The Witch of Eye (50 page)

They had both been kneeling awkwardly, but as he reached out for her they fell back onto the hay, embracing, knowing with certainty that at last they each had what they longed for, and could take complete possession of it. A sudden thought struck Jenna and she laughed delightedly.

‘Kitty will be pleased,’ she said. ‘She’s been trying to marry me off for years!’

‘Then she shall be your bridesmaid,’ said William’s muffled voice from somewhere between her breasts.

January 1442

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I
t was proving a difficult letter to write. The ultimate decision about the fate of Eleanor Cobham lay with the King and the King felt ambivalent towards her. She had often been entertaining company and yet he had always felt slightly intimidated by her determined efforts to charm him. Now, she had been exposed for what she really was, a scheming, manipulative heretic who had bewitched his uncle. So she must be sent away, as far as possible, even if only as a means of protecting his uncle of Gloucester from her malevolent influence. Chester was suggested.

Adam Moleyns, his quill pen poised, waited respectfully for the King’s dictation. ‘Once Your Highness has made a decision about who should take responsibility for her,’ he said, ‘your mind will be relieved of the problem and you can cease to worry.’

‘Sir Thomas Stanley,’ said the Earl of Suffolk with the air of a man who had known the answer all along. ‘He is, after all, Controller of the Household and has plenty of experience in such matters.’ There were grunts of agreement from the other Council members around the table.

The King breathed a deep sigh. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘Sir Thomas Stanley it shall be. I can think of no one better and I’m grateful for the suggestion. Master Moleyns, please notify the Chancellor of my decision and inform him that he should make immediate arrangements for the lady’s removal to Chester in the care of Sir Thomas Stanley.’

There, the decision was made. It seemed to the King that everyone had existed in a cocoon for the last two months, since the end of the trial in November. His own birthday celebration had been a very low-key affair, Advent had come and gone, Christmas and Twelfth Night had been curiously muted. But with the New Year came new beginnings and the need to make decisions.

The sensational treason trial of Eleanor Cobham and her associates had taken the whole country by storm and the King had heard tell of the extraordinary scenes on the streets of London where she had enacted her three penances. He knew, too, of Canon Southwell’s suicide in the Tower and the release of Canon Hume with no more than a caution.

In looking back on the startling events of the last six months, one of the things that troubled him most deeply was that Roger Bolingbroke, a respected Magister in the University of Oxford and a man of great learning, had seen fit to put his knowledge to heretical use. Throughout the trial, the King had demanded reports each night on how the prosecution was arguing its case. When judgement was finally made and sentence pronounced, he was deeply saddened that a magister, a servant of the Church, had come to this. But Bolingbroke had been found guilty and the King thought it only right and proper that the man should suffer a traitor’s death, however dreadful. After all, an example must be set. Any person who might be contemplating either treachery or heresy would surely have been deterred by the sight of Bolingbroke being dragged through the streets on a hurdle to be hanged at Tyburn then cut down, only to have his belly ripped open and his entrails drawn out while he was still alive. The four quarters of Bolingbroke’s corpse had been sent to Oxford, Cambridge, York and Hereford which must surely have spread the message far and wide. That, without a doubt, would discourage Lollardy.

All in all, it had been an unspeakably upsetting case, one he could hardly bring himself to think about. Treason. Why would anyone want to kill him? As King, he wished no one any harm, he simply wanted to live in peace and harmony and enjoy the cordial love of his subjects. Sadly, that was not the way of things, so he must do what he could to change the attitudes of his people and encourage them in learning, in worship and scholarship. His school at Eton had already begun taking in poor scholars and his plans for the College Royal of Our Lady and St Nicholas at Cambridge were well under way. He himself had laid the foundation stone last Passion Sunday.

Having passed his twentieth birthday, King Henry felt daily more confident in his own judgement. The final decision to send the Duke of Orléans back to France had been his and he had never regretted it. The Duke of Gloucester, on the other hand, had made his disapproval embarrassingly obvious. The King had been pleased to attend a solemn service in the Abbey on All Saints’ Day to give thanks for the new accord with the French. The service began with joyful hymns of gladness and thanksgiving, but no sooner had Mass begun than Gloucester got to his feet and marched out with his cronies, making no attempt at quietness, slamming the great west door in an unforgivable fit of pique. After that sensational departure, he had summoned his barge and left immediately for Greenwich, remaining there ever since. Nevertheless, the indentures for repatriation were signed two days later and, before leaving for home, Orléans had given his personal assurance that he would never take up arms against England. For the King, that was enough.

Moleyns interrupted his reverie. ‘Perhaps, Your Highness, you would be kind enough to sign this instruction.’

King Henry looked quickly through the document then signed it and dated it the nineteenth day of January 1442. He pressed his signet ring into the warm wax of the seal. There, the deed was done. Eleanor Cobham would be sent to Chester.

‘It will take a few days to arrange, of course,’ said the Earl of Suffolk.

‘Does that present a problem?’ Having made a difficult decision, the King had no wish to concern himself further. He would never see his aunt again, neither would her former husband. It was for the best.

‘No, not really, Your Highness. She has been kept in custody at Westminster since her trial ended and the council is anxious that she is moved elsewhere. Since his return to London, His Grace the Duke has been staying in Greenwich, but he cannot remain there indefinitely. He wishes to return to Westminster and that could cause him embarrassment. So Abbot Kyrton has suggested that the lady might like to sojourn at the monastery’s manor house on the Eye estate for a few days while arrangements for her future are being made.’

‘Abbot Kyrton? Oh, that is kind of him. Very well then, the problem is resolved very neatly. Thank you, my Lords.’

The King inclined his head to dismiss them.

***

W
illiam and Jenna were in their favourite place, holding hands and talking quietly. There was to be no lovemaking for them tonight, they were both content to wait until they had taken their vows on the morrow.

‘How is Kitty?’ William asked. ‘Is she very excited about it?’

‘Oh, what do you think, William? Of course she is! She has a new kirtle and a new pair of shoes and her two favourite people in all the world are getting married. Of course she’s excited.’

Jenna studied his face in the half light. ‘You’ve been very quiet these last few days,’ she said. ‘You’re not having any regrets, are you? You don’t think perhaps we’re doing this a little too soon after Margery’s ... Margery’s death?’

William took a deep breath before replying. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I hated seeing Margery die in the way she did, of course, but if I’m honest, I’d been half-expecting it for years. The sad thing is that she loved mixing with clever, superficial people, but she never saw how ruthless they could be in using her for their own ends. I always thought she was tempting Fate. So no, Jenna, I can’t see that there’s any reason why you and I should wait too long before we marry. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, my sweet, and tomorrow, my most cherished wish will be granted.’

He kissed her, not with passion, but as though to seal a bargain. She drew back with a smile. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘But I know something’s wrong. What’s really worrying you?’

William leaned back against the hay. ‘There’s something I must confess. In fact, there are two things I must tell you, and I think they’ll both surprise you more than a little.’

Facing him, Jenna sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms around them. ‘And are these things you should have told me before?’

‘Maybe,’ said William. ‘But you‘re right. I’ve been worrying about how best to commemorate Margery’s death. I have felt very bad about her since ... since that day at Smithfield and I didn’t know what to do for the best. Margery was burned as a witch, so she could never have a Christian burial, nor any recognised period of mourning.’

Jenna was quiet. The same thought had occurred to her but that was how things were. There was nothing to be done about it.

‘I wanted her to have some presence in the churchyard,’ William went on, ‘despite the fact that she has no grave. And Robin suggested a way around the problem.’

‘We have a lot to thank Robin for.’

William caught hold of her hand and kissed it. ‘I thank God daily that he brought you here.’

‘So what did he suggest?’

William didn’t reply immediately. He sat up and reached behind him until his fingers found a small coffer. He brought it round to show to Jenna.

‘What’s in it?’

‘Just some ashes,’ said William.

‘Ashes? What sort of ashes? From a fire, you mean?’

William nodded. Slowly, Jenna realised what the little box contained.

‘Ah. They’re ashes from the fire in Smithfield, aren’t they?’ William nodded again but said nothing.

‘And is Margery ...?’ She left the question unfinished.

‘I don’t know,’ William said. ‘They’re just ashes. There may be something ... well, something of Margery in them. I really don’t know. There is no way of knowing. But Robin went back to Smithfield the next morning, after the burning. He said there was almost nothing left of the fire, just a heap of ash, and no one stopped him from putting a small shovelful of it in a box. He thought it might help me to have it.’

‘And does it help?’

‘Oddly, yes. And since there was never a funeral, I’m going to scatter the ash in the churchyard very early tomorrow morning before there’s anyone about. It’s only a gesture but it ... it makes it easier, somehow. And Jenna...’

‘Yes.’

‘I’d like you to come with me. Will you?’

‘Why?’

‘To ...’ he shrugged, ‘to seal some sort of bargain, I suppose. Margery and I meant nothing to each other by the end, our marriage was a sham. But she was a human being. We only had the word of those clever lawyers and clergymen that she was a witch. I think she just over-reached herself. That’s why I’d like to scatter these ashes in the churchyard to bring the whole sorry business to – to some sort of conclusion. And I’d like to do that before you and I take our marriage vows tomorrow, so that we can make a fresh start. Will you help me?’

Jenna leaned forward and took his face in her hands.

‘I don’t think I deserve you, William Jourdemayne,’ she said. ‘You are a wonderful man and I love you with all of my being. Yes, let’s draw a veil over our past lives, so that we can begin again. Of course I’ll come with you. I think that would be the right thing to do.’

Again, they didn’t kiss. There didn’t seem any need to. Jenna, her hands still on either side of William’s dear face, laid her forehead against his and let it rest there for a moment while she closed her eyes.

Then she opened them again.

‘And what was the other thing?’ she asked.

‘Oh! I almost forgot. I had a message earlier, from the steward at La Neyte who asked to see me. He wanted to let me know that he is expecting a royal party to stay for a few days. They will arrive tomorrow.’

‘A royal party! How exciting!’

‘But I’m afraid you might be upset when you know who it is.’

Jenna gave him a questioning look. ‘Why?’

‘Because the principal guest will be that damned duchess woman.’

‘The Duchess of Gloucester?’

‘A duchess no longer, it seems. She has been divorced from the Duke and is to be banished, imprisoned somewhere far away. She and her escort party will stay at La Neyte for a few days while final arrangements are being made. You won’t have to see her,’ he added, looking anxiously at Jenna.

She said nothing for a while, she merely shook her head occasionally while she thought over everything he had told her. Eventually, she took his hand.

‘That’s not important now,’ she said. ‘Come, my love. We need to be awake before cockcrow tomorrow. As soon as the bell rings for Prime, I’ll meet you outside the churchyard. Come, we’d be wise to go to our own beds now. Tomorrow will be a busy day.’

***

T
he two met again, shortly after Prime.

‘You brought the coffer?’ Jenna whispered.

‘Yes, of course. It’s under the lychgate. Come.’ William took her hand and they entered the churchyard through the main gate, stopping only for William to retrieve the coffer from its resting place. Then they moved silently through the dew-soaked grass without disturbing those who slept for eternity.

‘Here?’ he asked. ‘Would this be an appropriate place?’

‘Under the rowan tree? But doesn’t that protect against...’

‘Against witches? Yes, it does, but who says Margery was a witch? I never did.’

‘No, William. You didn’t. You were the most loyal husband. And you’re right. Let’s scatter the ashes here, then.’

William removed the lid of the coffer. He hesitated for a moment, then he said simply, ‘God rest you, Margery, and grant your soul eternal peace.’ He shook out the contents of the coffer, around the base of a fine, tall rowan tree. Stepping back, he crossed himself, bowed his head in prayer for a moment then reached for Jenna’s hand and together they left the graveyard. They didn’t look back.

Five hours later, they stood together again in the church porch, hand in hand, as man and wife. William had on a new leather jerkin for the occasion and Jenna looked charming in a woollen cloak trimmed with miniver over a simple blue gown. Kitty was wearing a brand new kirtle of red wool and trying her best to look solemn. Bride and bridesmaid both carried nosegays of early snowdrops and winter herbs bound with ivy.