Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (20 page)

When he next
looked. Guy and his companion had reached the manor steps. Two
covered carriages drew up behind them, followed by carts of the
sort used by the military. When the whole lot had crammed into the
yard, Guy dismounted and came forward.

'My dear
brother.'

He bowed and
spoke in Norman French.

'It is my
honour to present my valiant companion in arms, Philip de
Maupassant, uncle of your beloved bride.'

Harald
exchanged bows with the dark-haired man who stepped forward, and
did his best to reply in French.

'I have the
honour of presenting my most worshipful mother.'

Margery
Gascoigne extended a jewelled hand and Philip rushed forward to
kiss it.

After that he
seemed short of ideas. Guy said something and Philip turned
awkwardly towards the first of the closed carriages. More prompting
followed and he eventually spoke but in such a rough sort of French
that Harald could barely understand a word of what he said.

'It is my
honour to present my niece, Henriette, beloved daughter of the
esteemed Henri, Seigneur de Maupassant.'

Philip forced
out the words with a strong Breton accent. The carriage door swung
open and a young girl was pushed out. Harald felt pangs of despair.
The poor child was even younger than he had imagined and utterly
terrified. She looked around like a lamb amongst wolves and he
struggled for words to comfort her. His tongue failed him and he
spluttered to an agonising halt. Henriette stared at his pulsating
Adam's apple and burst into tears.

Alice came to
the rescue.

'Sister, you
must be tired. It has been a long journey.'

She took the
girl's hand and continued to speak in French.

'We have
prepared a special place for you and your ladies. It is in the old
house. When the new buildings are finished you will have an
apartment of your own. You can live there and come and visit
us.'

Henriette
seemed to regain some of her composure.

'You mean: I
won't have to live with him?'

'No. You will
be living with your ladies. In a few days we shall introduce you to
some young people of your own age. They will help you learn English
and you can teach them French. They are from good families and very
pleasant. I am sure they will become good friends and companions to
you.'

Her words went
some way to calming the child but not as far as she would have
wished. Alice was reminded of a frightened animal in a trap. At the
same age she had felt that way and her heart went out to the young
girl. She turned to her aunt.

'Madame, I
will escort you to your chamber and make sure that all is prepared.
It will not be necessary for you to dine in hall. Your meals will
be brought to you. Our chaplain speaks French and can attend to
your spiritual needs. Call for me whenever you need assistance for
translation or for any other purpose …'

Harald stood
to one side and listened. Alice was behaving as if she was the lady
of the manor. That was part of her caring nature. She had been
matron of the almshouse only a week before. It was natural for her
to take control and look after people. He wondered if his mother
would take offence and glanced in her direction. Dressed in her
most expensive gown of crimson velvet, embroidered with silk and
gold thread, Margery Gascoigne was as inscrutable as ever. If Alice
had offended her, she wasn't going to show it … some other time,
perhaps.

***

Dinner
surpassed anything Harald remembered at the manor. Their Chaplain,
Peter de Trent, had organised it following instructions from his
father. The extravagance was amazing. Finance for the French wars
was the dominant issue in English politics. The war party, led by
Duke Humphrey wanted to press on. The peace party, led by the
Beauforts, wanted an end to hostilities before more money was
wasted on a hopeless cause.

Harald had
little doubt the country was facing bankruptcy. The same could not
be said of his family. The Gascoigne's were doing very well from
the war. The amount of gold and silver in the wagons was
astounding. Some was in coin, other in plate. The wealth of
knightly households had been squashed flat and brought to England.
It was beyond reason. Sixteen-year-old Henry was meant to be king
of France and England. He was supposed to be a protector of his
French subjects. His mother was a Valois. The whole thing made no
moral sense.

But morality
didn't come into it. Power was what mattered. Those who had it
thought they had a divine right to lord themselves over others. His
brother was one. Harald felt Guy's dark presence at the table. At
nineteen he had watched him fornicate with his young wife. He had
hidden in the hayloft to see if the rumours were true and, to his
horror, they were. Later, he tried to imitate the
fourteen-year-old's performance. The experience was mortifying.
He'd wilted when he should have been aroused and Judith was
unforgiving. She'd made fun of him, comparing his limp offering
with Guy's robust member. Harald was unable to forgive his brother
for that and the thousand other insults inflicted on him.

As bridegroom
and nominal head of the house in his father's absence, he had pride
of place at the high table. Alice was proxy for the bride and sat
on one side. His mother sat on the other. William was down in the
main body of the hall with Robin and Guy's men. Harald waited for
Peter de Trent to say grace then rose to give the loyal toast. A
toast to the newlyweds followed and the meal began in earnest.

Silver plate
graced the high table. Wooden platters and pewter mugs were de
rigour on the lower. Harald watched as William carved off chunks of
roast pork with his hunting knife and stuffed them into his mouth.
He looked totally at home with the older company, copying their
rough speech and gesticulating wildly whenever he wanted to get a
point across.

Guy downed a
goblet and turned to his brother.

'William wants
to come back to France with me.'

'I had guessed
that,' Harald said coldly.

'Will you give
your consent?'

'I don't see
what that's got to do with me.'

'He's your
son.'

'You joke.'
Harald turned angrily and leant past his mother to speak to Guy.
'He's your son and you know it. Don't think I've not seen you two
together. William's one of your bastards. The first of many. You
sow your seed wherever you find a willing furrow.'

'Harald.' His
mother's sharp tongue brought him to a halt. 'Listen to what your
brother is saying. Your ridiculous outbursts will get us into
immense trouble.'

Guy left his
chair and whispered in Harald's ear.

'You are heir
to the Gascoigne manor and to your young wife's huge dowry. 'One
day these fine lands will become yours and they'll pass to William,
if you're not so stupid as to declare him a bastard.'

'Do you
understand what your brother is saying?'

Margery's
voice rang in his ear. Harald understood full well. His marriage
was part of an elaborate plan to cheat the Maupassants out of their
share of the loot. There was no honour amongst thieves. Thieves
formed pacts then stabbed one another in the back. Sadly, innocent
people suffered in the process and little Henriette was one of
them. It was what happened to people who went to live in Wolf
Wood.

War
Horse

John Baret
inspected the gate that had been erected to replace the one knocked
down by Walter Gallor's dog. Elizabeth was far from satisfied with
the flimsy structure. John had to agree. The town was full of
soldiers. They'd flocked to the southern counties looking for a
lord to take them over the Channel. The hostelries were doing a
booming trade. Whores had descended on Sherborne. Houses were being
robbed and respectable women wouldn't venture onto the streets.

'We've got to
bring in carpenters,' Elizabeth said

John wasn't so
sure. There was a limit to what men with saws and adzes could do.
In these difficult times, men with swords and crossbows were
needed. The only one they'd ever had was Robin and he was at the
Gascoigne manor, hoping to join Guy when he returned to
Normandy.

'I'll speak to
Harald,' John said. 'His brother needs lodgings for his men. If
some were to board with us, our position would be greatly
strengthened.'

'John. You
can't be serious.'

'I'm thinking
of Guy's officers, not his common soldiery.'

'I would hope
so.' Elizabeth clasped her keys as a nun might clasp her rosary.
'My heart goes out to the poor women of France. Harald says our men
take reprisals. They rape and kill without mercy.'

She was
interrupted by a commotion. Two men in tight jerkins were taunting
one another outside the New Moon Inn. Their northern accents were
so extreme she couldn't understand a word.

'Harald is
distressed,' John said. 'He's worried about Alice. He feels guilty
for having got her with child.'

The remark
seemed odd to Elizabeth. 'There's no need for Harald to think that.
Alice tried hard enough. She won him at the maypole dance.'

'I understand
that to be the case,' John replied.

'Don't sound
so stuffy.' Elizabeth stroked his arm. 'You were young once. Have
you forgotten the time we first made love?'

John changed
the subject. 'I have heard disturbing tales about Eleanor Cobham
and Alice making a wax image of Harald. It is alleged that they
fashioned one with a large male member and used it to cast spells …
the purpose being to arouse Harald's masculine passions.'

Elizabeth
burst out laughing.

'Don't be
ridiculous,' she squeezed his arm. 'That's a story put out by
Richard Vowell. He likes to make jokes.'

'There's
something very dangerous about such jokes.'

'John, can't
you see the good side?'

'I see the
dangerous side.'

'Alice is
happy,' Elizabeth insisted. 'She is nearing thirty years and has
been denied a woman's most ardent desire. Now she has it. You're a
man. You wouldn't understand such things.'

John wasn't
impressed. 'I understand the appalling consequences that could
arise from an accusation of sorcery.' He spoke in the heavy voice
he used when addressing public meetings. 'I beg you to consider
what Abbot Bradford could make of it?'

'But it's only
a joke.'

'Abbot
Bradford would not see it like that.'

Elizabeth
thought for a moment and saw his concern. Billy Bradford would
seize any opportunity to defame them. The abbot found the truth
where it suited him. Her demeanour changed.

'I'll talk to
Betty ... get her to stop Richard from telling his silly
stories.'

Outside the
Half Moon Inn, Dorset voices were urging the northerners to fight
to the death. Elizabeth retreated into the yard.

'Alice is
happy to be Harald's mistress. A lot of respectable couples have
come to that arrangement. They're often more firmly united than
those who have been churched.'

'Harald
doesn't see it like that,' John said. 'He's worried about their
children. He doesn't want them to be declared bastards and he's
worried about the girl.'

'What
girl?'

'The French
one … the one he's just married.'

'He surely
doesn't intend to consummate the marriage.'

'Of course
not.'

'Then there's
no problem. Betty tells me the girl looks no more than ten. The
Holy Father has made it clear that a female child can be wedded at
any age but she cannot be taken as wife until she has reached
twelve years. Harald can quote that if anyone says he is failing in
his duty.'

Shouts from
the inn were sounding more ominous. The northern word dirk was
being used. John followed Elizabeth into the house and locked the
door behind them. They mounted the stairs and entered their private
chamber.

'Harald's
problem is his conscience.' John went to the window. 'He blames
himself for not marrying Alice. His father threatened to disinherit
him if he didn't wed the French girl. Harald believes he should
have defied him.'

'And how would
he have earned a living for Alice and their child?'

'He's a
trained lawyer.'

'John, be
sensible.' Alice tapped his arm. 'Harald is far too honest to be a
lawyer. He's a farmer by nature and a good one. I don't doubt his
family are well aware of that. They see him running their English
estate and making money for them. Otherwise they would have
disinherited him years ago. He should play them at their own game.
Have you told him that?'

'I have
advised him to go along with his father's wishes. The man is almost
sixty and still campaigning. He could be dead within the year.
After that, Harald can seek an annulment of the French marriage and
wed Alice.'

'William
Gascoigne could live another twenty years.' Elizabeth shook her
head. 'He looked hale and hearty last time I saw him. Why didn't
you advise Harald to marry Alice and not wait any longer?'

'He can't. The
marriage would be bigamous.'

'That's
something for the courts to decide. The French marriage will never
be consummated. I'm sure a little money in the right places would
secure a favourable ruling.'

'There is
still the problem of disinheritance.'

'Only if Sir
William finds out.'

'You're
suggesting they marry in secret?'

'Why not? I'm
sure you can find a chaplain who owes Harald a favour.'

John
considered the point.

'That's
something we could give thought to.'

He leant out
of the window and peered up the street. The crowd outside the Half
Moon had stopped cheering and were chattering excitedly amongst
themselves. A man with a wound to his arm sat in the gutter.
Another lay in a pool of blood.