The Lords of Arden (38 page)

~o0o~

True to her word, Elizabeth Freville
waited until darkness cloaked the bailey and the fires were out. A barn owl called
from Turkill’s Copse, a chilling sound cutting across the night. She had spent
the evening trying to console young Guy and had left him in bed, still sobbing
his heart out. Now she sought Geoffrey Mikelton and asked to be taken down to
the Water Tower. He escorted her there himself. Bess thought he looked older
than she had ever seen him; old and haggard.

 ‘Geoffrey, how is he?’

 ‘I don’t think he quite believes it, My
Lady. He was expecting the guilty verdict, as we all were, but a death
sentence… I tried to warn him. I could see how it was with My Lord. Will he do
it?’

 ‘God knows, Geoffrey, but I think he
believes he is in too deep to back away now.’

 They had reached the old tower and
Mikelton was opening the door, letting the light from his torch penetrate the
dimness before preceding Bess into the room. John was on his feet and Bess knew
by the look on his face that he thought they had come for him.

 She said quietly, ‘Oh no, my dear, it is
not to be tonight. I am sorry; I thought they would have told you.’

 ‘When then?’ he asked.

 ‘Monday, not before, not on the Sabbath. Geoffrey,
you may leave us for a while. I’ll call when I’m ready to go.’

 He nodded, slotted his torch into the old
sconce and went out. They heard the door being bolted behind him.

 Bess said, ‘For all you did to Geoffrey
this is not what he would have wanted.’

 ‘I know that, Aunt. Won’t you sit down?’

 She shook her head. ‘I’m much too
restless but you sit, so that I don’t have to strain my neck looking up at
you.’ But even the innocent use of the words seemed to assume a grim
connotation now. ‘Do you have all you need?’ she asked quickly.

 ‘Yes, they’ve even left me a candle
tonight. Aunt Bess, does he mean to do it?’

 ‘Don’t give up hope. We’re all working to
get the sentence changed. We had a visitor today. She pleaded very eloquently
for your life….’

 ‘She? Johanna?’

 ‘No, my dear; Johanna is in Spain. It was your mother; Simon Trussel fetched her from Pinley. She went down on her
knees in the hall and begged him publicly for your life.’

 ‘And he refused her?’ asked John. ‘Then
am I doomed indeed. Shall I see him before, before…?’ He did not finish the
sentence.

 ‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’

 ‘And Guy… Can you send him away, please?’

 ‘Yes, I promise.’

 ‘And Simon? He will take it hard.’

 ‘No. I’ve tried; he has to stay.’ She was
standing very close to him as he sat on the bench cum table, which was the only
furniture the room possessed beside the straw pallet which was his bed. He took
one of her hands in his. She saw the marks of the rope on his wrists and
wondered how he had got through the ignominy of that journey home.

 He said, ‘I am so afraid I will make a
coward’s end.’

 ‘Johnny, don’t think about it. Remember
all those jousts, the parties, the masked balls, so wonderfully organized, so
slick? You always had just the right, light touch. Never fret, you’ll manage
dying just as beautifully.’ She hardly believed she was talking this way,
saying such things and not believing a word of it. She lifted a hand and
stroked back the damp, dark hair from his forehead.

 He was saying, ‘And afterwards, will he
leave me there, on the gibbet, a spectacle for all to see? I shouldn’t want
that.’

 ‘No!’ cried Bess. ‘I swear that won’t
happen not if I have to cut you down myself. None of us would let that happen,
not Simon, not even Richard!’ She could not bear to read what she could see in
his eyes. She gently pulled his face towards her breast and took him in her
arms. ‘Come here. It doesn’t matter, there’s none to see. We’ve none of us
given up hope; you mustn’t.’ She felt the rush of his tears, hot through the
light silk of her gown, before he pulled himself together.

 ‘I wish I didn’t have to go knowing he
hated me so much.’

 ‘He doesn’t understand,’ said Bess. ‘He
cannot see beyond the treachery, the cupidity, what you would have taken from
Richard. But it wasn’t that, was it?’

 ‘No, it was never money, not even land. But
you understand, you’ve always understood.’

 Bess nodded. He had lifted his head and
was watching her. She said, ‘You would have shared anything with Richard -
grudgingly, I’ll grant you - anything but your father’s love and that you
wanted all for yourself. Oh yes, I understood that, it is the way you have been
since Margaret appeared on the scene, and then young Guy. In the end they did
not count for they never meant the same to him, they were never a part of Lora
as you are; flesh of her flesh.’

 ‘Will you tell him - after?’

 She nodded. ‘Now, no more self
recrimination.’

 John said, ‘Just Johanna. I think I could
have loved Johanna after all.’

 ‘You’re a wretch, Johnny. Now, I’m going
to call Geoffrey to let me out and I suggest you get to bed. Things will look
better in the morning.’

 ‘Bloody hell!’ laughed John with a sudden
flash of the old smile.

 ‘I know,’ said his aunt, ‘pigs might
fly!’

~o0o~

Bess Freville was not the only member of
the Montfort family to be up and about after curfew. Richard and Guy, together
with Simon Trussel, had gathered conspiratorially in Guy’s room in the Mellent
tower.

 Simon had never had any time for John’s
younger brother. He saw him as a usurper, a young man of the Commons, rough at
the edges, entirely lacking in John’s style, without John’s finesse. Richard
had attempted to extend the hand of friendship to this boy only a year or two
younger than himself but Trussel, taciturn since his dismissal at Windsor, had
fiercely rejected it and, as the weeks went by, pride on both sides had forced
them further apart into a cordial loathing. It was a measure of Trussel’s
desperation that he had begged for Richard’s help now and that, together with
John’s greatest champion, his small brother, Guy, they were in secret conclave,
heads together like a bunch of schoolboys plotting in their dormitory.

 Guy was sprawled out upon his bed, face
pale, eyes swollen. He had hardly stopped crying since the verdict was
announced. Trussel, seated astride the bed-chest, had earlier tried to sneak
down to the Water Tower but had been marched away ignominiously by the sentry
on duty and duly clouted round the ear by the Lord of Beaudesert.

 Richard, tucked into the narrow window
embrasure, addressed Simon: ‘You really do believe he’ll do it, don’t you?’

 Simon nodded.

 ‘Has something changed? You were
uncertain before. Come on, Simon. I’ve only known him for a few weeks, I can’t
second guess him.’

 Simon said, ‘He had a visitor this
afternoon, whilst you were with Guy; a woman.’

 ‘Who was it? Simon, cut the mystery!’

 Trussel scowled. ‘One of the White
Ladies, from Pinley, across the fields to the east. They say My Lord knew her
well, once upon a time. They say she is John’s mother – yours too, I suppose. She
came to beg for his life. She went down on her knees before all.’

 ‘And – what did my father have to say?’

 ‘That it was too late, he couldn’t change
his mind. I tell you, if she could not move him then no-one on this earth will
sway him. John will hang! Oh, I’m sorry, Guy! Just stop howling, we can’t hear
ourselves think. My Lord has opened his mouth too often to reiterate his
intentions; he’d have been better keeping it shut.’

 Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘Others
would do as well to shut theirs. So we must assume that John will die on
Monday. Pleading further will only bolster father’s obstinacy and put suspicion
upon our movements. If John is to go free we must set to and organise his
escape ourselves; the fewer drawn into the plan the better. Simon, is there a
way out of the bailey without using the lower gate?’

 ‘There's the old sally port in the middle
ward, the postern in the north curtain; it’s hardly ever used but it leads
directly onto the hillside above the Church. It's only held in place by a
single baulk of timber.’

 ‘Good! Could Guy manage to put it back
into place so that no-one would notice it had been moved?’

 Trussel looked at the small boy doubtfully
but Guy, upon his mattress, had bounced into life. ‘I could, of course I
could!’

 ‘Good lad. Simon, we'll need a swift
mount, and we'll need it tethered in the copse beyond St. Nicholas's before
midnight.’

 ‘Two mounts,’ said Trussel firmly, ‘if he
goes, I'll be with him.’

 ‘No, two will be harder to conceal.’

 ‘I'm going with him. Do you think I'd
care to stay? Your father would have the hide off me in strips and then pack me
off home to Billesley! I have to go, Richard. He'd never manage without me. I
shouldn't have seen him ride into an ambush yesterday. I won't be sent home
this time.’

 ‘Very well, so you're to be away early
and out of sight. Now we'll need the key to the storeroom in the Water Tower. Will
they leave a guard on duty overnight? Is it likely?’

 Trussel shook his head. ‘Not now. If he
got out he couldn’t get past the gates. But it means filching the key from the
guardroom and I'd arouse suspicion immediately.’

 ‘Guy wouldn't,’ said Richard and they
both looked at the child with interest and enquiry.

 ‘I often go up there and talk to the men
but we have to be in the Middle Ward after dark, if we try to cross the bridge
we'll be noticed at once.’

 Richard got to his feet, flexing his
shoulders. ‘As soon as it's dark I’ll find a blind spot and scramble through
the fosse.’

 Guy rose to his full four feet and said
indignantly, ‘We don't have blind spots. We didn't employ the King's own Master
Mason to give us blind spots!’

 Richard feigned a blow at the neat dark
head. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean. They won't have every tower manned
on an August midnight. As long as I’m out of sight of the upper guard and the
bridge I'll be safe enough. Guy, once I have the keys you'll make straight for
the sally port and keep well hidden until John comes along. As soon as he's
through and away to the copse where Simon will be waiting with the mounts, bar
it carefully and slip back to your bed. Then I'll need you to cover for me as
long as possible in the morning.’

 ‘Why, where will you be?’ asked Trussel
in surprise.

 Richard grinned. ‘From one baron's
hostage to another. I shall be taking his place, keeping up the pretence for as
long as I'm able before his loss is discovered. Father won't like it, of
course, but in time perhaps he'll learn to be grateful.’

 ‘I shouldn't,’ said Trussel, ‘like to be
in your shoes.’

 ‘No, well, it can't be helped. At least
I'm not likely to end as gallows meat!’

~o0o~

Trussel had shaken hands with Richard de
Montfort and there was more than a grudging acceptance in the brown eyes as he
set off for the village to beg good horseflesh from Eleanor at the White Lion. There
had been a time when the publican's wife had seen a good deal of Bastard John and
the memories were still sweet enough for her to risk her husband's wrath to
provide the boy with the keys to their stables down by the river. Simon kissed
her and sped away to lie low until just before midnight when he led the animals
away into the hazel copse behind St. Nicholas's Church. The priest was hard of
hearing, it was doubtful if he would take note of such nocturnal happenings and
he would have been in his bed several hours by the time they got John away.

 Guy, shaking with excitement, crept from
the security of the Mellent Tower and, hugging the walls to the north of the
Inner Ward and slipping silently past the old Gaunt Tower, where half of the
garrison slept, he let himself into the Upper Gatehouse. He was only just tall
enough to reach down the large, rusted key from its accustomed hook. He was
terrified that he might drop it and set the flags ringing. Then he slipped back
to his room the way he had come and waited for Richard. This was the weakest
part of the plan, the gap between the acquiring of the key and Richard’s
hazardous excursion down to the Water Tower. Richard woke his small brother
just before midnight and they made their ways, Richard across the fosse - which
was designed to keep marauders out of the inner wards - with no further mishap
than nettle stings and bramble scratches, and Guy to his hiding place near the
sally port, to crouch behind bales of hay where any extraneous sounds would be
put down to the rats which inhabited the untidy corner.

 Richard crawled out of the fosse after
lying low for a while until he was sure that the bailey was empty. He knew
there would be a sentry atop the St. Nicholas Tower which looked away towards
the High Road but he would not be expecting attack from within. Neither would
the man pacing the leads above the Lower Guard. Richard moved, wraithlike, to
the door and prayed that the key would work silently, that the old lock would
not be so stiff that the key grated home. He had secreted a stub of candle in
his cote and rubbed it over the dull metal. In the end, there was no problem. He
had the door open and had slipped inside closing it silently behind him. There
was little light to be had from the tiny window but there was still a candle
burning on the old bench.