

‘Already?'

‘I will return soon,' he promised, bowing again, ‘if only to find out if your father has returned. But I would hope to offer something more, my lady.' He took her hand, as if it were a natural thing for a man of his rank to do. ‘I pray I can bring an answer, and a solution to his problems.'

Joan returned his grip before turning away as if she had been found out in a crime. She said nothing as he left, but the memory of her tender clasp remained with him for many weeks to come.

The night after Crozier ordered his men not to leave the keep without his permission, Barton left, with his blessing. The borderer had found the sailor, pack on his shoulder, crossing the courtyard from the workers' quarters and heading for the gates. Asked where he was going, Barton had not answered, but kept walking. Crozier caught up with him, and barred his way. ‘What do you think you're doing?'

‘I'm getting out of here.'

‘I told all the men to stay within the keep. You cannot obey a simple command?'

Barton hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder. ‘I've had enough, you could say. Farming's no to my liking,' he replied, spitting onto the cobbles.

Crozier took a step closer, until they stood chest to chest. Barton avoided his gaze, and shifted sideways to get past him, but the borderer's hand grabbed him by the neck, his knuckles pressing on the windpipe. ‘No you don't,' he said softly. ‘Not without an explanation. I don't like men slipping off behind my back without a word. It makes me suspicious and when I get suspicious, I won't stop till I get answers. You understand?'

Barton laughed as if he were truly amused. ‘Very intimidating you are, cap'n. A real warrior. No, no, mate,' he raised his hands in appeasement, ‘I sincerely believe you are a first-rate fighter. Everybody says so. But a man who cannae keep his own wife under control? Now, that kind of man doesnae scare me.' He shook his head, a contemptuous grin revealing his snaggled teeth.

Crozier's grip tightened as he dragged the sailor towards a wall. Still Barton refused to look frightened. He chewed, and spat again.

The borderer's first fist caught his chin, and the second jerked his head backwards against the stones, with a loud and sickening crack. Barton slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting, head on his chest, blood dripping from his nose.

Crozier walked off, returning to throw a bucket of well water over him. The sailor grunted, and lifted his head to see the borderer standing over him. ‘Lost ye there for a minute,' he mumbled, trying to get to his feet. Crozier gave him all the help he needed, dragging him towards the walls, where the night watch stood, gates thrown wide.

‘You piece of miserable scum,' Adam said. ‘I don't know what your game is, but you stink of trouble. I should never have taken you in.'

‘The Frenchie's another one you should have thought about twice an' all,' Barton replied, through swollen lips. ‘Sweet-talking your wife whenever you're gone and slipping off to the woods with her. The things I could tell you, cap'n, if you wanted to know. But what I'll tell you for nothing is, if she was soon to find herself with child at last, I wouldnae be surprised. It'd be mighty strange, wouldn't it, after all the years you've been married?'