Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (19 page)

She threw him
a furious glance and he retreated inside. Mercifully, there were no
servants to witness the insult. A thirteen-year-old was taking
precedence over him. It was humiliating. No one should have to put
up with such a thing. He was still fuming when she mounted the
stairs and flew at him before he could speak.

'How could you
be so stupid?'

'What do you
mean?'

'You've been
paying the summoner.'

'I don't know
what you're talking about.'

'Yes you do.'
She barged into the room. 'Richard Vowell is having that little
toad followed. He's been extorting money from all manner of people
… and you're one of them.'

Harald tried
to explain but his tongue failed him.

His mother had
no such problem.

'Once you
start, there's no stopping. It's like giving a bear a spoonful of
honey, only to find that the beast wants to take the whole
pot.'

Her mood
changed. 'It's that de Lambert woman … isn't it?'

Harald
nodded.

'I told you to
take her as a mistress. But Harald, my dear son, at your age I
expected more discretion. Richard told me about the May Dance. He
was there with Betty. She was Queen of the Fairies and he was the
Green Giant. The summoner went as a donkey?'

'Yes, Mother,
I know about the summoner.'

She patted his
arm. 'Don't look so downcast. I approve of what you have done.
You've breathed new life into that poor woman.'

The remark
plunged Harald into further gloom. The thought of an unsanctioned
pregnancy weighed heavily on his mind.

'I approve of
your relationship with Alice de Lambert,' Margery said. 'I do not
approve of the way you are handling the summoner.'

'My concern is
for Alice.'

'I don't see
what you are worrying about.'

'She's matron
of the almshouse.'

'Where's the
problem?'

'Ladies in her
position do not engage in illicit intercourse.'

'My son.'
Margery shook her head. 'I sometimes wonder where I went wrong in
your upbringing. Can't you get it into your thick skull that Alice
does not want to be matron of the almshouse. She wants you and she
wants your children. Betty has told me all about her.' She leant
forward. 'Make a happy woman of her.'

Harald didn't
know what to say. Sex was a subject he was loath to discuss with
anyone, let alone his mother. He'd shied away from it at his
confessional, making vague references to forbidden pleasures and
carnal sins. Now his mother was urging him to make a habit of
fornicating with Alice.

He was aware
that she saw things from a totally different perspective. As far as
she was concerned, morals had no part to play in the life of an
ambitious family. Marriage, babies, war and law were about the
acquisition of wealth and power. Appearances were more important
than morals … and you could forget them if you had enough
power.

'We can find
Alice a nice little house on the estate,' Margery continued. 'You
can live here with your young wife and visit Alice as often as you
wish. You'll have two families. There's nothing wrong with that.
Lots of men in your position do it. Duke Humphrey has for
years.'

She smiled
knowingly.

'I understand
that his lady has become a good friend of Alice.'

Harald
suppressed a smile. His mother's unexpected enthusiasm for his
amorous exploits was starting to make sense. She knew Eleanor
Cobham had visited Alice on several occasions. The prospect of
receiving the duke's lady at the manor would have turned her head.
She might even have fantasies about entertaining the duke.

'I've been
thinking about your plans for a new wing.'

'Yes,
Mother.'

'I think it
should be entered through the solar. The outside stairs could be
taken away and the door converted into an oriel window with
coloured glass. Lady Stafford was telling me about hers. She says
the duke admires it greatly.'

'I shall ask
Master Hulle to draw up plans, Mother.'

'Hulle?'
Margery pulled a face. 'Richard Vowell has told me some very
unsavoury things about him and William says his son is two faced
and treacherous.'

'Master Hulle
worked on the restoration of Winchester Cathedral and is in charge
of the rebuilding of Sherborne Abbey,' Harald said. 'He is a highly
regarded architect and master mason. Duke Humphrey greatly admires
his work.'

Margery's
expression changed.

'In that case
I give my consent for you to proceed. I shall write to your father.
We have in mind that your young wife will have an apartment of her
own, with her own servants. Ask Master Hulle to draw up plans for
that as well.'

Harald could
scarcely believe his ears.

'Where is the
money going to come from, Mother?'

'Your
betrothed will arrive with a substantial dowry. The seigneur and
your father have prospered greatly in the past few months. They are
mindful of the need to place part of their gains on this side of
Channel.'

Harald guessed
the two men wanted to get their loot to safety in case the war
turned against them again.

'The marriage
will take place in the month before Michaelmas in the seigneur's
chapel on his estate near Rouen. Guy will act as your proxy and
bring your bride here shortly after the ceremony.'

Harald knew
about the arrangements for his marriage to a spotty-faced French
girl and their constant repetition depressed him. He looked out of
the window and was surprised to see Robin and William riding from
the yard.

'Mother, I
told Robin to feed the horses and rest them. Now I see him leaving
with William. What's going on?'

'Roger Knowles
has been raiding your flocks.'

'No one told
me.' He turned on her angrily. 'When did this happen?'

To his
surprise, his mother did not take offence at his uncharacteristic
display of bad temper. Then he remembered that Guy was frequently
involved in shouting matches with her. It occurred to him that she
liked her males to be argumentative and forceful.

'Yesterday.
Roger's men set their dogs on the sheep in John Perry's yard and
killed thirty or more.'

Harald's heart
missed a beat.

'Which
ones?'

'I don't
know?' Margery looked at him as if his question was both childish
and silly. 'Do you want me to give you their names? I know you've
got names for them.'

'Only for the
rams!' Harald bellowed.

The outburst
went over Margery's head.

'John has the
best of our stud in his yard, Mother. We are creating a special
breed. It is suited to the Dorset uplands. That's why Roger Knowles
set his dogs against them. He attacked us where he knew it would
hurt most.'

Harald slumped
down on a bench. Everything was going wrong. In the past, he'd
found refuge in his flocks. Now even they were being taken from
him. He wondered what he had done to deserve such a fate. Hadn't he
been sufficiently forthcoming at his confessionals? He had sought
absolution for his sins but had been shy in saying exactly what
they were. He resolved to make amends.

On the
eleventh day of July 1437, the royal court in Westminster issued
articles of incorporation for the establishment of an almshouse in
Sherborne as an independent body, responsible only to His Majesty
the King and the laws of the realm. The charter bore the young
king's seal. Whether the sixteen-year-old monarch had any hand in
it was a matter of conjecture.

In early
September, Sister Alice de Lambert, matron of the Sherborne
almshouse, became aware that she was pregnant ... to her great
joy.

On the
twentieth day of September, in a private chapel on her father's
recently acquired estate in Normandy, twelve-year-old Henriette de
Maupassant was married to thirty-four-year-old Harald de Gascoigne
in a proxy wedding in which his brother, Guy, played the part of
the groom.

In October, a
week or so before Michaelmas, Guy Gascoigne and the child bride
landed at Pool in Dorset, accompanied by a force of armed men. They
avoided Corf Castle and its Beaufort garrison and sped towards
Dorchester.

Guy

Richard Vowell
spurred his horse. He was dressed in the uniform he had worn at
Agincourt. It was a mite too small for his expanded frame, tattered
and full of holes but still recognisable as the costume of the
teenage archers who had cut the throats of the French nobility
twenty-two years earlier. His mind strayed back to that bloody
field. Old Sir William was there, slashing his way towards him.
He'd become isolated when the French counter-attacked. His leg was
broken and his position looked hopeless. But the old man wasn't
going to leave him there. He dragged the seventeen-year old through
the mud and together they made it back to the English lines.

Richard felt a
bond of kinship with the Gascoignes that surpassed anything he had
with his own family. There were now three generations called
William: one known as Guy to distinguish him from his father. Two
were seasoned warriors and the third a warrior in the making. The
thirteen-year-old rode by his side.

Young William
looked every inch a Gascoigne. If he'd got his sandy hair and fiery
temperament from the mole then it had skipped a generation. More
likely, his father was Guy. It amused Richard to think that Guy was
only a year older than William when he took the boy's mother into
the hayloft back at the manor.

They began the
long climb up the slope towards Dorchester. The fields on either
side were given over to strip cultivation. Some had been sown with
the winter planting of oats and barley. Others were left fallow.
That meant the grass would grow back and the sheep and cattle would
graze on it and enrich the soil ready for the next planting.

The mole had
told William about it but he wasn't interested. Farming was for
peasants. There were some out there now. The miserable creatures
were so poor they had to hunt for grains of barley missed at
harvest time. They didn't even wear underclothes. When they bent
over their tunics rode up and you could see their bare bums.
William suppressed a desire to ride over and thrash them with his
riding whip.

Banners
appeared on the ridge ahead. William glimpsed horsemen and heard
the rallying call of the Gascoignes. He returned it with his
hunting horn and saw one of the horsemen detach from the advancing
party. He guessed who it was and galloped to meet him.

'Guy! Guy!
Guy!'

He shouted and
galloped up the hill towards him. They met and came together in a
warrior's embrace. Guy felt the boy's strength. The last time
they'd met, William was an immature child. Now he was rushing
towards manhood.

'You've grown
up.'

He slapped
William on the shoulder and gave him a playful punch. 'You'll soon
have a beard like mine.'

William
returned the smile.

'They say I
look like you at the same age.'

'Then I was
very handsome.' Guy squeezed his hand. 'That must have been why
your mother found me so irresistible.'

'Was she
beautiful like people say?'

'Aye.
Beautiful and very loving. I pray that she is looking down from
heaven and seeing us together.'

Guy glanced
back up the hill to the carriages that were making their painful
way down the dirt road towards them. When he returned his attention
to William he saw tears in the boy's eyes.

'I would give
much to have her with us now,' he said quietly. Then changing the
subject. 'How is my brother and his lady?'

'You mean
Sister Alice?'

'I mean the
lady he has taken as his mistress.'

'She is with
child.'

'How do you
know?'

'I heard them
talking together. The masons are in. They're putting up a new wing.
Robin and I are sleeping in the loft above them and we can hear
everything they say.'

Guy wondered
about his next question.

'Do you think
the child is his?'

'I don't see
why not.'

'Why?'

'We saw them
doing it together.'

'You mean up
in the loft?'

'Yeah.'
William let out a big grin. 'There are holes in the floorboards. We
saw them there and at the May Dance.'

Guy would have
asked more but his party and its escort was upon them. His
brother's spotty-faced bride was in one of the carriages with an
aunt. Other ladies followed in a second.

***

Harald stood
on the manor steps and waited for the procession to enter the yard.
It was led by Guy and a man he'd not seen before. Both rode
warhorses and were wearing full body armour as if they expected to
be attacked at any moment.

At five-foot
eleven-inches, Harald towered over most of his tenants. Guy towered
over him. His brother's powerful body was typical of the warrior
class. Beside them, peasants looked like inferior beings. Guy
regarded peasants as scarcely human. Harald thought about nutrition
and the other factors that controlled growth and wondered how many
generations would be needed to breed the lower classes up to
knightly stature.

The troops
accompanying the two knights wore the colours of the Earl of
Huntingdon. Chain mail was evident throughout. Many wore it around
the throat where it provided good cheap protection. Elsewhere, it
looked old fashioned. Harald's eyes strayed to their polearms. The
all-purpose weapon consisted of a pole with two vicious spikes and
a hook at the business end. He had seen a melee in which mounted
men were dragged from their horses with the hook and stabbed to
death with the spikes. He averted his eyes and tried to forget the
horrible incident.