Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (11 page)

'Judith told
Catherine her unborn child was Guy's not Harald's.'

'How do you
know?'

'Ralph Knowles
has been making inquiries.'

'Who's
he?'

'The monk
who's painting the sign for the Julian Inn. He says that Catherine
is prepared to testify in court.'

Harald
scrutinised the document.

'Are you sure
the date is correct?'

'Catherine is
only a few years younger than me. I knew her as a girl. She would
be about the same age as Judith.'

'Would she be
regarded as a reliable witness?'

'I remember
her as a flighty sort of girl.'

'So one
flighty girl told another flighty girl about her sexual
adventures,' Elizabeth smiled. 'My advice is that you dismiss it as
girls' talk … something that shouldn't be taken seriously.'

'That might
not be prudent,' Harald cut in.

'Why's
that?'

'Our case
rests on the premise that William is a true and proper heir,
incontrovertibly born in wedlock, in accordance with the
stringencies specified in the marriage contract. My parents
insisted that a clause to that effect be included when the contract
was drawn up. Knowing the sexual dalliances of the Knowles family,
it seemed a sensible thing to do at the time.'

'But Roger
Knowles surely doesn't doubt that William is his nephew.'

'He doesn't
care. He has no interest in the boy. The marriage was to strengthen
a partnership. My father and Roger's father were once good friends.
Later, they fell out. As far as Roger is concerned, William is
Judith's bastard and he wants her dowry back.'

'What are
these stringencies you talked about?'

'My parents
wanted to be sure that the heir would be a true Gascoigne and not
the offspring of some casual acquaintance of my wife. So they
specified that if she behaved in any way that cast doubt on the
legitimacy of her child then the child would be denied the right to
inherit. The Knowles inserted a clause to say that if Judith died
without legitimate issue then her dowry would be returned to
them.'

'That does
make it rather difficult,' Elizabeth agreed.

'It makes it
extremely difficult,' Harald's voice hardened. 'That is why it is
so important to discredit the testimony of any witness Roger
Knowles might bring before the court.'

A movement
outside caused Alice to leave the table. She walked quietly to the
door and threw it open. An old woman stood there.

'What are you
doing, Sarah?'

'I didn't mean
no harm.'

'That's not
what I asked.'

'I've come for
the salt.'

'Then why
didn't you knock?'

'I only just
got here.'

Alice went to
an alcove. John watched her spoon salt into a small pot and hand it
to the woman who left hurriedly. He waited for Alice to return to
the table.

'Do you think
she was listening?'

'I don't
know,' Alice shook her head. 'I've suspected Sarah for some time.
She works in the kitchen. I've caught her talking to the butcher
when he delivers the meat. He's giving her money and I don't think
it's for amorous favours.'

'When you say
butcher, do you mean Walter Gallor?'

'Yes, the big
man. The one who walks around the streets in a bailiffs uniform.
Ralf has seen him go up to the abbot's chambers as if he reports to
him. Not even the vicar does that. Ralf thinks he's spying on
people.'

Alice stared
at the table for a few moments before continuing.

'I think he's
spying on me. Ralf says there's a lot of tension in the monastery.
Bradford has been slow to hand out the benefices that became vacant
on Abbot Brunyng's death. It's his way of securing the monks'
loyalty and they are competing with one another to please him. One
way is to repeat the things he likes to hear. They're talking a lot
about the almshouse … calling it a Trojan horse. And there's talk
about me. Some of the monks say I'm a witch.'

She went to a
box and returned with some books.

'These might
harm our cause if they were discovered. They are very precious to
me. With their guidance and the blessing of the Holy Mother I have
saved lives and healed the sick.'

Tears appeared
in her eyes.

'Pray, take
care of them.'

She placed the
books in front of Harald.

'They are a
repository of ancient knowledge and it would be a sin to destroy
them. One day the church will recognise their true merit.'

Harald thumbed
through the musty volumes with a sense of foreboding. Some were
covered in signs of the zodiac and symbols from the Jewish and
Islamic religions. Others were written in a language he recognised
as belonging to the heretical Cathars who had been put down with
much slaughter two centuries earlier. He racked his brain for a
place to hide them.

Richard Vowell
squeezed wine into the ladies' cups then turned his attention to
the pewter mugs preferred by the men. A scented candle burnt in the
middle of the table. By rights it should have been on the altar in
All Hallows but such niceties did not fuss Richard. This was a time
for celebration. He discharged the last of the wineskin into his
own mug and raised it in a toast.

'To Jonnie
Baret!'

The company
drank John's health then toasted Richard Rochell and the other
trustees of the almshouse.

'They sort of
got it right,' John Tucker said.

'They did
bloody marvellously.' Thomas Draper put down his mug. 'They made
Bradford look a right monkey. He called for the inquiry and landed
himself in the shit.'

They were in
Thomas' house. Since being named as dissidents, they were no longer
welcome in the Julian and other hostelries. For the moment, they
preferred to meet in private. Richard had a copy of the ordinance
that the vicar had received from the sacrist. He pointed to where
Bishop Neville listed his demands.

'The bish has
told Billy Bradford to put up a screen to separate us from him and
his boys. That will enable us to regain possession of the nave,
which is what we've been trying to do for years.'

He ran his
finger to another clause.

'Billy is
similarly instructed to widen the doorway that was so despicably
narrowed and return the font to where time-honoured tradition
decreed it should be. He must also allow us to conduct the baptisms
like we always have. That means we can march up and down and make
as much noise as we like.'

'What about
the new font?' one of the women asked.

'He's told us
to get rid of it but we'll not do a sodding thing until Billy has
done what's required of him.'

'But what
about excommunication? We could get ourselves excommunicated if we
don't do as we is told.'

'Love.'
Richard patted her hand. 'It's not going to happen. We'll tell
Robert Neville that we won't get rid of the new font until Billy
puts the old one back. Neville's got himself over a barrel. He
can't excommunicate the monks over something like this … and that
means he can't excommunicate us.'

Richard got up
from the company. Things were working out better than expected. He
reached in his pouch and removed a letter from Sir William
Gascoigne. The old man wanted him to keep a close eye on his older
son, Harald, who was bringing a case against the Knowles family in
the Dorchester assizes.

Harald was a
kind-hearted individual who thought you had to be nice to people.
He hated violence and was determined to go to Dorchester without an
armed escort. Harald thought you could win cases without bribing or
intimidating anyone. The man was naïve.

To make
matters worse, he had involved Sister Alice. She had links with the
Knowles family and believed she had allies amongst them. More
likely, they were pumping her for information. Richard had written
a report for Sir William, informing him of what was going on.

Dorchester

A guestroom
had recently been added to the Gascoigne manor. It was built to
Harald's specifications and had a modern fireplace and glazed
windows. The room was intended for John Baret who was accompanying
him to Dorchester for the assizes. Harald went to check that it was
properly in order. To his surprise, a man in the uniform of the
Earl of Huntingdon was sitting on the bed, polishing a pair of
riding boots.

'What are you
doing here?'

'I'm with Sir
Hugh Orpington,' the man said as if that explained everything.

Sir Hugh was a
lawyer and a friend of Harald's father. His presence in the manor
could also explain why the hall resonated with the sound of drunken
voices. Harald hurried to his mother's private apartments, going up
the outside stairs to avoid entering the hall. He arrived flushed
and out of breath. Margery Gascoigne was there with her female
companions. He poked his head round the corner and beckoned.

'Could I have
a word with you?'

Margery strode
over.

'How dare you
barge in on me?'

'I beg your
pardon, Mother. I didn't wish to intrude but I must know what is
happening. As you well know, I am preparing for an important case
in Dorchester. My advisers will soon be here. I rode ahead to see
that all is prepared for them.'

She stared
over his shoulder. 'Is my dear William with them?'

'He is,
Mother. But that's not important. I need to know why the guestroom
is occupied.'

'Is his arm
getting better?'

'William's arm
is perfectly all right.'

'Harald. You
sound hysterical.'

'Mother. Why
is Hugh Orpington here?'

'Your father
has engaged him to contest William's case.'

One half of
Harald's brain had guessed from the start. If he'd been less
agitated, the other half would have known too. The Gascoigne's
didn't fight according to the rules he'd learnt at Oxford. They had
rules of their own and they employed people like Hugh Orpington to
see they were carried out.

'Your father
has arranged finance for Sir Hugh and a suitable force to accompany
you to Dorchester. There will be no repetition of that nonsense
when Robin had to save you from Roger Knowles' men. Do you realise
how much you owe to that young man?'

'I have great
admiration for him, Mother. That is why I made him a companion to
William. They are close enough in age for Robin to be an example
and mentor to my son.'

'Well, that's
one thing you've got right.'

The remark was
comforting.

Her next was
mortifying.

'If he is your
son …'

He reached
past her and closed the door.

'Mother. How
can you say such a thing? Our entire case rests upon William's
unquestionable legitimacy. It would only require one witness to
testify to what you have just said and all would be lost.'

'That's not
going to happen, Harald.'

'How can you
be so sure?'

'Sir Hugh
would never allow it.'

'He might not
be able to stop it.'

Harald tried
to say more but his mother's attention was distracted by the
arrival of John Baret's party. William was with them. She gathered
up her skirt and hurried down the stairs to greet him.

***

Dinner was
served in the hall. Harald sat at the high table. His mother
occupied the central position as lady of the manor. He sat on her
right with William. Sir Hugh and an officer of his guard sat on her
left. To Harald's immense annoyance, John Baret was assigned to an
inferior position at the end of the table. The guard occupied the
tables below. There were twenty of them. Fit young men wearing the
uniforms of the Earl of Huntingdon. Harald guessed that their
purpose was to intimidate rather than protect.

His mother's
chaplain said grace. Sir Peter de Trent had been with the family
for many years and was employed for his administrative ability and
unswerving loyalty. His religious qualifications failed to meet the
standards of the church but his right to the tonsure had never been
questioned. Harald's father was in continual correspondence with
him. Their letters could take as little as a week to travel between
England and France or several months, depending on conditions at
sea and the progress of the war. The weather had been unseasonably
calm. Harald guessed his father had instructed Peter to engage Hugh
Orpington's services and hire a guard to accompany them to
Dorchester.

Peter broke
bread and eyes turned to the fire burning on the flagstones below
the high table. A pig was roasting there, attended by two servants.
The animal had an orange in its mouth and its sides had been
slashed and rubbed with spices. Harald wondered if this unexpected
touch of refinement had been done for Sir Hugh's benefit.

As guest of
honour, Hugh was served first. A keg of wine was tapped and a
silver pitcher filled. Peter de Trent had arranged everything.
Harald concluded that the Gascoigne fortunes had taken a turn for
the better. The arrival of the Duke of York with a new army had
clearly made a big difference to the war effort in France. A few
months earlier he had sold the family silver. Now they were dining
off silver again. He examined the coats of arms and wondered about
the previous owners.

Sir Hugh's
wine was served in a golden goblet. He raised it and proposed the
loyal toast.

'To Good King
Harry!'

'To Harry!'
the guard bellowed.

Harald was
mortified. In his father's absence it was his duty and privilege to
propose the loyal toast. The man was usurping his role. Worst of
all, there was nothing he could do about it. In a fit of pique, he
jumped to his feet.

'To my father,
Sir William Gascoigne, and all the brave lads who are fighting with
him in France to protect the sovereign rights of our noble young
king.'