Wolf Wood (Part Two): The Dangerous years (5 page)

His captors wanted him to give evidence against Duchess Eleanor and the strange company she kept. He had no problem with that. His problem was to damn Eleanor without incriminating Alice. They kept asking about banned books hidden in the manor. His reply was always the same. He said his brother had hidden a lot of loot from France. The family chaplain, Peter de Trent, could tell them about it. Peter was privy to Guy's secrets.

He was being guarded by two soldiers with pikes that looked more ceremonial than threatening. They snapped to attention when the doors of the cathedral swung open and a procession appeared. It was led by a man wearing an executioner's cap and trailing a man at the end of a rope. Harald recognised the astrologer, Sir Roger Bolingbrook, who had been arrested with him. He was dressed in shining robes and wore a conical hat with signs of the zodiac and other magical symbols.

A murmur rang through the crowd as the procession halted before the painted throne and Sir Roger was placed on it. Priests in white robes formed a semicircle at the rear. Harald was reminded of the plays performed by troops of travelling actors. The church often criticised them for playing to vulgar tastes. Now, they seemed to be copying them. To his amazement, the Archbishop of Canterbury appeared, followed by Cardinal Beaufort.

Sir Roger stared back at them like an animal in a trap. His features were drawn as if he had been deprived of sleep. Harald guessed the end was near. He knew the technique. The elaborate show was for the benefit of the crowd and would end with a public confession. The intent was to implicate Eleanor in high treason. There would be some truth in the accusation but truth didn't matter in a case like this. The aim was to bring about the downfall of Duke Humphrey. In the process, innocent people would suffer and Alice could be one of them.

The archbishop led the assault, accusing Sir Roger of consorting with the forces of evil to cause the death of their sovereign lord, King Henry. People in the crowd yelled for his death. Harald guessed they were plants. You only needed a few and others would follow. Soon the entire crowd was howling for blood. The whole thing was totally predictable. Did Beaufort and the archbishop realize that the same trick could be used against them?

Sir Roger's confession was almost an anticlimax. The crowd stopped yelling and listened as he explained that he was but a humble servant of Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester. Harald was reminded of the football games the townsmen played. Cardinal Beaufort had scored a goal. A few more were needed before he would win the game and claim victory over Duke Humphrey.

That meant more victims. A sorcerer would help and a witch would be ideal. Alice would be a suitable candidate. Perhaps that was why he had been brought from his prison cell to witness Roger Bolingbrook's humiliation.

***

Robin dangled his feet in the pond and felt the water between his toes. It was a hot day. Hot like it got in the south of France. He had spent a season there with Guy and preferred not to think about it. The Duke of York had paid for them to go and help defend Gascony. The people there were loyal to King Henry and didn't want to become part of France. At first it was nice. You were treated like friends. Then Guy decided to go raiding. He made out he was going to attack French supply lines. That was just an excuse to get loot and much worse. No one was safe. You lived off the land, robbing peasants and prosperous farmers alike. But it was the big estates that Guy was really after.

Most were defended and Guy sometimes lost men. That was always an excuse to rape and burn. Guy reserved the good looking woman for himself and young William. The boy was no more than fifteen when he started. He liked virgins and once killed a man who deflowered a girl instead of handing her over to him. They were both bad but William was the worse. People called him William the Bastard and he regarded that as a compliment. He was Guy's bastard and proud of it.

Robin pulled off his tunic and searched the folds for fleas. Alice was fussy about fleas. She said there was no need for them. That might be true but there was no way you could stay clear. You'd soon pick them up from someone else. So why try? All the same, he'd do it to please her and Henriette. She didn't like fleas either. Henriette had been brought up as a refined lady. He caught a glimpse of her through the bushes and wondered if she was watching him undress.

It had taken four days to get there and they had walked most of the way. They needed money and had sold two of their horses to a farmer. They would have got a much better price at market but the markets were controlled by bailiffs and they would want to know where they got the horses and that sort of thing. The farmer probably thought the horses were stolen so he would keep quiet and not tell anyone about the deal.

They were staying with a poor family, deep in the country to the south of London. The tinker called them Lollards. Alice said they weren't really Lollards; they were people who didn't like the way the country was being run but that didn't make them Lollards. Robin didn't care what they were called. He felt safe with them. They weren't the sort who would sell you to the highest bidder.

The tinker was with them and so was Owen. Robin had puzzled over why they were putting themselves at so much risk. At first he thought it was because they expected a handsome reward from Sir William. Then he realised they weren't doing it for money. They were doing it for the same reason as he was. Some might regard Alice as a witch. To the three of them, she was more like a saint.

And there was not just Alice to think about. There was little Steven and Henriette. Robin slipped off the last of his clothes and heard someone coming. Henriette was a shy, spotty-faced, little girl when he left for France. Now there was nothing shy about her. He saw her sneaking through the long grass, pulling at the straps of her dress. She glanced behind to see that no one was looking and slipped behind a bush. Despite the cold, Robin felt his passion surge as she discarded the last of her clothing and jumped, giggling, into the water beside him.

Southwark

John Baret trudged back to his lodgings in a state of depression. He was overdressed and sweating beneath his heavy coat. He had followed Harald Gascoigne and his escort back from the cathedral to see where his friend was being held. To his amazement, Harald was a prisoner in the Tower of London.

That was where they put traitors. Cardinal Beaufort either had strong evidence against him or was making a point by holding him there. John hoped for the latter. Beaufort was putting on a big performance. The ridiculous charade at the cathedral was part of it. He and his cronies were locking people up in order to strengthen their case. The next step would be to find some guilty and execute them.

The heads on pikes above London Bridge added to his gloom. They belonged to people who had suffered the traitor's death of hanging, drawing and quartering. He had once been obliged to watch. It was the sort of thing you did to show you were a loyal citizen of England and a worthy member of the wool merchants' guild.

The execution took place at Tyburn. The guilty party was strapped to a hurdle and dragged there by a horse. The crowd threw stones along the way and the man arrived bloodied and disfigured. He was then strung up by the neck and taken down while still alive. His entrails were cut out and burnt before his eyes. After that, the whole hideous performance was brought to a swift end. The victim was beheaded and his body cut into parts for distribution around the country. That way, the citizens of England were reminded of what happened to people who tried to overthrow their rulers.

'Master Baret. Wait.
'

He heard his name and saw his manservant, Tom.

'I was coming to get you.'

Tom pushed his way through the crowd and arrived by John's side, red-faced and sweating. He had taken off his smart surcoat and was wearing it round his waist with the arms tied in front.

'Owen is after you,' he blurted.

John was irritated by Tom's uncouth manner and untidy appearance. He expected more respect from his servants and he expected them to take better care of their uniforms.

'Who
are you talking about?'

'That Welsh archer what used to hang around with Dickie Vowell. The one what sometimes sings at All Hallows.'

'
What about him?'

'He got interested when he saw me. Asked after you … said it's about a very important person. He wants to speak to you.'

'Did he say who this person was?'

'He
said he'd come from Sherborne and you would know.'

John's mind turned to the Gascoignes. Owen was a loyal supporter of Sir William. The old archer could have come to London to see what had happened to Harald.

'Where is Owen?'

'At the Bull in Southwark. I went there with them guards what you hired at Greenwich. He told me to go and fetch you. Said it would be better than if he came to see you.'

John couldn't agree more. He was lodging at the wool merchants' hostelry. The guards at the gate kept a strict watch on who came and went. Having Owen visit him was not a good idea. At the same time, he wasn't keen on going to a rough drinking house in Southwark. As a young man, he used to cross the river when he was in London. It was where young blades went to enjoy the sort of female company that was not available in the puritanical circles in which they had been reared. Elizabeth would be horrified if she knew what he did before they were married.

On occasions he marvelled that some awful catastrophe had not befallen him. Some of his friends had been injured in fights. Others had caught sinful diseases. Southwark wasn't a safe place for a young man with money and it was even more dangerous for an older man. He hoped the guild's guards would be there when he arrived. He might need them for protection even if that meant paying a bribe to ensure their silence.

The Bull was in an even rougher part of Southwark than he used to visit. John was surprised to see people he knew. Prosperous merchants from Amsterdam were seated at a table surrounded by girls. They turned their heads away when they saw him and he pretended not to see them.

To his relief, Tom located the two guards. They were at a long table with a crowd of sailors and some women who had taken advantage of the hot weather and removed most of their clothes. They made a place for him.

'You'll cook in all what yer wearing.'

A huge girl leant over him and poured a mug of beer.

'You have some of this … it'll cool yer.'

Her breasts hung out of her linen shift and brushed against him. John held his breath and tried to hide his discomfort. He had been in rough places but this was the pits. He looked around. Tom had vanished and there was still no sign of Owen. A man in a corner was taking an interest. There was something very professional about him. That was disturbing. Beaufort had spies in places like this.

'Some of these to get yer going …'

He heard another voice and winced as a dish of oysters was thrust at him.

'All the gentlemen do swear by them …'

John knew the routine. Oysters were famed as a cure for male erection problems. The women could smell money and knew he was loaded.

'Try a bite of this …'

It was like being pestered by a swarm of midges on a hot summer's day. He wanted to take off his heavy coat but that would reveal the expensive clothes underneath and get them even more excited.

People at neighbouring tables seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. He glanced to where the Amsterdam merchants had been and saw they were gone. The man in the corner was still casting a professional eye in his direction ... or was he merely amused. John hoped for the latter.

'Master …'

He heard Tom's voice.

'Owen is upstairs. He wants it done proper.'

John wondered what that meant.

There's this girl,' Tom said. 'She'll come and say you can have her for a shilling. You've got to agree and go with her.'

It was a preposterous sum. John suspected Tom had fallen for a trick. He was a country boy and not wise to the ways of the City.

'Are you sure it's Owen … you're not mistaken?'

'No, Master. It's him alright. The one with that David.'

A girl arrived in a pale dress. She looked no more than fifteen. The other women drew aside and didn't argue when she said she was a virgin and he could know her for a silver shilling. John was horrified. All his instincts rebelled against such an idea but there was only a shilling to lose and Harald's life was at stake. He rummaged in his purse and did his best to find a shilling without revealing how much was there.

The girl took the coin then, at the prompting of the women, examined the edges. Finally, she placed it on her tongue to check that it tasted right. John felt degraded.

He followed her upstairs and found Owen waiting for him. The old archer emerged from the shadows and told the girl to go back to her family in Kent. He watched her leave then beckoned John into a small room, lit by a window covered in sail cloth. The stench was appalling.