After Evesham

AFTER EVESHAM

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Other Boson Books by Feona J. Hamilton Belaset’s Daughter The Brewer’s Boy

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AFTER EVESHAM by Feona J. Hamilton

Boson Books Raleigh

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Published by Boson Books An imprint of C&M Online Media Inc. © 2011 Feona J. Hamilton All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without the express written consent of the copyright holder. ISBN 978-0-917990-55-7 For information contact C&M Online Media Inc. 3905 Meadow Field Lane Raleigh, NC 27606 Tel: (919) 233-8164 email: [email protected] http://www.bosonbooks.com Cover Image is provided by permission of the Master and Fellows of St John's College, Cambridge. Cover design by the author.

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For M.W.

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Contents LIST OF CHARACTERS 7 PROLOGUE 9

PART ONE CHAPTER ONE 12 CHAPTER TWO 18 CHAPTER THREE 25 CHAPTER FOUR 31 CHAPTER FIVE 37 CHAPTER SIX 45

PART TWO CHAPTER SEVEN 55 CHAPTER EIGHT 63 CHAPTER NINE 70 CHAPTER TEN 78

PART THREE CHAPTER ELEVEN 85 CHAPTER TWELVE 93

PART FOUR CHAPTER THIRTEEN 102 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 109 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 117 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 124 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 130 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 139 CHAPTER NINETEEN 147 CHAPTER TWENTY 153

PART FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 162 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 169 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 178 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 185

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LIST OF CHARACTERS *actual historical characters Royalty and the Court *Henry III, King of England *Eleanor of Provence, his queen *Thibault, one of the Queen’s household *The Lord Edward, his elder son *Prince Edmund, his younger son *John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey *Alice de Warenne, his wife *Sir Roger Leyburn *Cardinal Ottobuono Fieschi, Papal Legate Jervis FitzHugh, squire to John de Warenne Philip, a squire in the de Warenne household Robert, a squire in the de Warenne household Madeleine de Tourney, widow of Sir Roger de Tourney Joan, her servant London *Gregory Rokesley, a merchant Hubert, his manservant Walter, his ostler *Benjamin Yechiel, a prominent Jew of London Dorcas, his wife *Aaron Yechiel, their son *Judith, his wife *John Albyn, a fishmonger Joseph, a Jew of London Ruth, his wife Esther, their daughter The Disinherited *Eleanor de Montfort, widow of Simon de Montfort *Guy de Montfort, her younger son *Trubodi, one of the de Montfort household *Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester *Sir John d’Eyvill * Sir William de Monchesny Others appearing in the story

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*Abbot Hugh of Ely *Mosseus Crispin, a Jew of Cambridge *Salomon, a Jewish goldsmith of Ely Isaac, a Jew of Guildford Rebecca, his wife Ralph, an innkeeper of Boston Adam, a soldier with the Disinherited Master Bonami, master of the cog he owns jointly with Gregory Master Adam, a merchant of Winchester Osbert, a soldier Cedric, a soldier

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PROLOGUE Below the high altar of Evesham Abbey, Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, lay at peace at last. The dismembered, mutilated body of the man who had tried to defy a King was now decently covered in a shroud, hiding the work of those who had hated him. Beside him lay the bodies of one of his sons and of his most loyal supporter. The priest approached and began to intone the words of the burial service. As the sonorous Latin echoed round the interior of Evesham Abbey, only a few people were there to hear it. The monks who had carried Simon, his son Henry, and his most devoted follower, Hugh Dispenser, from the battlefield, bowed their heads and added their voices to the chant. In the dark recess just to one side of the main door a huddled group of men stood listening and trying to understand what had happened to the bright dreams of the last months. Their leader was dead and many of those who had believed in him and in his reasons for doing battle with King Henry lay like heaps of rags on the bloody field of battle, just outside the town. There was a sudden hush, as the bodies were lifted from the trestles on which they had lain and lowered gently into the holes prepared for them in front of the lowest of the three steps leading to the altar. It was so quiet that even the sound of the ropes being withdrawn from the graves set up their own echo as the soft susurration died away. The priest chanted the last words of the Mass, sprinkling a handful of earth into each grave. Turning, he genuflected to the altar, and walked away. The choir of monks, their duty done, filed after him. The group of men at the back of the abbey stood in silence, watching as two of the younger novices reappeared with shovels, and began to fill in the graves. At last, one of the group, sighing heavily, bowed his head as he crossed himself, then turned to make his way out of the building. Taking it as a signal, the others followed suit. Not a word was said, as they mounted the horses that had been cropping the short turf outside and rode out of the abbey grounds. There were few people visible as the riders cantered swiftly through the town, but the reason for the empty streets was clear as they came out into the surrounding countryside. The battle, so recently fought, had left its mark on the hill and fields through which they passed. All across the slope of the hill lay the corpses of those who had lost the fight. Looters and mourners alike moved through them, absorbed in their searching. The looters bent quickly over each corpse, fumbling through the clothing and looking around for anything of value, but the others took more trouble and turned the bodies with something approaching tenderness, as they sought for their fathers and brothers, their uncles and cousins. A sudden wailing cry announced the end of a search. Fresh mounds of earth showed where some of the fallen had been hastily buried in the churned-up soil. Crops lay trampled by men and horses, and ominous part-dried puddles of crimson blood were still visible, especially where the fighting had been heaviest. There would be no harvest from these fields in this year of 1265. At a sign from the foremost rider, the group came to a halt and gathered round him.

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“We will go back to Kenilworth and rest there,” he said. “My mother is still there and we must decide what to do now that my father and brother are…” His voice faltered and he cleared his throat, frowning fiercely as he fought to control himself. Raising his right arm, he gazed defiantly at the men around him. “Follow me if you will!” he cried. “If not, I bid you goodbye and wish you Godspeed!” He wheeled his horse round and galloped off, not bothering to look and see who would follow. There was no hesitation in the other men. As one, they dug their heels into the flanks of their horses, and galloped after him. The silence of death settled over Evesham.

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PART ONE

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CHAPTER ONE The group of riders surrounding their wounded king came to a halt at last, beside a brook. They had been travelling for hours, and darkness was near. Leaving Evesham’s bloody fields, they had set out in a south-westerly direction, following the long gash between the hills that was the Vale of Evesham. Now they were through it and out into more open country, where the fields of wheat, oats and barley lay undisturbed, basking in the sunshine, and sheep and cattle turned their heads lazily as the weary little group rode past. The battlefield was behind them, the day’s fighting already a memory, although it would come back to haunt some of them for many long years to come. Their success was undoubted—the man in their midst was proof of that—and, despite the horrors of the day, most of them looked cheerful. The horses lowered their heads and began to drink. King Henry, bewildered by the day’s alarums, and half fainting from loss of blood, sat grimly astride his mount and fought to remain upright. His wounded shoulder, roughly bound and held in a sling, was still oozing blood, which soaked through the bindings and stained his torn surcote. It turned the plain brown cloth that Simon de Montfort had made him wear into a dark and regal purple, as though even his clothing insisted on the stature of the man it covered. The man on his right gripped his good arm as he swayed slightly, but Henry shook him off impatiently. “Let me alone!” said Henry, crossly. “We must press on until we are able to rest in a place of safety.” Ahead of them, a gentle slope led across the open country and towards a cluster of buildings that looked like the edge of a town. The road they were on led directly towards it and disappeared between the houses. They could see, to the left of the buildings, a massive abbey, on the other side of a river. Its golden stone and heavy, rounded arches showed its Norman beginnings and its solidly built walls gave dignity and an air of security to the abbey church. Roger Leyburn, still riding beside the King despite the rebuff, pointed to the huge tower in the centre of the church, looming above the small town. “We have reached such a place, Sire,” he said. “See—there lies Tewkesbury before us. They will surely make you welcome at the abbey and there will be room for all of us.” Henry opened his mouth to utter a sharp retort, but Leyburn, confident in his position as the man who had saved his King, pressed blithely on. “An overnight rest, Sire, while we all gather our strength and rest the horses, and we can go on to Gloucester looking like a band of victors, rather than a, a…” Here, a glance at Henry’s face warned him, and he faltered to a halt. There was a tense silence, as the men waited for a display of Henry’s famous temper. The King’s brows drew together, and his colour began to heighten. Everyone held their breath. Suddenly, to their surprise, the King’s face lightened and he began to chuckle weakly instead.

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“Rather than a band of outlaws?” he said to Leyburn. “Come, my good Roger, you were about to liken me to a common thief, were you not?” Leyburn grinned sheepishly, his fair skin flushing like an awkward schoolboy’s in his embarrassment. “Your pardon, Sire,” he said. “It was the heat of the moment and my pride in being in the company of my King.” “Well said, young man!” said Henry, pleased by the flattery, but not deceived by it. “Well said indeed!” He turned to the rest of the group who surrounded him. “So—let us rest awhile in Tewkesbury, then! Perhaps we may hear what has happened to others who fought for us this day. We cannot be the only people riding from Evesham in this direction!” John de Warenne and his squire, Jervis FitzHugh, glanced uneasily at each other, their doubts clear in their expressions. The look was not lost on Henry and he pounced immediately. “Well, John?” he said to John de Warenne. “What do you and young FitzHugh know that you are keeping from me?” “Sire,” said de Warenne. “We are a small and specially chosen group, escorting you to safety while de Montfort’s followers are dealt with. Your son, the Lord Edward, is in pursuit of the main body of de Montfort’s followers who have escaped from the battlefield …” “Where do they think they can escape to?” interrupted Henry, keenly. “They were heading for Chester, Sire,” said Jervis FitzHugh, as de Warenne paused. There was a long moment as the King digested this information. “So—my son chases my enemies to the north, and my friends take me south, directly away from them,” he said. “And when were these plans laid? Certainly not today, in the heat of battle!” “No, Sire, not today,” agreed de Warenne. “But today has gone according to the Lord Edward’s plan. We sought to rescue you from de Montfort and we did better—we have killed him and routed your Majesty’s enemies!” He drew himself up, proudly. “We have stopped those who would rule in your stead, Sire, and we will restore you to your throne!” he said. The other men gave a ragged but heartfelt cheer, some of them raising their swords in triumph. It was irresistible to Henry, to see such loyalty and pride among the tired men. He nodded his head and raised his hand to quiet them. “You have all done well,” he agreed. “And I am proud and honoured to have such loyal friends about me. But, I still wish to know—where are you taking me? At the moment I am as much a captive as ever I was, despite the change of captors for the better!” “By your leave, Sire,” said de Warenne. “We are taking you to Gloucester, which has been in our hands for these past few days. The people are loyal and were unhappy under de Montfort’s yoke. You will be safe there and can rest, while your wound is attended to and heals.”

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“Then let us first rest in Tewkesbury Abbey, as you suggest, and make our triumphant entry into Gloucester tomorrow!” said Henry, grinning round at his men, his discomfort forgotten in his pleasure at the turn of events. De Warenne turned to his squire. “Jervis!” he said. “Do you go on ahead and tell the good monks of Tewkesbury that their King joins them tonight!” “Gladly, My Lord!” said Jervis and, bowing his head to the King and then de Warenne, he galloped off towards the town and the abbey, along the bank of the brook. Urging their horses into motion once more, the group surrounded the King and, thus protected, he entered Tewkesbury and into the chaos of an abbey in turmoil by the news the monks had received. The gatehouse, which straddled the entrance to the abbey, had both doors wide open, with the porter hovering nervously and staring with his eyes coming out of his head as the group went past him. At the last moment, he tore his hat off and stood gripping it in one hand. Inside, the space in front of the church was filling up with monks who had stopped whatever they were doing and come to see the cause of the commotion. The abbot came out to meet him, wringing his hands nervously, and forcing a smile on his pale face. The horsemen before him parted and he found himself looking up at King Henry. He gasped audibly and made a deep obeisance. “Y-y-your M-majesty!” he stammered. “W-w-we are most honoured…” He stared at the ground, and slid his hands deep into the sleeves of his gown. “We are grateful to you, Abbot!” said Henry, forcing himself to speak briskly, despite his fatigue. “As you see, we are but a small band of friends and will not impose greatly upon you. Some food and wine and beds for us, some hay and water for our horses and that is all! In the morning, we will be gone again and you will wonder if this visit really happened!” He smiled encouragingly at the abbot, who gave a weak smile back, his relief clearly visible. Standing straighter, he spoke in a firmer voice. “Then Your Majesty must sleep in my lodgings for the night,” he said. “And—if it pleases you—your friends may sleep in the abbey’s guesthouse.” “It pleases us very well,” said Henry. The abbot bowed again and turned to wave an arm at one of the monks who stood behind him in a bewildered semi-circle, gawping at their unexpected visitors. “Come, Brother Michael,” he said. “Show the King’s men to the guesthouse, while I lead His Majesty to his own quarters! And Brother Sebastian, get you to the kitchen and prepare some food to serve our guests!” Brother Sebastian, his round, moon face blushing with pleasure, bowed hurriedly toward the King and the abbot, and turned to waddle as fast as his bulk would let him, in the direction of his kitchen. Brother Michael, a lean, ascetic-looking man with a serious expression, merely nodded his head, and said softly, “If you would follow me, Sire?” Then, looking as if he greeted and guided his monarch every day of his life, he slipped his hands inside the wide sleeves of his habit, turned, and began to walk with a peculiar gliding motion towards the abbot’s house. By nightfall, some semblance of order had returned to the abbey. Henry was comfortably bedded in the abbot’s richly furnished quarters, his wound cleaned and 14

dressed by the abbey’s infirmarian. Outside his door stood a guard. Across a small cloister, in the guesthouse, most of his supporters lay in a deep sleep, undisturbed by the monks chanting the offices through the night in the great church. Among them, resting on his bed but with his eyes wide open, staring into the dark, lay Jervis. It had been one of the strangest days of his life, he thought. That morning, he had been roused from his sleep by someone shouting his name. Flinging on his clothes, he rushed outside to find a man holding his horse, ready saddled. He mounted as the fellow told him he was “to follow the others,” flinging his arm wide to point at the body of men galloping off in the middle distance. Urging his horse into a fast gallop, he caught up within minutes. It was a rider at the back of the group who told him they had been called to join Prince Edward. Before the end of the day, Jervis had found himself drawn into bitter fighting with only his short sword and a shield for protection. Somehow the adrenalin flooding his body, coupled with the speed and surprise of it all, carried him through safely, until, suddenly, it was all over and the battle was won. Before he had time to think, he heard de Warenne calling his name and joined his lord, to discover that, in doing so, he had also joined the King’s party. Jervis gave a great sigh, part satisfaction, part relief, turned on his side, and fell asleep. *** In the morning, they rose with the sun, breakfasted and set out again within the hour. The sun shone through high, drifting cloud and a cooling breeze blew, freshening the air and making the horses whisk their tails and toss their heads. They followed the course of the river, riding along its bank from Tewkesbury, knowing that it would lead them unfailingly to Gloucester. Jervis rode beside de Warenne with a smile on his face. The past few weeks had been chaotic and there had been times when he, like everyone else, had feared for his life. The flight from Lewes after Henry’s defeat just one short year ago, the exile in France, and the struggle to rescue the King from Simon de Montfort had seemed an unending nightmare. Yet here he was, safely back in England, another battle fought and this time won. The King was riding ahead of him, the man he served and loved, John de Warenne rode beside him, and they were revelling in victory and success! He breathed deeply, and grinned again with the joy of it all. They rode along in silence for a long time, each man alone with his thoughts. The countryside lay empty around them, with only the sound of the River Severn chuckling along beside them and the occasional burst of birdsong to break the silence. A blackbird sang its lush song from among the trees of a small coppice as they rode by, and a magpie chattered at them as they disturbed it. As they followed one of the Severn’s wide loops, grasses hanging over the water rustled sharply and there was the faint plop! as a wary vole slipped into the water and safety. It was all a world away from the sights and sounds of battle and the men were grateful for the healing peace of it all. When the sun reached its highest point, they were at the foot of a hill and a small wood offered them welcome shade. “Jervis, go ahead and see that the wood is empty,” said de Warenne. “It would be a good place to stop, rest the horses, and eat.” 15

As Jervis rode off, de Warenne turned to Henry. “If you agree, Sire?” he said, politely. The King gave a wry smile and pointed at his wounded shoulder. “This dictates my moves for now, John,” he said. “And it bids me rest, whether I would or not.” Jervis had reappeared from the wood, and sat astride his horse waving them on. “There is no one,” he said, as the others came up to him. “We have it to ourselves.” As soon as they were in the shade of the trees, the men dismounted and left the horses to crop the grass round the edge of the wood. Leyburn, along with one or two others, went further into the trees to relieve themselves, then returned to the group which had helped the King off his horse and got him settled comfortably against a tree. Cold pasties from Tewkesbury Abbey were produced from packs on two of the horses and distributed, and Jervis went to the other side of the wood and came back with the news that the water was sweet and drinkable. They rested for some time and then, after de Warenne had insisted on looking at Henry’s wound and pronounced it clean, they remounted and rode up to the top of the hill that blocked their way and looked around them from the summit. For a long silent minute, they stared down the slope to the distant prospect of Gloucester. The sun glanced off the tip of the cathedral spire and danced along the surface of the river which snaked its way around the city, forming a natural barrier on the western side, as the hills did to the east. Even the castle looked cheerful in the sunlight, instead of its normal forbidding self, its great tower rearing above everything. It was as though Gloucester had dressed itself to greet its King. Henry shook off the idea—the city had no idea that it was about to have himself and his party of supporters in its midst again, he thought. He had no way of knowing, even, whether they would be welcome or not. Certainly, all through the summer, when he had been kept there by de Montfort, the city had shown a proper respect for the stature and dignity of the monarch. Had that been at the behest of the baron, or because they truly were the King’s subjects? Who could tell, these days, which place was for de Montfort and which for the King? “Well, my fine fellows!” he said. “Let us return to Gloucester—and see what they will make of us!” There was a scramble and bustle then, with Henry sitting bolt upright, Leyburn and de Warenne on either side, and their squires behind him, they set off down the slope that led them to the city gate which stood invitingly open below them. As they came nearer to the city, they left the grassy track and came on to a well-worn road. The horses’ hooves clattered on the packed earth and struck the occasional stone that was buried there. A figure suddenly appeared between the gates, looked at them for a few seconds and disappeared into the small gatehouse which could be glimpsed just inside the wall, where he could be heard shouting excitedly. He suddenly popped out again, followed by two others. The three of them stood watching the approach of the riders, their mouths open, clearly unable to believe their eyes. Henry leaned across to Leyburn. “Do they think we are ghosts?” he said, in a loud whisper. Leyburn was grinning broadly and nodded his head. 16

“I think they might, Sire!” he answered, laughing. “Shall we stop and greet them, Sire, or will it add to their fright?” said de Warenne. “I think they might die at the shock!” said Henry, chuckling. “Let us ride into the city and greet them politely as we pass.” And so they did, riding into Gloucester and solemnly bowing from the waist at the three dumbstruck men as they passed them. The stunned silence followed them until they had turned the corner and were making their way to the castle. Shortly after, they heard the shouting begin again behind them. Clearly, the shock of seeing their King riding back into the city was a great one, and it sounded as though all three men were yelling instructions to each other at the same time, with no one taking any notice of the others. Next, there was the sound of running feet and a figure flew past them at the crossroads, as one of the gatekeepers sought to give warning of their approach. Out of sympathy, Henry deliberately slowed the group down and they walked the horses along. Doors opened and people came out into the street to see who was passing, eyes widening in astonishment at the sight of a group of men in armour, clearly guarding the wounded man in their midst. Few realised it was the King at whom they gazed, but those who did murmured his name, and the murmur accompanied their progress, as the name was passed along the street. Some bystanders remembered to pull of their hats, while others stood gawping. A woman with a child on her hip smiled and lifted the infant’s arm to wave at them and Henry nodded and smiled in return. Another child, clutching at its mother’s skirts, slid round behind her and then peeped out from the place of safety to watch them pass by with wondering eyes and a runny nose. Henry shifted his arm in its rough sling and leaned across to de Warenne. “We are making quite an entrance!” he remarked. “Indeed, Sire!” said de Warenne. “Let us hope they will be ready for you by the time we reach the castle.” “At this pace, they should at least have found hot water and something to drink,” came the dry response. As they came up to the castle wall, the gates which guarded its entrance were being opened for them, groaning and creaking on their hinges. Through the entrance, with men bowing on either side, and into the broad green expanse beyond they rode, until they came to a stop in front of the group of dignified men awaiting them.

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CHAPTER TWO The Chepe in the City of London bustled. The market stalls on either side of the street seemed to be pressing themselves back ever closer to the shops, and, where any possible length of blank wall presented itself, there was at least one stall set up with just enough space behind for its owner to stand. The stallholders bawled their wares, making extravagant claims for their quality, freshness and beauty to the eager buyers who clustered round them. Their customers shouted back their needs and bargained lustily until both sides were happy enough for goods and payment to change hands. A baker had opened his shop, his window shutters let down to form counters on which the traders set out their goods, and the smell of new-baked loaves and hot pies somehow cut through the less pleasant odours from the runnel in the middle of the street, to waft enticingly under the noses of buyers and sellers alike. The cheerful bedlam of market-day rose above the buildings and spread into the narrow streets behind. Despite the noise, the crowds were good-humoured. Even the efforts of the rider urging his horse through the throng were not enough to break the mood, and most people willingly gave way, as much as they were able. The horse, eyes rolling wildly, stepped nervously through. The man astride it held the reins tightly and prayed that he would be able to stop the beast from plunging and kicking. He knew how little it could take to change a crowd into a mob. This time, he was in luck. He passed St Peter’s Church and saw the turning into Milk Street just ahead of him. The gap between the stalls was narrow, but, by digging his heels into the horse’s flanks and pulling its head firmly to the left, he managed to turn into the side street without doing more than surprising a young lad with a sack across his shoulders. The lad stumbled and fell, as a powerful hindquarter nudged hard against him, but he was the only casualty. The laughter of the bystanders, who bent to haul the lad roughly to his feet, reassured the rider that no real harm had been done. He looked back over his shoulder, but no one was looking his way. Instead, most people were preoccupied in gathering up the cabbages that had rolled from the sack. Some were giving them back to the boy, but he saw at least two people scuttling off with a cabbage or two in their arms. Grinning, he turned back and looked ahead of him. Yes, there it was—the house in Milk Street he had been told to go to with his message. It was a strong, stone-built house, grander than its neighbours, with a prosperous air about it. He dismounted and knocked firmly at the door. A manservant opened it and looked at the dishevelled rider and his sweating horse in some surprise, but spoke civilly enough to the stranger. “Your business, good fellow?” he said. “I have a message for Gregory Rokesley—is this his house?” said the stranger. “Who wants me, Hubert?” called a cheerful voice from inside the house. “He hasn’t yet given his name, Master,” said Hubert. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the stranger. Gregory, coming up behind him, peered round at the man who stood so patiently beside his tired horse. His eyes took in the dusty

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state of both and the evidence that they had covered many miles to get to London and his house. “Thank you, Hubert,” he said. “All is well. Get Walter to see to the horse.” “Master,” said Hubert, doubtfully, but he turned and left the two men. The stranger, a tall, fair young man, met Gregory’s gaze steadily. “My name is Philip and I have a message for you alone, Master Rokesley,” he said. “You have me alone,” said Gregory. “Apart from your horse, there is nothing and no one else to overhear, once we are inside. Come, step into my house and let me give you food and drink after your long journey and here is Walter, to take good care of your horse!” A stocky man with a flaming thatch of rough red hair had appeared from somewhere. He nodded to both men and took the bridle from Philip’s hand. Clicking soothingly to the horse, he led it round the side of the house. Gregory ushered his visitor upstairs and into his favourite room. Part office, part study, it was full of evidence of Gregory’s busy life. On a table by the one window lay a heap of scrolls, with one parchment lying open and held flat with weights at its corners. Behind the table was a chair with arms that had been pushed hurriedly to one side, as Gregory had risen at Philip’s arrival. Two shelves held some precious calf-bound books, and another chair was placed beside them. A stool was set against another wall. The rushes on the floor were fresh and sweet-smelling, and the sun filled the room with light and warmth. “So, Philip,” said Gregory, returning to his seat. “Be seated and give me your message.” “I bring a message from Earl de Warenne,” said Philip, seating himself. “I am to tell you that de Montfort is dead and the King has been taken safely to Gloucester. He was wounded in the battle we fought at Evesham, but his wound is not serious.” “It is true, then!” said Gregory, beaming with pleasure. “We have heard rumours of a great battle and that de Montfort has been killed. This is news indeed!” He paused, his face clouding. “But the King wounded?” he said. “How did it happen?” “I don’t know the whole story,” said Philip. “All I do know is that he was taken by de Montfort to Evesham, where the Lord Edward attacked and took de Montfort by surprise. Because the King carried no sign of who he was, he came under attack from his own followers. As soon as the mistake was realised, he was helped off the field by those who had wounded him. They were horrified when they saw what they had done.” “Of course, they would be,” said Gregory, half to himself, as the picture of what must have happened rose in his mind. He could see the men on horseback, their minds filled with the frenzy of the battle, charging towards de Montfort and those surrounding him. They would have struck out at all and sundry, little realising that one of those they tried to kill was their King. At least he had escaped death and had been carried away to safety as soon as possible. Judging his moment, Philip said, “I have another message—from a friend of yours. Jervis FitzHugh sends greetings to you and to all his friends in London.” “Jervis was there?” said Gregory, leaning forward across the table in his eagerness. “How is he? What has been happening? The last I heard of him, he had gone to France.” 19

He jumped up from his chair. “Tell me no more!” he exclaimed. “I must send for Aaron and Judith, so that they, too, may hear your news. This is wonderful!” He strode to the door and flung it open. “Hubert! Hubert!” he shouted. His servant appeared almost at once. “You must go to Aaron and Judith and bring them back with you,” said Gregory. “This messenger from de Warenne has news of Jervis FitzHugh!” Hubert’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “I’ll go at once, Master!” he said, and was down the stairs and out into the street almost before he had finished speaking. *** Leaning over his father’s shoulder, Aaron stared down at the long list of figures that were written on the parchment that lay on the table. “So—each time some payment is made, you subtract that amount from the sum owing and then calculate the interest on the remainder?” he said to Benjamin. Benjamin nodded, pleased that his son had grasped the idea of interest on loans so quickly. “Yes—you must remember to calculate the interest after subtracting the amount of the repayment,” he said. “That is how you keep the family’s name for honesty and fairness. It is wrong to cheat people and it doesn’t pay in the long run. Cheats are always found out—and people will take their business elsewhere. The Lombards are eager to take custom from we Jews!” “Our family has always had a good name, surely!” said Aaron. His dark eyes were unusually sober under the thick, tumbling curls. “Of course, my son!” Benjamin assured him. “That’s why we have served the King for so long—he trusts us with his debts.” A loud rapping at the street door interrupted the conversation. The murmur of voices from below came to them in the little room where they sat, surrounded by rolls of parchment, each with the royal seal dangling from it. Dorcas’s voice called up to the two men. “It’s Hubert! Gregory bids you hasten to him—there is a messenger with news of Jervis FitzHugh—and the King!” Aaron was out of the room and down the stairs before his mother had finished speaking. His eyes alight with their usual sparkle, he gripped Hubert’s shoulder. “News of Jervis? Is he back in this country, then?” Even Hubert’s natural dignity was melted by such eagerness from Aaron for news of his friend. He smiled broadly, but shook his head. “I know no more than that for now,” he said. “My master told me to fetch you as soon as the messenger—one Philip—said…” He got no further. “Philip is the messenger?” said Aaron, in high delight. “Wait here!”

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He gave Hubert a friendly blow on the shoulder, causing the man to stagger slightly, and squeezed past Dorcas just as his wife Judith’s face appeared in the doorway behind her. “Did I hear aright?” she said, her eyes round with surprise and a flush of pleasure mounting her cheeks. “Did someone say that Jervis is here?” “Not here in person,” said Aaron. “But Philip is at Gregory’s with news of him. Look—Hubert has come to take us there!” “Hubert!” said Judith, stepping out from the doorway and into the passage. She beamed at him, brushing past her husband and her mother-in-law, to plant a kiss firmly on his cheek. Behind her, she heard Dorcas draw breath to rebuke her, but Aaron had spoken before she could. “Now, now, Mother!” he said. “Hubert has seen Judith dressed as a man, remember! And they are old friends, since he helped save all our lives last year, during that time of dread. There is no need to be shocked.” But Dorcas was determined to have her say. “She is a married woman,” she said. “She is your wife Aaron and you should not allow her to greet another man so!” “Not allow her?” said Benjamin, in feigned amazement. “What makes you think Aaron has any say in how Judith greets their friends?” He winked broadly at Aaron, who shook his head and sighed. “It’s true, Mother!” he said, mournfully. “I cannot control this wife of mine at all!” He gazed at the ground and, raising his shoulders, he spread his hands wide, shaking his head. Dorcas stared at him for along moment, then, realising the joke was against her, she gave him a great push on his arm. “Oh, you young people…!” she said, crossly, but with a smile breaking through in spite of herself. “Come, then Hubert!” said Judith, her arm around her husband. “Take us to hear news of our dear friend—and perhaps of when we may all meet again!” Almost pushing Hubert in front of them, the two squeezed through the doorway together, their arms firmly around each other, laughing like two children. They were a few paces along the street when Benjamin’s call from the door halted them. Turning, they saw him waving their cloaks at them, with the yellow badges that they would be expected to wear if they stepped outside the Jewry. “Not needed!” called Aaron. “It is but around the corner of Milk Street!” And they set off again, leaving Benjamin shaking his head in exasperation at their retreating backs. Milk Street was, indeed, just around the corner—and just outside the Jewry. The signs of the last massacre in the Jewry, carried out by de Montfort’s men, were still visible. Empty houses, their stone walls bearing the black smears of fire damage gaped here and there. Benjamin’s memories of that event were still vivid, despite the time that had elapsed. It had been the start, eighteen months ago, of a period of fear and death for the Jewry, when few families had escaped the events entirely unless, like the Yechiels, they had managed to leave and been taken to a place of safety until they could return and attempt to rebuild their lives once more. Benjamin’s anger hid a certain fear—every Jew knew that being caught outside the Jewry without the demeaning badge could mean punishment. Yet he knew that these two 21

would continue to ignore the rule—and probably get away with it, too, he thought, smiling in spite of himself. Aaron and Judith were so happy together that they spread their good humour all around them. He looked after the two tall figures, Aaron’s black curls bouncing with the vigour of his stride and Judith’s thick, chestnut hair escaping from her head-covering as usual, as she matched her husband’s pace. Hubert was practically hidden by them, as the three turned the corner and vanished. In Milk Street, Aaron cast a swift glance to left and right of them, but it was blessedly empty. Despite his bravado with his father, he had no wish to risk Judith’s safety, and he wished he had insisted that she at least had donned her cape. Comforting himself with the thought that no one had seen them, he walked even faster, forcing the other two to speed up, until all three arrived at Gregory’s house panting for breath. “Why so fast?” gasped Judith, as Hubert rapped on the door. “For your safety,” said Aaron, briskly. As Judith opened her eyes and her mouth to respond, the door opened, and she found herself almost pushed over the threshold by her husband. She stuck her elbow into his ribs so sharply that he could not help a sharp hiss escaping him, but he grinned at her all the same. Gregory, standing in the open doorway, could not help laughing at the two of them. “Well, come in, come in!” he said. “If you two will just stop fighting each other for a moment, we have good news for you!” Hubert disappeared into the back of the house, as Gregory led the way into his study. Philip, by this time enjoying a refreshing drink of small beer, rose to his feet and placed his beaker on the table. Crossing to Aaron, he gave him a great bear hug, which was returned with joy. Then he took Judith’s hand in his and made a deep obeisance over it. “Philip!” said Judith, in delight. “You have become a courtier!” “What news, then?” said Aaron, eagerly, as everyone sat down. “Hubert said there is news of Jervis—and the King!” “Yes, Philip—tell us everything you know!” urged Judith, sitting beside him on the stool that Gregory brought forward. “There is indeed!” said Philip, making himself more comfortable and picking up his small beer once more. “There has been a great battle at Evesham. De Montfort is dead…” “But what of Jervis?” said Judith, impatiently. Aaron put a hand on her arm. “Let him tell the tale his own way, my gold,” he said, gently. “We can ask questions later.” Philip took another gulp of his drink. “De Montfort is dead,” he repeated. “The battle is over and the King rescued from the field and taken to Gloucester. My Lord de Warenne, Jervis, and others of our company are with him. Everyone is safe. The Lord Edward has gone to Chester, to take that city and secure his victory.” “Edward is the victor?” said Gregory. “Yes—it was the Lord Edward who attacked de Montfort’s men just outside Evesham. He marched us at breakneck speed across country and we were at Evesham and

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joining them in battle before they knew what was happening. We were too quick for them and they had not gathered all their men to them.” Philip beamed round at them, the memory of the battle fresh in his mind. “So we have our revenge for Lewes,” said Aaron. “This time it was de Montfort who was unready and the Lord Edward has brought the King safe from the hands of de Montfort and his men.” There was a pleased, contemplative silence. “So all our friends are safe and well, then?” said Judith. Philip looked uncomfortable. “They are safe,” he said. “But some of them are wounded—including the King himself.” He shifted in his seat, and continued, as Gregory opened his mouth to speak with a look of alarm. “—but their wounds are not serious!” “How bad?” said Gregory. “They are but flesh wounds—de Montfort would not permit the King to wear anything that might identify him, to prevent us seeing him and forming a protective shield around him. As a result, someone put a sword through his shoulder in the mêlée. Poor fellow—he was mortified when he heard his King’s voice issuing from the helmet!” Judith leaned forward between Gregory and Aaron. “What will happen to the man who wounded him?” she said, anxiously. “Why—he has been rewarded already!” said Philip, his mouth quirking up. “But who was it, that you know already?” said Gregory, mystified. “Surely, it was not you?” “Not I, no!” said Philip, his eyes now positively dancing with glee. “Jervis?” said Aaron. “Was it…?” He stopped in mid-sentence. Philip’s head was bobbling up and down and he shook with laughter at the same time. “Yes—Jervis!” he said. “Trying to excel himself and get as close to de Montfort as he could, he did even better than he dared to hope—and found the King!” Judith leaned forward, alarm in her face. “And what was this reward you spoke of?” she said, anxiously. “Has Jervis been punished?” “Dreadfully!” said Philip, his expression completely belying his word. “Come on, man!” said Gregory. “Tell us, or…” “Or I will box your ears!” said Aaron, starting up. “The King is planning a move to Winchester, as soon as he is strong enough,” said Philip. “Once he has arrived and his court is settled, he will be conferring honours upon those he has chosen. No doubt you three are to be rewarded and the King commands you all to attend him at court in Winchester in six weeks’ time!” They gaped at him as he sat, grinning with pleasure at the effect of his news. Gregory was the first to recover and to respond. “Well, my friends!” he said. “This is indeed great news—to be summoned to court by King Henry himself! We must make our arrangements to travel to Winchester together.”

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“But, Gregory,” protested Aaron. “Why put yourself in more danger than necessary, when you could leave openly, and without fear, if you travelled alone?” “Yes, you could, Gregory,” said Judith. “You have already taken enough risks for us!” “What makes you think I could leave openly and be safer than you?” said Gregory. “Have you forgotten that I was a prisoner in the Tower a few short months ago? De Montfort’s supporters still hold London for the moment. That means the Folkmoot and other Londoners, not strangers who do not recognise me.” He shook his head. “No, my friends, I will not be safer without you—safety in numbers is an old saw, but a true one!” It was indeed true and they all recognised it. A large group, with Gregory’s servants such as Walter and Hubert riding along with them, plus Aaron and Judith and whoever they chose to go with them, would present far more protection than if they travelled separately. There would be more eyes to look for danger and more arms to defend themselves, too. Aaron nodded. “So—we will travel together, then!” he said, standing up. “Judith, we must go and tell Father of our good fortune and make our arrangements.” Philip rose with them. “You will stay here with me, Philip,” said Gregory. “We have space for a guest and you have brought us most welcome news. London is a dangerous place for the unwary stranger—and I don’t mean because it is in the hands of our enemies. There are many lawless people about, who will not hesitate to cut your throat before they cut your purse!” He stood and waited, as the others said their goodbyes, then led them to the door and watched as they hurried off again, until they vanished round the corner of the street. Going back into his study, he sat opposite Philip again and eyed that young man shrewdly. “And now,” he said. “What of the rest of your message from the King? Let me have it now, we will not be interrupted or overheard.” Philip unfastened the purse at his waist and drew out a flat, sealed packet. “Here you are, sir,” he said. “The King asked me to make sure I gave this to you personally and to no one else.” Gregory took it from him, eagerly, and studied the seal. “Yes,” he murmured, half to himself. “That is his seal. So—the King has further use of me after all. I thought I had been forgotten!” He turned to Philip. “You have done well to carry the message to me safely,” he said. “But for now, you must be hungry and tired after all your exertions. Go and find Hubert and ask him to give you some food and find you a place to rest.” As the young man left the room, Gregory gazed after him with a pensive expression, then took a knife and slit the seal carefully. Unfolding the single sheet of parchment, he spread it before him on the table.

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CHAPTER THREE Despite the heat of the sun, Judith shivered as her horse picked its way almost daintily along the overgrown path, towards the forest. Aaron, riding beside her, reached across and placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She smiled at him, but her eyes were still full of fear. “You can’t forget can you?” he said. She shook her head. “I know how foolish it is, to fear every copse and what it may conceal,” she said. “There is no one hiding in there,” said Aaron. She shook her head, impatiently, and sat bolt upright in the saddle. “I’m not about to ride off at the gallop!” she said, briskly. Aaron laughed. “Now that would indeed be foolish!” he said, as they entered the wood and the trees closed round them. They had set off from London the day before with a group of twenty or more other travellers, but their numbers had fallen as some left them along the route. By nightfall, only ten remained and they had reached Guildford. Gregory took his party to the home of a wool merchant with whom he had had dealings before. They were grateful for the welcome they received and, after a peaceful night, they set off again the following morning, this time following the pilgrim’s well-worn way between Canterbury and Winchester. The route was easy to follow and they had chatted and laughed with the others until they parted company at Farnham, where the four strangers had turned off, saying they must go to Waverley and the Cistercians who were there. Now the group consisted of just the six of them—Gregory, with Hubert, was leading the way, as he had for the whole of the journey. Behind them came Aaron and Judith, with Philip and Walter bringing up the rear. They could hear Gregory saying something and Philip was whistling idly behind them and occasionally making chirring noises to his horse, which had a marked tendency to stop and crop a mouthful of the sweet, tender grass which hung over the path. The trees were motionless in the late summer heat. Only the movement of the small party travelling through the forest created a faint stirring of the lower branches and a swishing of the grass. The horses’ hooves thudded softly on the beaten earth of the path, as it twisted and turned. Their heads drooped and their riders fell silent and drowsy, lulled by the rhythm of the plodding walk and the faint drone of insects. Suddenly, shockingly, an arrow came out of nowhere and whizzed up the side of the path. In a split second, all was pandemonium, as the horses reared and whinnied and men shouted. Instinctively, Aaron caught at the cheek-strap of Judith’s horse, as it reared and plunged. His action led to his own downfall. Judith was clinging tightly to her mount, but his own rose, front hooves flailing the air, and he slid off backwards and landed with a bump on the grass. Philip had to jerk his horse away and, in its turn, it reared up before, with a whinny of alarm, it turned completely round and galloped off down the path they

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had just travelled, bearing its rider on its back as he gripped his thighs round its belly and hauled back on the reins in vain. Hubert was the first to calm his horse and the first to see the men who stepped out on to the path from the trees which had hidden them. Behind him, he heard Walter swear softly, and knew that he had also seen their ambushers. The two men, both dressed in ragged clothes which were caked with dirt and with faces showing several days’ growth of beard, stood silently and watched the chaos they had created. Their watchful stillness lasted until Gregory spoke. His horse still fidgeting under him, he spoke out, his anger clear from his frowning face. “You will pay for this, my fine fellow!” he said. “You are interfering with a party of the King’s most loyal subjects…” He got no further, but stopped with his mouth open, as one of the two men uttered a heartfelt “Thank God!” and threw down his bow, swiftly followed in his actions by his fellow ambusher. Together, they raised both arms wide from their body, to show they had no other weapons concealed about them, and walked slowly toward the group. As they drew near to Hubert, the first one staggered slightly, and his friend caught him as he stumbled, and raised an imploring face to Hubert. “He is badly hurt,” he said. Now that they were close, Hubert and Walter could both see that some of the dark marks that they had assumed to be dirt were dried blood. The front of the man’s jerkin was soaked in it, all down one side. He sighed as if he were weary beyond measure and sank slowly on to his knees. His friend watched helplessly, powerless to bear the man’s full weight because of his own weakness. Hubert and Walter both slid from their saddles at the same time and leaned over the fallen man. Sinking down in his turn, the other man sat on the grass verge, his head between his knees and utter exhaustion in every line of his body. The others in the party had their own horses under control again now, and dismounted, to see what was happening. Only Philip remained in the saddle, and he glanced anxiously before and behind them, as if expecting more trouble. Gregory, seeing his anxiety, spoke out. “What do you fear, Philip?” he asked. “Surely these men are truly what they seem to be—lost soldiers, wounded and weak from their travails.” “I hope they are, sir,” returned Philip. “This is a dangerous place to pause, however peaceful it may seem. Since Evesham, many men wander, apparently lost, but in reality they prey on innocent travellers.” “None of them could survive long with a wound such as this poor fellow’s,” said Hubert, straightening up. “And his friend there,” he continued, pointing to where the other man still sat in a pose of complete desolation. “He is at the end of his strength. They are both starving!” The other man had lifted his head, as Hubert finished speaking. “We are no robbers,” he said. “We ask nothing of you but, perhaps, something to drink and a little food. We have not eaten for days, it seems, nor drunk a drop since yesterday.” He nodded at his fallen companion.

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“I thought several times that he was near death,” he said. “Though the bleeding has stopped now. How he has struggled this far on his feet, I know not.” “How long have you been like this?” said Gregory, but the other man shook his head. “I cannot remember,” he said. “We were making our way to Winchester—we have heard that the King is there. We fought at Evesham for the Lord Edward, but lost contact with our fellow-archers in the aftermath of the battle. Some men huddled over a fire told us that the Lord Edward had already left to go north some time earlier. They started asking too many questions, for our liking, so we left them again and went back to the barn. We stayed there for the first night, then we started walking…” “So—your friend was unhurt then?” queried Gregory. The other man nodded his head. “We were both unharmed then, sir,” he said. “We came through the fighting unscathed and managed to walk for days without being seen. Food and drink were easy to find at first, as so many houses and huts had been abandoned by those fleeing the battle. So we took as much as we could find and carried it with us in a sack that we found. Cedric got that wound from an irate man who caught us with one of his fine trout in our hands—or in my hands, to be truthful!” “But why is Cedric wounded and you are not?” said Aaron, puzzled. “I had clasped the trout in my arms and turned to run, but Cedric did not. He turned to stand and meet the fellow, just as he threw a knife at us.” He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “I have been blaming myself for Cedric’s wound ever since it happened,” he said. “But we were starving and I could see the circles in the water made by the trout rising for flies in the river.” He looked at his friend and at Hubert, who was making a pad of some soft stuff. He had cleaned the man’s side as well as he was able and now placed the pad against the ragged wound that had been exposed by his actions. Then, with a broad strip of cloth, he bound it in place, just as the man stirred and opened his eyes. He made to sit up, but sank back with a groan of pain. “Lie still,” said Gregory, from where he stood behind Hubert. “You are safe now. We will take you and your friend with us.” He turned back to the others. “We must give these two food and drink before we move on,” he said. “No arguments, Philip! They cannot be left here and they have no strength left. I see no other choice but to break our journey here and rest ourselves. We would do so soon, anyway.” Philip pressed his lips together, but said nothing. Only a slight shrug betrayed his disagreement with Gregory’s words. Perhaps all would be well if they stopped here for a short time, he thought. Walter gathered the horses and led them away from the path to some of the short, sweet grass. He hobbled them and left them contentedly nibbling and returned to the rest. Hubert gave cold meat and hunks of bread to Philip, Gregory and Walter, before taking some for himself. Judith and Aaron had their own food, prepared for them by Dorcas who had clearly thought they would starve if she did not give them enough for at least half a dozen people. Judith beckoned Hubert over.

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“Let Walter give them some water first,” she said, softly. “If they have not eaten for some time, meat will be too much for them—so a little bread will be best.” It was done as she had suggested. The two men drank gratefully from the horn cups of fresh water which were offered to them. Cedric, now that his wound had been properly treated, was recovering rapidly, while his friend, his anxiety abated, sat relaxing visibly. They accepted the bread that Walter offered and did their best to heed his admonition to chew slowly. Gregory watched them, thoughtfully. Clearly, they were tired, hungry and dirty—and their relief at discovering that he and his party were for the King seemed genuine enough. Nevertheless, he decided, these two would need careful watching. The best plan was to take them along and keep them with his party until they all arrived in Winchester the next day. If they agreed immediately to the plan, the chances that they were genuine would be strengthened. If they showed any reluctance, then Philip’s suspicions would be confirmed. He stood up and walked across to the two strangers. Nodding at Cedric, he said to the other man, “We know your friend’s name, but not yours. Will you tell us now?” The man scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “I am called Osbert, Master,” he said. “Well, Osbert, will you and Cedric come with us to Winchester? You will be safer travelling with us and you will no doubt find someone you know quickly enough, once we arrive there.” He watched the other man’s face as he made the offer, looking for signs of unease. There was nothing but relief and pleasure in the shy grin that he was offered. “We would be grateful, indeed, Master,” said Osbert. “We are completely lost here in these woods. If you will take us with you we will owe you a great debt!” “Tush man!” said Gregory. “Why should we not? We must help each other in these difficult times!” He turned back to where he had been sitting and caught the expression on Philip’s face. That young man was clearly nonplussed and opened his mouth to say something, but Gregory silenced him with a shake of his head. As he came abreast of Philip, he whispered “Wait!,” then sat down again, and calmly continued with his meal. There was a short silence as everyone ate and drank their fill, then Aaron spoke. “How much further to Winchester?” he said. “Surely we must be near by now?” “We should reach it by nightfall,” said Philip, shortly. “Then we had better get on our way,” said Gregory, cheerfully, as he got to his feet. He rose to his feet. “Hubert, will you and Walter take Osbert and Cedric behind you for the rest of the journey?” he said. “They clearly cannot walk with us all the way to Winchester.” Hubert inclined his head. “Of course, Master,” he said, obediently. He nodded to Osbert. “Walter and I will bring our horses to you,” he said. “I’ll mount and then between us we’ll get Cedric up behind me. You ride behind Walter.” It was a struggle to get the wounded man onto the horse, but at last they were all mounted and they set off again along the winding track and out from the trees. No one 28

seemed to feel like talking any more. The cheerfulness of the morning had been supplanted by a more sombre atmosphere. Gregory was clearly deep in thought, while Philip’s sullenness was oppressing everyone else. Suddenly, Judith decided she could stand it no more. She rode up beside Philip and spoke to him in an undertone. “What’s the matter, Philip?” she said, with a smile. He looked at her, frowning. “Gregory’s too trusting,” he said. “How do we know whether those two are telling the truth or not?” Judith looked at him in surprise. “But they are clearly exhausted and wounded,” she said. “Surely we must help them get to Winchester?” “Yes, they are in trouble, as you say,” agreed Philip. “But is their story true, or are they from the other side and wounded by our men as they tried to escape?” “We cannot know for sure,” said Judith, slowly. “But we could not leave them where they were. If they are our friends, then we must help them because they are our friends. If they are our enemies, then we must help them because they are in need of help. Besides, as long as they are with us, we have them in our sight. Gregory will be watching carefully—and he is a shrewd judge of character. If he is content to take them along, then the rest of us must trust him, even if we do not trust them.” “We-e-ll, I suppose so,” said Philip, reluctantly. “So cheer up!” said Judith. “You’ll make even the sun go in if you glower much more.” She smiled brilliantly at him and he could not help grinning back at her. Nodding her approval, she rejoined her husband, turning round in the saddle once more to give Philip another encouraging smile. He sat more upright in the saddle, squared his shoulders and began to whistle softly to himself again. As soon as they were inside the gates, Osbert tugged at Gregory’s cloak and begged him to stop. “We can find our own way from here, Master!” he said, confidently. “We both feel much stronger, now that we have eaten and drunk. Bringing us here is all we wanted. There is no need for us to trouble you further.” Gregory eyed him. “You may feel better, Osbert!” he said. “But your friend is far from well. His wound is severe and he has lost much blood. Let us at least take you to the monks here, who will look after both of you and give you somewhere to sleep for a few nights.” “No, no!” cried Osbert, fear showing in spite of his efforts to hide it. “We can find somewhere for ourselves. There will be other soldiers here—perhaps we will find someone we know!” “Oh, let them go!” said Philip, who was clearly thoroughly irritated by the two men. “Why should they stay with us, if they can find some of their own kind here?” Cedric and Osbert were already on their way, Osbert with his arm round his wounded friend, supporting him as they walked along at a surprisingly smart pace. Certainly, Cedric had sustained a wound, but had it been in the circumstances that Osbert had described so vividly? Why, if they are as innocent as he claimed, had Gregory’s offer to take them to the monks aroused such strong emotion? He made a mental note to ask 29

questions in the right quarters until he had found out the truth. Meanwhile, he had other things on his mind. Turning to Hubert and Walter, he said, “Walter, will you ensure that our horses are cared for and ready for us again first thing tomorrow?” “Indeed, Master,” said Walter. “I will go and speak to the ostlers now.” “And I will make sure that our quarters are ready for us,” said Hubert. “Are you not staying in Winchester, then?” said Aaron, in surprise. Gregory shook his head. “I have to go on to Southampton,” he said. “There is a shipment of wine awaiting me from Bordeaux. Hubert and I will go on together, once we have spoken to the King and discovered what he wishes from me.” “Perhaps he wants you to bring him the wine!” said Judith, laughing. Gregory looked at her with a thoughtful expression, as though he would answer seriously, but said no more. Hubert went to see that their horses were taken care of, while Philip, Gregory, Aaron and Judith wandered out into the streets of Winchester, to find their way through the thronging crowds to their meeting with the King. The castle loomed above them at the end of the road on a slight hill. It was one of Henry’s building projects, completed some twenty years earlier, when there was peace in the land. How different everything seemed now, thought Judith! The endless arguments between the barons and their King, culminating in such bloodshed at Lewes and Evesham, had affected everybody who now gathered in the streets of the ancient capital, as well as many who had never heard the name of Simon de Montfort, and barely knew that their king was Henry III. Hundreds who had seen the castle completed now lay dead and buried, killed fighting side by side with their friends and neighbours, in battles and for reasons, which they barely understood. Loyalty and ignorance paired make fearsome taskmasters she concluded, and sighed with the sorrow of such waste.

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CHAPTER FOUR Aaron and Judith, with Gregory and Philip beside them, were ushered as far as the entrance to the great hall of the castle. The evening was well advanced and the entertainment was in full swing. The food had long been cleared away by the serving men and women, leaving the men to their drinking and conversation. The huge space, with its high, vaulted ceiling, echoed with the noise of shouts and laughter. The long benches and tables set in the main part of the hall were packed. There was a juggler performing his act in the small space before the dais, and he tossed balls and other objects into the air with dizzying speed. Not many were watching, but he continued with his act until the end, when he bowed to the King and paused, hopefully. Henry was too deep in conversation to notice, but the man on his other side waved a dismissive hand at the juggler. He stood immobile, hoping that the King would look in his direction until the dame man, now frowning fiercely, waved the juggler away again. His fee would not be augmented by any coins flung by his audience this time and he left, shoulders drooping, to see if he could find any comfort such as a free drink in the kitchen. Some of the hangers-on lounging down near the door stared at the four newcomers curiously, nudging each other at the sight of a woman standing before them. Judith ignored them all, and looked straight over their heads to where she could see the King sitting on the dais at the high table. A steward made his way towards Henry and whispered in his ear, gesturing towards the group in the doorway. Henry, looking up, gave a broad smile and gestured at them to come in. He stood, causing a sudden silence in the hall, followed by the noise of many not quite sober men scrambling hastily to their feet. Waving them back to their seats, Henry nodded, smiled, and left the dais. The steward met the four as they made their way along the side of the hall. “The King will see you all in his privy chamber,” he said to Gregory, who was in the lead. “Will you follow me, please?” Turning on his heel, he led them the full length of the hall, amid murmurs of curiosity from the throng at table. One or two coarse remarks about Judith reached their ears, but she held Aaron’s arm firmly and shook her head at him as he drew breath to retort. “Ignore them!” she said. “They cannot harm us with mere words.” Aaron subsided obediently and she squeezed his arm against her side and smiled as they walked on. Near the dais, the steward held aside a heavily embroidered hanging for them to pass under. Behind it was a door, which he opened for them and stood aside as they went in. A young man with his back to them was speaking to the King. He was tall, with a broad back and long legs, and dressed in the height of fashion. Henry, seeing the group enter, smiled and said something to him, and the young man swung round eagerly. “Jervis!” said Judith, in delight. He held out his arms and she ran towards him, then checked, curtsied hastily in the vague direction of the King, and ended up in a great hug from a grinning Jervis. The King, equally amused, turned to Aaron who, with Gregory and Philip, bowed deeply.

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“I see that marriage has not had a calming effect on Judith,” he said. “Alas, Sire!” said Aaron. “My influence is non-existent. Much as I would appreciate a mute and obedient wife…” Judith extricated herself and turned an indignant face to her husband. “I would not change her!” finished Aaron hastily. “Be seated, all of you,” said Henry. “And let us talk seriously for a few minutes.” The group arranged themselves on the benches set against two of the walls in the chamber, their curiosity plain. Henry shifted slightly in his chair, pausing for a moment before speaking. “You will know,” he said at last, “that the battle at Evesham resulted in the death of de Montfort and one of his sons. Many of his followers were also killed on that day. However, that does not mean that there is no one left to fight for de Montfort’s cause, nor does it mean that the country is once again entirely in my hands. There will be those who still refuse to accept me as their King, and who believe that the rule of the country is not mine by divine right. These people will continue to try to attract others to their cause and to destabilize the country. I must ask those whom I know to be loyal to me to help prevent this happening.” He stared at the five facing him. As Aaron opened his mouth, he raised his hand. “In a moment, Aaron,” he said. “Wait till you hear what I have to ask of you before saying anything.” “What I am about to ask of you,” continued Henry, “will not be easy and may well be dangerous. None of you are children any longer—you are all grown men and women. As such, I believe that you will be capable of undertaking what I ask of you. Whether my enemies will allow you to succeed is another matter. Are you ready to do what I ask when I ask, whatever it may be, without question? Think carefully before you answer.” There was a barely a pause. “Aye, Sire,” said Philip, Jervis and Gregory in chorus. “Yes, we are,” said Aaron and Judith at the same time. “Well,” said Henry, leaning back in his chair with a smile. “I would have been disappointed had you said otherwise—but the alacrity of your answers has pleased me greatly! Let me tell you what I require of each of you now.” He turned to Gregory. “Master Rokesley,” he said. “You are already expecting to go to Southampton for me, to take charge of the wine awaiting your arrival. The ship is that belonging to Master Bonami with whom you are already acquainted. He will give you a message from the Queen, who has been waiting at Calais these three months. Bring the message to me with all haste.” Judith, whose mouth had dropped opened at the mention of Master Bonami, could restrain herself no longer. “You know Master Bonami?” she said to Gregory in amazement. “The same man who brought me across the Channel?” “Indeed,” said Gregory, gravely, but with a telltale quirk in the corner of his mouth. “So-o—do you know Isaac Hanuchin of Abbeville?” said Judith, slowly. “The good goldsmith? Yes, I know Isaac!” said Gregory. Aaron nudged her. 32

“Judith, the King has more to say!” he said, reprovingly and, for once, Judith had the grace to blush and subside. “I wish Aaron and Judith to stay here with me for a few days,” continued Henry. He said no more to them, but turned to Jervis and Philip. “You two will be sent to Axholm in the fenlands,” he said. “There are rumours that many of those who were for de Montfort and his allies have taken refuge there. I need to know what plans they may have. Is it simple refuge or are they gathering in one place to decide what to do next? Do they plan to stay here and continue their defiance of me or do they wish to leave the country? See how much you can discover—but be careful! They will be expecting spies in their midst. You must not give them any cause to doubt who you are. There can be no protection for you from me, lest this arouse suspicions.” “We understand, Sire,” said Jervis. “But we will take such risks gladly, in your service.” “Then go and arrange for your departure in the morning,” said Henry. “And remember! You must tell no one of your plans. You may be certain that there are spies within these walls and in the city who are eager to discover anything that may help their cause, too. Never speak of your plans if anyone is within hearing—and never indoors before checking that there is no one on the other side of the door.” The two young men rose and bowed to their King, then embraced the others and left the chamber. The King stood, too, and smiled at the others. “It is time for all of us to retire,” he said. “We all have business to attend to in the morning. Already, I have affairs of state to attend to and I must be at my best in the morning if I am to heed my own advice and not let anyone hear what is not meant for their ears!” He turned and left by another door, which lay concealed behind a curtain at the back of the chamber. The others, who had stood when he did, made their way out and back into the hall. They walked back down the side and out into the night without speaking, mindful of Henry’s words. Once outside, Gregory turned to Aaron and Judith. “Let us meet and break our fast tomorrow, early,” he said. “Are you staying far from here?” “We are staying in here,” said Judith. “The King arranged for us to have a chamber in the castle—I presume because he wanted us near him for the next few days. What he wants of us is a mystery, though—unless you know, my gold?” Aaron shook his head. “I know no more than you, my love,” he said fondly. “We shall know more tomorrow!” “We have quarters within the castle, too,” said Philip. “Jervis and I are with our lord de Warenne and he has made arrangements for us.” “Then I bid you all a good night’s rest,” said Gregory. He turned on his heel and was about to walk away, when Judith said: “How much protection was I getting when I was on my mission before Lewes?” Gregory stopped and turned back to them. “I doubt if any one of us knows the entire story,” said Jervis. “I knew only that you were carrying a message to the priory in Lewes and that I was to watch for your safety.”

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“…and I knew only that you had been kidnapped and brought to London,” said Gregory. “But do not ask us how we knew these things or who told us—it is safer thus. What you do not know, you cannot tell.” He smiled at Judith but his eyes were steely. Judith realised that this man, who had saved her life and the lives of her family, was not one who could easily be swayed. Charming he might be, and kindly, yes, but not a man to be crossed or challenged. His loyalty to the King was unquestionable and everything else took second place to that. She met his gaze steadily and nodded slightly. Satisfied, he turned away and they watched him in silence as he walked out through the gate and into the streets. *** A slight movement in the shadow of the wall made Gregory reach for his dagger and whirl towards the shadowy figures standing there. They stepped out with hands raised. “It’s us, Master!” said Hubert, reproachfully. Gregory chuckled and his hand dropped from his belt, the dagger left in its sheath. “You startled me!” he said. “I thought you were footpads waiting to rob me. How long have you been standing there?” “But a short time,” said Walter. “Hubert and I thought you should not walk about these unknown streets alone after dark.” “Your concern for my safety does you both credit,” said Gregory, as they strode along. “Come, walk beside me and we can all watch out for each other.” Together, they walked swiftly down the main hill from the castle. Every doorway, every little passage and side street was given a searching glance by Hubert or Walter. A tavern door opened suddenly and two men stumbled out, but they were both too drunk to see anything or anyone. Their main concern was to hold each other upright and they lurched in precarious balance along the side of the building and round the corner. A few streets along a man appeared and Hubert’s dagger was out before he realised that the man was still fumbling to lace himself up after relieving himself. As they neared St Thomas Street, and the house in which they were to lodge for the night, the three men began to relax. It was a mistake—just as they turned into St Thomas Street there was the sound of running footsteps behind them and they were set upon by a group of men. Hubert turned like lightning, his dagger ready in his hand and sliced with a huge swing of his arm at the nearest of their attackers. The man fell back, blood pouring from a wound in his arm. Gregory was aware of Walter, on his other side, growling deep in his throat as he lashed out with his fists. He caught the figure coming towards him in the midriff, with a blow that winded the man. He fell to the ground, gasping and whistling as he fought to regain his breath. Walter looked down once, saw that he was out of the fight for at least the time being, and turned his attention to another of the group. Meanwhile Gregory, after an instant’s complete shock, was also fighting hard with his dagger in one hand, kicking out at his opponent and trying to avoid the other man’s stabbing movements. A sideways blow sent Gregory reeling, but Walter was on the man who did it in an instant. He grabbed the man’s tunic with both hands and lifted him off his feet, shaking him like a child’s toy. Then he dropped him and grabbed at the man’s hood, which had covered his face. “Osbert!” he gasped, as the man’s features were revealed. 34

The soldier they had helped so recently stared back at him and Walter saw a peculiar mixture of astonishment and shame as their eyes met. Then Osbert scrambled to his feet and took off, closely followed by his two accomplices. Gregory and Hubert stood breathing heavily, Gregory rubbing the side of his head where the blow had been struck. Walter, his anger clear, stood hands on hips and gazed at the ground as he calmed down. “So it looks as if young Philip was right, Master!” said Hubert. “There was something suspicious about our meeting with Osbert and Cedric.” “Not so, Hubert,” said Gregory. “I believe Osbert was as shocked as we were when he realised who he was attacking. I’m sure it was coincidence and that those men were trying their hand at robbery to gain money for their needs.” “How can you say that, Master?” said Walter angrily. “They must have seen our faces as we fought with them. I think they were looking out for us for some reason. Perhaps they are de Montfort’s men, not soldiers from our side as they claimed.” Gregory shook his head. “Their faces were concealed until I pulled at Osbert’s hood,” he insisted. “They were but looking for someone to rob and at least one of them knew that this street has some prosperous people living here. It was but coincidence, I tell you and I will hear no more argument! Let us hurry to Master Adam’s house before we are set upon again. Standing here in the middle of the street is not a good idea; we are a target for any passing footpad.” He led them along the street at a brisk pace until they stopped in front of a fine stone town house. Behind them, a head appeared round the corner of building at the end of the street and then disappeared again. Oblivious to the watcher, Hubert rapped smartly on the solid oak door of the house and the three men waited until it opened. A short, rotund man with a huge smile wreathing his face stood, a lantern in one hand, and the other extended in greeting. “Gregory, Gregory!” he boomed in a voice that must have been heard throughout the house. “You are very welcome—enter…” His voice trailed away as he took in their appearance. Walter’s sleeve hung in tatters from his right arm, while Hubert had a bloody nose. Gregory’s right eye was rapidly swelling and he still had his hand to his head where he had been struck. “As you see, Adam,” said Gregory, ruefully. “We have managed to attract some unwelcome attention.” Adam’s mobile features had changed immediately to one of deep concern. Standing to one side, he ushered all three men into the house and closed the door behind them. “But we must bathe your wounds and see that all is well,” he said. “Come with me, all of you—yes, you as well,” he continued, as he saw Walter standing uncertainly behind Hubert and Gregory. He led them through the undercroft, across the courtyard, and into the kitchen on the far side. The cook, bent over a large mixing bowl, looked up in surprise. Seeing Adam standing before her in the rush light, she stood upright and bobbed a curtsey, staring openly at the three dishevelled figures behind him. “My friends have been waylaid and hurt, as you see,” said Adam. “We need water and some rags.” 35

He turned to the huddled figure of a boy who had been asleep near the fire and gave him a nudge with his foot. “Go and find your mistress, lad,” he said. “Tell her we need her skills here in the kitchen for the wounds of these good men.” The boy got to his feet, rubbing his eyes, and stumbled out of the room, still halfasleep. The cook had ladled some steaming water from a cauldron hung over the fire into a wooden bowl and she hefted it across to the other end of the long table at which she had been working. Taking a rush light from the sconce it was resting in, she went across to a cupboard set into the wall. Opening it, she took out some soft clean rags and laid them beside the bowl, then resumed her whisking of what ever was in the mixing bowl. “Sit you down,” said Adam to Walter and Hubert, indicating a bench set against the wall. He led Gregory over to a deep settle with a straw cushion laid along it. “Here, my friend,” he said to Gregory. “Sit before you fall down. Is your head very painful?” Gregory nodded vaguely, wondering why the room was swimming round him so strangely. The last thing he heard as he slipped into unconsciousness was a woman’s voice saying, “Oh, Adam, he is fainting!” “How foolish of me!” thought Gregory, weakly. Then the darkness closed in on him as the world slid away.

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CHAPTER FIVE The sun came out from behind the cloud and shone straight through the little window and on to Aaron’s face. He opened his eyes, squinted in the light, groaned and rolled over on his side, his arm reaching for Judith. His hand felt only warmth and an empty space where she had been lying. Instantly, he sat up, looking round for her, but she was obviously no longer in the chamber. He lay pondering what to do, knowing that she needed being followed everywhere, but concerned about where she might be in this strange place. Just as he decided that he would search for her and take the consequences the door to the chamber opened softly and she slipped back in. Seeing that he was awake, she smiled at him, despite the pallor of her face. He was out of bed and beside her instantly, his arm round her, his concern clear. “Are you ill, my gold?” he said, tenderly. “Not exactly,” she said, still smiling that loving smile which she reserved only for him. “A little sickness, but it will pass.” “Have you eaten something to upset you?” he said and was puzzled by her laughter. “Dear husband, no!” she said. “It is nothing I have eaten.” “Then what is, it?” he said. “And why is it funny…” His voice trailed away as a thought struck him. He sat on the bed suddenly, pulling her down with him. “Is it—are you…?” She nodded and leant against him, her head on his chest. “It’s our baby,” she said softly. “Now I am sure—we are to have a child, Aaron, my love.” Aaron sat holding her tenderly in his arms, a smile broadening on his face as he took in the news. Then he hugged her closely and sat up straighter. “We must go back to London at once!” he said, firmly. “You cannot go wandering round the country like this in your condition. You need looking after—Mother Belaset and my mother must look after you.” He waited for the expected protest but none came. Instead, Judith simply nodded her head and stayed where she was. He bent to look at her and she caught his eye and sat up. “Your face is a picture!” she said. “I was sure you would disagree and insist on continuing as if nothing was happening,” he confessed. “Not this time, Aaron,” said Judith, suddenly very serious. “We have both known people who have lost children before they were born. This will not happen to us—I will do anything to prevent that, even if it means going home again.” “We must tell the King of this, and as soon as possible,” said Aaron. “We know not what his plans may have been for us, but he will have to know that you must return to London—and that means so must I, for I will not let you travel without me.” “I have a feeling,” said Judith, as they both stood up, “that you will not let me out of your sight until you see me back with the family.”

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“I could swear that you read my mind, sometimes!” said Aaron. He kissed her tenderly. He pulled on his clothes, hurriedly, as Judith splashed her face from the bowl of water standing on the small table in one corner of the room. Then she wrapped her kerchief over her head and swept it round her neck, covering her hair completely. They looked each other over, checking that they both looked presentable for their audience with the King, then, linking arms, they left the bedchamber. Making their way down the stone stairs of the tower in which they had been sheltered for the night, they stepped out of one door and almost immediately into another, which took them into the great hall itself. They looked around to seek directions from someone to the King’s chambers. In the daylight, which came in through the huge windows along each side of the hall, the scene, which met their eyes, was very different from that of the night before. Now, the proportions of the enormous space made it almost overwhelming and even Judith had to fight an unaccustomed sense of awe. Aaron was staring round in undisguised amazement and admiration, his eyes following the slender, graceful pillars, sweeping up and up into the vaulted ceiling high above them. The steward who had greeted them the night before came hurrying toward them and broke the spell. “What do you want here this morning?” he asked, politely enough, but clearly wishing they were not there. “If it is possible,” said Aaron, courteously. “We have need of some time with the King.” The steward all but sneered. “Do you think that you can just come here and demand an audience with His Majesty whenever it suits you?” he said, his tone hardening. “I think you will find,” said Aaron, still keeping his tone courteous, “that he will want to speak with us. Last night, he said that we would speak again today. However, I have since learned something which has brought me here somewhat earlier than expected.” The man stared at them, frowning, as he weighed up the situation. Aaron stared back, trying not to lose his temper at the supercilious attitude of the steward. His unmoving demeanour and unyielding expression seemed to have the desired effect as the man gestured for them to remain where they were, then turned and strode off up the side of the hall and disappeared into a doorway at the far end. Judith discovered that she had been holding her breath, and released it with a long sigh. “Well done, my love!” she whispered to Aaron. “I feared you would lose your temper.” “He was not worth it,” said Aaron, with a grin. “He recognised us from last night and was just not sure enough of how we stood with the King to take the risk of treating us discourteously. Look! Here he comes at top speed—why, the man positively waddles!” Judith had to look at the ground and raise her hand to her mouth to stifle her mirth. Aaron was right—the steward was now speeding back towards them as fast as his dignity permitted. And, indeed, there was a distinct waddle to his gait, such was his anxiety to reach them. Panting with the exertion, he came to a stop in front of them. “His Majesty will see you at once,” he said, breathlessly. “Please to follow me…” 38

Turning, he led them along the side of the hall and through the door by which they had come to the King’s presence the previous day. Once again, a curtain inside the door was swept aside and Henry sat waiting for them as if he had never moved from the last time. “Well, well,” he said. “You two are in a hurry to find out what I have in mind for you!” “Forgive us, Sire,” said Aaron. “We may not be able to fulfil your wishes.” “What’s this? You dare refuse me?” said Henry, his colour beginning to rise. “Sire, we would not dare, but—but—,” began Aaron, uncertain how to continue this conversation and its intimate content. “—but I am to have a child!” finished Judith for him. She smiled with such joy at the King that he could not help but smile back at her. “Why, Judith, that is wonderful news for you and your family!” he said, standing up. He came to them and cupped Judith’s face in his hands, before moving to Aaron and clasping him by the shoulders for a brief moment. “I understand—you will wish to take her back to London immediately,” he said to Aaron. “You should find a group to travel with—there must be someone setting out from Winchester today. Leave it with me—one of my men will make enquiries in the town for you.” He clapped his hands and the steward’s head popped round from behind the curtain where he had clearly been eavesdropping while he waited for the audience to end. “Send someone to find out who will travel to London later today and arrange for Aaron and Judith to join them,” said Henry. He turned back to the pair. “Now do you go and make ready to leave!” he said. “And may all go well with you!” Before either of them had time to answer, he had turned and left the room. They looked at each other, then Aaron raised his shoulders and spread his hands. “What can you do?” he said, his eyebrows raised. “The King commands—we must obey. Let us go and gather everything together and perhaps, by then, there will be someone about to leave here.” “I have a better idea, my gold,” said Judith. “I will go and make ready while you go and wait at the gate. We have but a small sack and few things to put in it. Go—I will join you in a little while!” She pushed him ahead of her as they left the hall again. No sooner were they out in the open than a young boy came up to them. “Are you returning to London in haste?” he said, looking at them curiously. “I was asked to find a party travelling today for two more people to join…” “Indeed we are!” said Aaron. “Have you found such a party already?” “I have, but—” said the boy, uncertainly. He paused in confusion. “Well?” said Aaron. “I do not know if you will be at ease with such people,” said the boy. “They are Jews…” Aaron burst out laughing, and the boy flushed. Judith, for once the quieter of the two, smiled at him kindly. “And so are we,” she said. “You have found the perfect group for us to join.” 39

“But, but…” he said, still obviously confused. “We do not wear the right clothes?” finished Judith. He nodded, mutely. “Yet such we are,” said Judith. “We do not kidnap little boys either—especially when they bring us such good news. Where are these other Jews?” She was rewarded with an uncertain grin and a wave of his arm toward the outer gates. “They will wait for you, they said,” he offered. A shout of “You, lad!” came suddenly from the other side of the courtyard and he turned and trotted off towards the burly man who stood, hands on hips, waiting for him. His arrival was greeted by a cuff round the head and the man’s hand heavy on his shoulder, as he was half-pushed toward a door and vanished from sight. “Go and talk to them, Aaron,” said Judith. “I’ll be with you very soon.” She crossed to the tower and ran lightly up the stairs and back into their chamber. Thrusting their belongings into a single small sack, she cast a cursory glance round then, satisfied that she had left nothing behind, left the room and closed the door. She began to run down the stairs again then, remembering she carried a new life, placed her hand on her belly, smiled, and went down at a slower pace. She crossed the courtyard again and went over to the gate. Aaron was talking to a short, dark man. He stood in front of a sturdy cart in which sat an older woman and a younger who was clearly her daughter. Beside them were assorted bundles and a small basket containing what was obviously their food for the day. With a pang, Judith realised that she and Aaron had no such provisions—but where would they find them at such short notice? The woman, noticing her expression, said, “There will be plenty for all of us! I am Ruth and this is my daughter Esther. You must be Judith!” Aaron turned. “Yes, this is my wife, Judith!” he said, his pride in her evident. He indicated the man with whom he had been speaking. “This is Joseph!” he said. “He is also travelling to London, so we will have the company of our own people all the way. Others will join us along the road.” “But probably not Jewish,” said Joseph. He shrugged. “It will be safer the larger the party becomes,” he said. “We will probably find that we have some merchants and their servants with us. Do you mind, Judith?” Judith and Aaron grinned. “We have a good friend who is a merchant!” answered Aaron. “He is the kindest man we know. Indeed, he saved our lives not long since.” “What happened?” said Joseph, curiously. “Let us save the story for when we are on our way,” said Judith. “It will help to pass the time.” “So,” said Joseph, squinting up at the sun to judge what time of day it might be. “It is still early enough to get quite some way today, if you are ready to start?”

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“Indeed we are—here is everything we brought with us,” said Judith, handing the small sack to Esther, who stowed it safely away. She held out a hand to Judith, who shook her head. “We have our own horses,” she said. “My thanks, but I prefer to ride for now.” “But—” began Aaron. Judith frowned at him. “No, Aaron!” she said. “I will not be fussed over as if I am ill—I have never felt better! Look—here are our mounts.” A boy came toward them, leading the horses, which were looking sleek and well rested. Judith took the bridle from his hand and mounted easily. Saying nothing, but with his annoyance clear from his rigid back, Aaron followed suit. Joseph, who was seated by now on the cart, took up the reins and clicked his tongue at his horse and the small party set off away from the castle and toward the city gates. *** Gregory was feeling stiff and bruised from the attack of the night before, but his energy was undiminished. Now he sat astride his horse and waited, trying to keep calm and look relaxed. He had hurried through the niceties of thanking his host for a comfortable night and was waiting impatiently for Hubert and Walter to mount up and start the journey. Southampton was a favourite place and he was eager to get to its bustling streets. Now that he was responsible for the acceptance and safe delivery of the King’s wines, he had reason to visit the port more often. It had proved useful for his own trading activities, this link with royalty, and he meant to cultivate it. Other members of his family had dealt with the Royal Household and had profited from the experience. Now it was his turn and he was determined to do the job he had been entrusted with as well as possible. At last, Hubert and Walter appeared from the stables, leading their horses into the yard. Hubert grimaced slightly as he swung his leg across his saddle. A souvenir of the street fight, thought Gregory, but said nothing. Walter, apparently unharmed, had sprung up onto his mount with his usual alacrity and looked ready for anything. Turning left from the house, the three men made their way along the street and out into the high road. Although it was still early, people were already setting out stalls and opening the shop fronts, ready to trade with anyone who came along. A pie-seller, his tray of goods balanced on his head, was wandering up and down in the hope of making an early sale. A dog, snuffling at something in the gutter, turned its head to look at them, then cowered away as Gregory’s horse snorted suddenly. It was not long before they were passing the abbey and making their way out of the city gate, which stood almost beside it. Others were going in the same direction, including a carter with sacks of wool piled behind him, whose load just squeezed through the arch of the gateway, and a wagon with planks of wood laid carefully and roped in place. Gregory and his servants waited patiently and finally trotted out through the gateway themselves and onto the road to Southampton. “At last!” said Gregory, sitting straighter and giving a gusty sigh of relief. “With luck, we shall reach Southampton by midday. Master Bonami should have arrived last night, if the tides and wind were in his favour.”

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They rode along in comfortable silence for the next few miles. The route between Winchester and Southampton was well marked and had existed for centuries. Others on the road passed them, their clothes and appurtenances indicating all classes. Now and then, a pedlar trudged past, carrying his wares slung round his neck. Families went by, the women riding on carts driven by a servant, the men on horseback. Once a party of knights came galloping along, on their way to Winchester, scattering everyone in their way without a second glance. The ground shook as they thundered by on their palfreys, the horses as gorgeously caparisoned as their riders. Ahead and behind them rode their squires, clearing the way for their masters. The dust rose in a choking cloud as they passed. Gregory and Walter had covered their mouths in time, but Hubert had not and rode along with his eyes streaming as he coughed and spluttered. Wordlessly, Walter rode alongside and handed him his skin of small beer. Hubert drank gratefully and gave it back with an embarrassed smile. “That’s what happens when you stare too long!” he said, ruefully. “I should have had more sense and covered my mouth as you two did—but did you notice? Sir Roger Leyburn was one of that party!” “Indeed he was!” said Gregory. “No doubt on his way to join the King again in Winchester.” “I had heard, Master,” said Hubert. “That Sir Roger has been with a band searching out those who were on de Montfort’s side.” Gregory stared at him in amazement. “Where do you hear these things, Hubert?” he said. “I heard it in Master Adam’s house, when we stayed there,” said Hubert, peaceably. He closed his lips firmly and said no more, but gazed innocently ahead. Gregory looked hard at him, then thought better of questioning his man. He had known Hubert a long time and he knew that if he felt he could not say who had told him, there would be a good reason. Either he had been told in confidence, or he had overheard a conversation he had not supposed to hear. Servants and others often heard things that they should not—so many people simply forgot that their staff had ears and brains, too. Perhaps Hubert would tell him more later on, when they were alone. The journey continued without incident and, as they neared Southampton, they were forced to slow down and move at the same pace as everyone else going in that direction. The horses moved now at a walk rather than the brisk trot with which they had covered most of the miles. Gregory was content to let them keep their own pace and it took an hour to cover the final few miles. Then they were making their way carefully through the narrow street towards the waterfront. They reached the dockside without incident, save for the occasional jostle from the crowds around them. Hubert and Walter kept a wary eye out for the safety of Gregory, as well as of themselves. They were surrounded by strangers, many of them from the ships, which lay, tied up or at anchor in the docks and they were all too aware of the suddenness with which a fight could break out, or a cutpurse help himself to their valuables. All around them were the smells and sights of a port. Warehouses stood close to the water’s edge and men and boys ran to and fro carrying bundles and barrels from ship to store. Here a group of brawny men in filthy clothes were hauling barrels of fish from the

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ship in which they had been caught. There another group were preparing the huge tuns of wine to roll down the gangplank from the deck of a ship on to the dockside. The man who was clearly the captain of this ship watched anxiously as two men wrestled the tun before the mast, ready to roll it across the deck. Hands on hips, he stood with a frown on his face, as the men began to move slowly toward the ship’s side. Carefully, they steered the wooden barrel to the gangplank where two others waited to help. Then all four edged it down the slope and onto the cobbles below. Heaving a sigh of relief, Master Bonami took his hands from his hips and relaxed, waving to the men to take the wine across to the other side and away from the ship. In doing so, he suddenly caught sight of Gregory and, with a great wave and a broad smile, came ashore and strode towards them. “Master Gregory!” he exclaimed with delight, thrusting out his hand. Gregory took it gladly and shook it vigorously, his own smile showing his pleasure at the meeting. “Master Bonami!” he said. “I am glad to see you have arrived safely!” “Not only I, but all the wine with me!” said Bonami. He gestured at the laden ship now slowly giving up its load as the crew rolled barrel after barrel down the gangplank. “Is there sufficient good wine to please the King?” said Gregory. He looked at the manner in which the barrels were being stacked. There were more from behind the mast than before and he knew that the best wine would have been stored before the mast. In that way it would move less in the barrels and would have less chance of damage should a storm or high seas have been encountered on the voyage across the Channel. “He will be well pleased with the wine, I assure you!” said Bonami. “I would not agree to bring poor wine for your King Henry—your head is safe this time!” He grinned at Hubert’s shocked expression, where he stood with Walter, slightly behind Gregory. Walter simply looked bemused. He had never been to Southampton before and the different sights and sounds were more than he could take in. Despite spending most of his life in London or Westminster these days, he had come to join Gregory from the family home in Ruxley, Kent very recently and the noise and bustle of this port were enough to make him feel dazed and deafened. At last, the ship’s load of wine was safely stored in the warehouse and the crew had only the lighter goods to unload. They ran up and down the gangplank carrying sacks and packages of spices—including some precious pepper—and then came some silks and a precious bale of fine wool, or scarlet. Finally, with the ship completely empty and bobbing much higher in the water, the whole crew sat down wearily, wiping the sweat from their faces with grimy hands, as they regained their breath. Gregory and Master Bonami, meantime, had retired to the warehouse where they stood checking off the bills of lading. Finally, satisfied that all was as it should be, the two men shook hands. “That won’t be in there for long!” said Gregory, nodding to the wine tuns stacked against the wall. “I have to arrange for it to be transported to Windsor for the King’s use.” “All of it?” said Bonami, in surprise. Gregory grinned.

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“Not quite all,” he admitted. “Some will go to my own wine stores in the Dowgate. But the tuns you took from before the mast will certainly go to Henry.” Bonami looked thoughtful. “We can take the tuns for you round to London and land it at the Dowgate for you, if you wish,” he said. “I’m bound there now, to pick up some goods and return to France.” “On one condition, old friend,” said Gregory. “I pay for the transport.” Bonami shook his head. “I have been paid already,” he said. “Putting a few tuns back on board will help to stabilise the ship on our journey round your coastline. I have no ballast otherwise and it will be a help rather than a hindrance—as well as a pleasure to do a good turn for my friend!” “Well,” said Gregory, “well…” “I insist!” said Bonami. Gregory nodded and gripped Bonami’s shoulder. “I am grateful,” he said. “How soon can you reload? As you know, there are customs to pay here for the rest of the load which, alas, I cannot avoid, much as I would like to! So there are papers to sign and declarations of tunnage to argue over. These men are so proud of their small powers that they strut about and huff and puff like great merchant and all for a few silver pence.” Bonami laughed. “Not so loud!” he said, in mock horror. “Who knows what they may do to one who does not share the high opinion they have of themselves!” Still chuckling, he left the warehouse to tell the crew that they would be reloading some of the wine. There were a few groans as they heard the news but, as he knew they would, they were soon back on their feet and working away with a will. Meanwhile Gregory, with Hubert and Walter beside him, strode off to settle the customs and other taxes he needed to pay before he could arrange transport for the rest of his wine and other goods.

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CHAPTER SIX As the small caravan made its way along the road, Judith and Aaron rode side by side in companionable silence. Occasionally, Judith could see the two women on the cart ahead of them stealing glances at her. Clearly, they could not understand why Aaron allowed his wife to behave so wilfully. She smiled secretly to herself, looking down, but her husband saw it and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. She leant towards him and spoke softly. “Our travelling companions do not approve of me, I fear,” she said. “Well, what of it?” said Aaron. “I approve of you most heartily and that should be all that concerns you. But are you sure you are right to ride beside me thus?” Judith was about to issue a tart reply when she saw the twinkle in his eye and the upward quirk of his mouth. She bit her lip and frowned horribly at him instead, which reduced both of them to helpless giggling. Ruth and Esther gazed at them in surprise, unable to decide whether these two strangers were mad or simply in high spirits. Judith beamed at them and got weak smiles in response. These two might be hard work, she thought, but we can surely befriend them on the journey. She dug her heels into the flanks of her horse and urged it alongside the cart so that she could talk to Ruth. “Have you stayed long in Winchester?” she asked. “Not this time,” said Ruth. “We arrived but three days ago. I thought we were to stay here for at least a week, but my husband has changed his mind for some reason.” “Have you not asked him why?” said Judith, in surprise. Ruth shrugged and shook her head. “He does as he wishes,” she said. “It is not for me to question him.” “But are you not curious?” said Judith. “Aaron will always explain himself if I ask.” Ruth shook her head. “I would not question him,” she said again. “It is easier to do as he says. Our marriage is not as yours.” She glanced at Aaron and then at Judith. “It is a love match, is it not?” she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Indeed it is!” said Judith. There was an awkward pause. “You do not like your husband?” she said to Ruth, lowering her own voice. The other woman sighed. “He is a good man and looks after us well,” she said. “But he was chosen for me by my parents. I like him well enough, but…” She shrugged again. Then, straightening her shoulders, she smiled sweetly at Judith. “And why were you in Winchester?” she said. “We were visiting some friends,” said Judith. “But now my husband insists that we return home so that I can rest and be looked after while we await our first child.” Ruth looked shocked.

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“So that is why your husband wished you to get into the cart with us!” she said. “Would it not be better than your horse?” “No, I don’t think so,” returned Judith. “Why should I be treated as an invalid when I am nothing of the sort? I am as healthy and able to ride today as ever I was yesterday. The difference is that now he knows of the child and yesterday he did not. Indeed, I wonder if I should have told him when I did!” Ruth looked at her. She clearly thought that Judith was a strange woman, headstrong and wilful, with no idea of the behaviour fitting a woman in her condition. Yet she admired Judith’s independent ways and the young woman was clearly in love with her husband, and he with her. This was a new situation for Ruth and she looked forward to getting to know Judith better as they journeyed back to London. “How far shall we go before stopping?” said Judith, unaware of the effect she was having on Ruth. “We’ll stop before long for some food and to give the horses a rest,” said Ruth. Judith nodded and allowed her horse to drop back until she was level with Aaron again. Although she would never admit it, she was feeling tired already. The excitement of telling Aaron her news, coupled with the audience with the King and the speed with which arrangements had been made for them to return to London had sapped her strength. Still, she told herself, she would feel better soon. A rest and some food and water would make all the difference. She straightened her back, and turned to smile brilliantly at Aaron as they continued on their way toward London. It was only a short while later that Joseph, from his seat at the front of the cart, raised his hand to signal it was time to halt. Thankfully, Judith and Aaron dismounted and let the horses lower their heads to crop the sweet grass beside the road. Aaron went to help Esther and Ruth climb down from the cart. Before long, they were all sitting and sharing the food, which Ruth produced from a small sack. As she had promised, there was ample for all of them and the bread and fruit was a welcome way to break their fast. Judith’s appetite was obviously unaffected by her condition and she ate and drank as much as any of them. Joseph rose to his feet again almost as soon as they had swallowed their last mouthfuls and gestured to his wife and daughter to get back on the cart. “Can we not rest awhile?” said Aaron. “Surely we need not continue quite so soon? My wife…” Joseph shook his head. “We dare not stay too long if we are to reach our place of rest for the night,” he said. “I thought you had understood that—if your wife is not able to keep up then we will have to leave you behind.” Judith was already on her feet, hands on hips, before he had finished speaking. “What makes you think I cannot keep up?” she said, eyes blazing. “We have an agreement and you have been paid already. Would you go back on it now?” Joseph took a step back, clearly shaken by Judith’s reaction. Aaron said nothing, but stood, arms folded and a slight smile quirking his lips, as he watched the little drama play out. The other two women look aghast—a woman was daring to argue with Joseph! They had never seen such a thing before. His confusion was obvious and there was a moment of complete silence before Aaron laughed and broke the spell. 46

“Come, Joseph!” he said. “Judith and I can keep up with you easily—and, as she says, you have been paid to take us with you. There will be others joining us soon. Be easy man—no one is expecting you to take responsibility for the whole party. Look to the safety of your family and we will look to our own!” So saying, he caught his horse’s bridle and swung up into the saddle, deliberately not helping Judith, who mounted her own horse as easily as Aaron. Joseph stared, shrugged, gave an embarrassed half-smile and turned to help his wife and daughter back into the cart. Then he pulled himself up onto the seat behind his own horses and clicked his tongue to get them moving again. As they set off Judith leant across to Aaron and said, “What was that about? He seemed pleasant enough when we all met.” “He is afraid of something,” replied Aaron. “I don’t know what at present, but clearly there is something on his mind. I think he has an appointment to keep somewhere, but, meantime, let us keep alert for any danger.” They rode on for a while in silence, until they came to a point where the road branched. Another cart was waiting to one side, with its driver standing beside it and a muffled figure half-sitting, half-lying in the back. The driver stepped forward and shaded his eyes as they came into view, then waved them down. He was a little man in a worn cape, dusty from his travels. His face was lined like some small, anxious creature and his eyes peered short-sightedly at them as they drew level. “Is one of you Joseph?” he said, his voice quavering slightly. Joseph nodded. “I am he,” he said. “Are you Gilbert?” “No,” said the little man, with a jerk of his head at the figure in his cart. “That is Gilbert. I am Thomas, his man.” At the sound of his name, the man in the back of the cart raised his head with an effort. His hood fell back, revealing a strong and beautiful face, now set in a grimace of pain, and framed in thick white hair. “Oh, the poor man—he is hurt!” cried Ruth. She rose to her feet, but stopped as Joseph put out his hand. “Wait, wife, until we know what is the matter here!” said Joseph. Gilbert smiled feebly. “I am not hurt, madam,” he said. “I have an ague and it has made me feel as weak as a little child.” Aaron snatched at Judith’s bridle and backed both horses away from the cart. “We cannot take the risk of you catching this man’s fever,” he said, in a tone, which brooked no argument. For once, Judith submitted without comment, knowing how dangerous a fever could be to their unborn child. “We will continue on our way until we reach Guildford,” he continued. “Then we can seek help for this man.” He turned to Joseph. “Will you come with us or stay here?” Joseph shook his head, reluctantly. “This is the man I arranged to meet here,” he said. “Ill or not, I must stay with him and talk. But you could take Esther and Ruth with you, if you would?” 47

“We would rather stay here with you,” said Ruth. “We can sit here in the cart and wait at a safe distance. If we split up now, how will we find each other again? Besides, you have never learned to ride. Please, husband, don’t send us away from you!” “You are a foolish woman!” said Joseph, contemptuously. “If you stay in Guildford, I shall find you easily. Now go with these two and we will meet later.” “And how will you travel, once we are gone?” asked Judith. “Presumably, if you need to talk with this man now, it seems he will not be coming to Guildford, too…” Joseph shrugged. “I’ll get there,” he said, dismissively, and deliberately turned his back on them all and walked over to the cart where the sick man lay watching them. “As you so clearly wish to speak with this man in secret,” said Aaron, “we will travel but a short way along the road and wait for you there for a while. That should please everyone!” “As you wish,” said Joseph, over his shoulder. “Judith,” said Aaron. “Will you get into the cart and then we can tie both horses behind and I can take the reins.” Without a word, Judith did as he asked and they set off, leaving Joseph already deep in conversation with the mysterious stranger. Ruth sat looking over her shoulder until a corner in the road hid her husband from her sight. She sat in silence, her anxiety clear, as the distance between them increased. Finally, Aaron brought the cart to a halt and the four of them sat in silence until Judith, her heart aching for the poor woman, leant over and touched her arm gently. “All shall be well, Ruth,” she said, softly. “Clearly, Joseph had arranged that meeting. He will be safe, you may depend on it, until he rejoins us.” “But what is the foolish man doing?” cried Ruth. “If it was necessary to meet this Gilbert in the middle of nowhere, it means that he is involved in something secret—and that never bodes well.” “Has he been involved in secret matters before, then?” said Judith, curiously. “Oh, yes,” said Ruth, bitterly. “Before this he was…” “Mother!” said Esther. There was an awkward silence. Judith looked at the two women thoughtfully, but made no effort to press them to say more. If she asked too many questions, it would arouse their suspicions about who exactly she and Aaron might be. If Joseph was involved in some kind of spying, or messagecarrying, she had no idea which side he might be on. Despite the defeat of Simon de Montfort and his supporters at Evesham, there were still those who thought he had been right and who would not hesitate to harm King Henry. It was not wise to be too open about your beliefs in these times of apparent peace, she decided. “I know that man,” said Aaron, suddenly. “He is Gilbert le Armourer. I saw him once in London.” “Did you?” said Judith. “Where was that?” “I can’t remember,” he admitted. “I can’t even recall how I know his name, but I know that’s who it is! But we have waited here long enough—let Joseph find his own way to Guildford, since that is his wish.”

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Clicking his tongue to the horse and slapped it with the reins. The cart moved off again along the road. He thought deeply as they journeyed on, only half-aware of the horse and cart and the need to keep them on the road, but the horse was an amiable beast and seemed content to amble along without much guidance. Its head lowered, it plodded along, occasionally making the bit jingle as it shook its head to rid itself of an importunate fly. The road was becoming lined with higher hedges, all of them untended this year, by the look of them. Twigs and larger branches stuck out at odd angles and there was long grass, sprinkled with the last of the summer flowers, entangled in the roots. The shadows grew longer and still the small party travelled alone along the quiet road. Judith, seeking to break the uncomfortable silence, turned suddenly and spoke to Ruth. “Have you friends to stay with in Guildford?” she asked politely. Ruth jumped visibly, but answered willingly enough. “Oh yes,” she said. “One of my sisters has married a man from the town and lives there still. There is plenty of room for us to stay with them and it will be pleasant to have time to gossip together.” She smiled at Judith, her face softening with concern. “What about you two?” she said. “Have you friends there?” “No,” admitted Judith. “But we can probably find room in an inn somewhere.” “Indeed, you will not!” said Ruth, horrified. “You must come and stay with us—as I say, there is plenty of room. Her husband is a rich man!” “But Ruth, what will they think if you arrive with two extra people to put up for the night?” said Judith. “They will not mind in the least!” said Ruth, stoutly. “Especially as you are also Jewish. Where do you think you will be safe on your own? Even if you can find a bed to sleep in, how will you eat?” Esther leant forward, her young face eager. “Please stay with us,” she urged. “My mother is right—my uncle and aunt will be delighted to see you. They are very hospitable people and there will be plenty to eat and drink and a fine, soft bed to rest in!” Judith smiled and shrugged slightly. “How can we refuse?” she said. “You are very kind—thank you. It will be good to break bread and share an evening with you and your family.” “Indeed it will!” said Aaron, from the front of the cart. “You are kindness itself, Esther!” And, he thought to himself, perhaps I’ll be able to resolve the mystery of where and when I met Gilbert le Armourer and why Joseph was so keen to speak to him alone. The rest of the journey passed uneventfully and they approached Guildford just as the sun was setting. All of them were very tired by now and grateful that the long and eventful day was drawing to a close. They passed through the town gates and along the High Street, the horse plodding ever slower as it dragged the cart up the beginning of the steep hill, which formed part of the street. After a few paces, Aaron clicked his tongue to bring it to a halt. He jumped down and turned to the women in the back. “We have asked a great deal of this stout horse,” he said. “But perhaps we should walk beside the cart for the last few yards. It will give us a chance to stretch our legs, too.” “I agree!” said Judith, with alacrity and the other two nodded in agreement. 49

Stiffly, they all climbed out of the cart, and Judith went immediately to the two horses, which had trotted along behind the cart so obediently. She patted and soothed them, murmuring endearments, then came forward again. “How far is it now?” she asked Ruth and Esther. Ruth pointed up the hill. “We turn off about half-way up here,” she said. “My sister’s house is along the side street on the left. It is but a few minutes’ walk.” “Come, then,” said Aaron, and tugged at the bridle of the horse, which had brought them safely to Guildford. They all started up the slope, glad to be walking, even it was for a short space. The cart, although as comfortable as it could be made, had jolted over every bump and hole in the road and it was a relief to be able to walk along, feeling their cramped muscles stretch and the blood course through their veins again. Judith looked about her with interest. She knew that Guildford was a prosperous place, with a thriving market and a good trade in wool, and here was the evidence before her eyes. Houses with shops at ground level lined both sides of the street. The shop fronts were shuttered now, but there were so many of them that she was surprised. The street itself was wide and cobbled, with the usual gutter down the middle, but it was clean. Near the top of the slope, she could see a church spire soaring upwards. Next to it, a substantial stone building looked as if it might be a merchants’ hall or similar. They turned off into a side street, but it was almost as wide as the High Street, which they had left, and she was surprised to see it. In London, she thought, the Chepe was a wide road, but the streets which led off it were mostly little, winding streets, where the houses were close to the neighbours on the opposite side of the street. Here, the houses were built mostly of stone and sat in considerable plots of land. “The next house is the one we want,” said Ruth from behind and Aaron brought the horse to a halt outside it. It was also built of stone, two storeys high and the frontage seemed to stretch a long way along the street. There was a doorway set in a pointed arch and Ruth and Esther went and rapped at it. It seemed at first as if their knocking had not been heard, but just as Ruth raised her hand to knock again, there was the sound of bolts being drawn back and the door opened slowly. A face framed in beard and hair peered through the gap cautiously then, with an exclamation of joy, the door was flung wide open and a man stood there, his arms held wide and a beaming smile on his face. “Ruth and Esther!” he said, joyfully. “Come in, come in!” Then, catching sight of Aaron and Judith and the cart behind the two women, he added without hesitation: “And your friends too, of course! You are welcome, all of you!” He stood aside and ushered them all past his large frame. Ruth led the way, obviously completely at home in this house, and they went through the cellar and up the stairs to the parlour where a log fire was blazing in the hearth. At the end of the passage, Judith caught sight of an equally large kitchen, and a waft of air, fragrant with cooking smells and dried herbs, indicated that a meal was in preparation. Their host had brought them into a room with fine hangings on the wall and an assortment of comfortable chairs and stools set round the fireplace for warmth. A large 50

table in the middle of the room had benches on either side and there was a chest set under the window to one side. “Sit by the fire and warm yourselves,” he said. “I will have some wine brought for your refreshment and the horses and cart taken care of, then you can tell me all about your journey and how you come to be here with friends, but without your husband, Ruth.” He nodded cheerfully at them and left them to take off their cloaks and seat themselves in comfort. Judith sat down with a sigh of relief and Aaron was at her side in an instant. “Are you all right?” he asked, anxiously. “Yes, of course,” said Judith, reassuringly. “It has just been a very long day.” “It certainly has!” agreed Ruth, sitting down gratefully on a stool beside her. She took one of Judith’s hands in both of hers. “You must rest now,” she said. “When Isaac returns, I shall ask him if you can lie down somewhere and rest.” “I think you should ask if we can,” said Judith. “You and Esther must be as weary as I am—and I should prefer it if my condition were not known to everyone we meet!” “Of course, of course,” said Ruth, hurriedly. “We are only taking care of you, sweetheart!” said Aaron, grinning in spite of himself at his wife’s embarrassment. “But if you wish to keep our secret for now, we will do our best!” The door opened again at that point and Isaac came in, followed by a maid carrying a large jug and some beakers on a tray. Behind her was another maid, carrying a platter heaped with bread and cheese. Wine was poured into the beakers and handed round and the bread and cheese placed on the table, then the servants left them and Isaac sat down on one of benches beside the table. “So!” he said. “Who have you brought to see me, Mistress Ruth?” He smiled round at them all, his eyes almost disappearing in the crinkled flesh that surrounded them, and placed his large hands on his spread knees. “These are our travelling companions, Isaac,” said Ruth. “Aaron and Judith are also on their way back to their home in London, so we are travelling together. Joseph had to meet a-a friend a short way back and will join us when his business with him is completed.” “Is that so?” said Isaac, looking at her shrewdly and noting her uneasiness. “Well, he will be as welcome later on, as he would have been with the rest of you! Aaron and Judith, I am pleased to make your acquaintance—who are your family?” “My father is Benjamin Yechiel,” he began, and got no further. “You are Benjamin’s son?” exclaimed Isaac, with delight. “Why boy, your father and I were friends years ago, but I have not seen him for a long time! You are welcome indeed!” He turned to Judith. “And who is this?” he said. “This is Judith, my wife,” said Aaron, proudly. “Madam!” said Isaac, formally. “I am delighted to meet you and to know that Benjamin’s son has his father’s good fortune in marriage.” Judith inclined her head, graciously, amused by Isaac’s admiring glance.

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“Well,” he said again. “I hope you will feel comfortable here. We are making ready your beds, but it will take a little while. If you don’t mind sitting in here until we have made everything ready for you, I will see how things are progressing.” He stood and nodded and smiled all round then left the room and they could hear his voice calling to the servants. Ruth shifted uneasily and looked round the room. “I wonder when Joseph will join us?” she said, a worried frown making deep lines appear between her eyebrows. “I wish he wouldn’t arrange these meetings. I have no idea who that man is and we have left Joseph alone with two strangers.” She shook her head and sat twisting her hands together. Judith caught Esther’s eye and smiled at her, receiving a tremulous smile in return. An awkward silence fell, then, to everyone’s relief, the door opened and Isaac reappeared, followed by a plump, cheerful woman, who came across the room to give Ruth a hearty hug and kiss. “We are so pleased to see you again, Ruth!” she said. “And you, too, Esther, my child!” Turning to the girl, she gave her another great hug and patted her cheeks as if Esther were still a small child. Her high good humour raised everyone’s spirits. “This is my wife, Rebecca,” said Isaac, turning to Aaron and Judith. “Welcome to our home,” said Rebecca, and hugged them, too. “I am always pleased to have extra guests—welcome, welcome!” She clearly meant what she said and Aaron and Judith felt themselves warm to her. Any awkwardness they had felt at imposing themselves without warning on strangers fell away and they began to feel much more relaxed. There was a sudden loud knocking at the door. “That will be Joseph!” said Isaac and left the room. “Please God!” whispered Ruth, and stared fixedly at the door of the room, straining her ears to hear who it might be. Isaac was right—the door opened and there stood Joseph, looking tired but clearly unharmed and in good spirits. “You see, wife, I am returned and all is well,” he said to Ruth. She clasped her hands together on her breast and gave him a small smile, but her lips trembled and she was too overcome to speak. “There, there!” said Joseph, patting her shoulder, clumsily. Judith watched the little scene with interest. Clearly, if there was no love, there was a degree of fondness between these two, she thought. She glanced at Esther and caught her eye. The girl, pushed her lips out and blew a soft sigh of relief, then her face closed again as though she felt it wrong to display any emotion before these two near strangers. Joseph turned to Aaron and Judith. “I am glad to see you both here,” he said. “My thanks for bringing my wife and daughter safely here.” Isaac interrupted him. “Aaron and Judith will stay with us tonight,” he boomed. “They know no one else here and they are welcome—especially after taking such good care of Ruth and Esther!” Joseph looked uneasy suddenly, then nodded. “That is good of you Isaac,” he said.

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Something’s wrong here, thought Judith. Joseph doesn’t want Aaron and me here at all. Why not? What was the purpose of his meeting with Gilbert le Armourer—and just who is that man? She resolved to speak to Aaron about the whole matter, once they were alone.

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PART TWO

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CHAPTER SEVEN Eleanor, Queen of England, sat in the window embrasure and gazed out at the faint blue line of sea in the distance. The castle was built to give those within it and the town below the safety and protection that any coastal place would need, yet it framed views of the sea, which were astonishing. Today, as always, Eleanor felt her mood changing to match the sea’s blueness and calm serenity. Behind her two men waited patiently for her to speak. “So,” she said, finally. “De Montfort is dead and his supporters killed with him or scattered. The King is safe, you say?” “His Majesty is in Windsor, as you now know,” answered the smaller of the two men. “We have no further news, Madam, but I am sure that we shall hear more ere long.” “His summons to this parliament he intends to hold was given some weeks ago, was it not?” mused Eleanor. “We should hear soon what decisions he has made regarding those who behaved so treasonably toward him. Now that de Montfort has gone, there must be chaos in the traitors’ camp!” “As you say, Madam,” murmured the tall man, soothingly. A small, dapper man with curling hair spoke up from behind him. “I have heard rumours, Madam,” he began, “that there are bands…” He stopped suddenly, as the tall man whirled round and glared at him. “What have you heard, Thibault?” said Eleanor. “Let him speak, Edmund.” Her son bowed but his frown showed his disapproval. Thibault looked at him nervously and cleared his throat before answering. “It is true that Earl Simon and many of his supporters were slain at Evesham,” he said. “But some escaped the battle, or were never there. Among them were his son, Simon, and others of his family, with their own men. These are now believed to be gathering together again to cause more trouble to His Majesty. But, Madam, they are but rumours.” “Yet it is possible, is it not?” said Eleanor. “If, as you say, my nephew Simon was not at Evesham, then he would clearly try to save his father’s name and continue with his cause.” If only, she thought bitterly, the army she had raised last year had been able to cross the Channel in time. But the winds had been against them for weeks, blowing towards the Flemish coast and making it impossible to sail across the Channel as she had planned so carefully! Now the army had drifted away, unwilling to stand with her as the money had run out, until she was left with just the few who had joined her from the battlefield of Lewes. They too had left her some months ago, summoned by her older son, the Lord Edward, to join him in the great battle at Evesham. It had been a great triumph for him and she was proud of him, but once again, he had not been able to stop some of de Montfort’s men from remaining free. True, there seemed to be fewer of them and, without de Montfort himself to lead them, and so many dead, surely this was then end of the disturbances and Henry could rule as King again? She prayed it would be so. Edmund broke into her thoughts. “Whether the rumours be true or not, Madam,” he said. “The country will be more at peace. I am sure that my father will be able to deal with these few miscreants. The main

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thing is that the country is once more ruled by its rightful monarch. There is much work to be done to help him. Will you return to England with me, Madam?” “Of course we will return,” said Eleanor. “We must begin our preparations immediately!” She turned to the messenger. “You have done well, Thibault,” she said. “Thank you for the message of good news that you have brought us and thank you for telling us of these rumours you have heard. Go now, rest and eat, and return for our reply. Be ready to return to England in the morning.” Thibault bowed and withdrew. Outside the door, he leant for a moment against the wall and drew a great sigh of relief. His tongue would be the death of him, he thought, ruefully. How lucky that the Queen had over-ridden her son’s anger! Straightening his shoulders, he walked away to find food and a place to sleep for the night. The castle was swarming with people, as usual, but none of them looked familiar. He shrugged and made his way toward the hall. He would recognise someone, if only a serving wench, he supposed. He grinned to himself—a serving wench might be just right! She could bring him both food and comfort, he thought. Behind him, in the solar, Eleanor and her younger son talked eagerly about the future. The Queen was aglow, her hands gesturing as she spoke, the words falling over each other in her enthusiasm. “Surely now we can return to England and be safe!” she said. “If the King has won the day and is back in Windsor, what harm could come to us if we join him?” She began to pace back and forth across the room. “There will still be some danger, Madam,” said Edmund. “You heard what the man said—there are reputed to be bands of Simon’s followers still roaming the country. Either of us would be a great prize for such men…” “Oh, Edmund,” said his mother, in exasperation. “Where is your courage? Do you not want with all your heart to be in England again and with your father, the King?” “Indeed I do, Madam!” said Edmund, indignantly. “But what use would we be if we were captured as soon as we set foot on the coast?” “But what makes you think such a thing might happen?” said Eleanor. “The coast at Dover is overlooked by the castle. We send a message to whoever controls the castle now—and it will be someone loyal to our cause now—we can follow after. Then they will be ready for us and can supply us with an escort as well as a safe landing.” Edmund nodded in reluctant agreement. “You have planned this already, I can tell, Mother!” he said. “It is a good plan. Thibault shall have a message to take with him in the morning to arrange everything. How many days after that will we be ready to take our leave of this place, do you think?” “As few as possible!” said Eleanor. “We have been well treated here, but my place is with my husband. There is no need for us to linger here. Let us get our message written and sealed for Thibault to have as soon as it is light. We had better send someone to the quayside to ensure that there will be a boat ready for him. Meantime, you and I can get our people to pack everything and arrange for it to be ready for carrying with us when we go. We shall need more than one boat—shall we say in three days’ time? That will be the twenty-eighth day of this month of October.” 56

“If the weather permits it,” said Edmund with a wry smile. She smiled in return and came to kiss his cheek and then hold his face in her two hands. “It will permit it this time, my son!” she said, with tears in her eyes. “Nothing will stop us returning to England and Windsor!” She let him go and turned away. Edmund went out of the room and clattered down the stairs and out into the main courtyard. Catching a passing, and very startled, page by the arm, he bade him find a steward and a scribe and tell them both to join him in his chamber. The page, released, bowed low and ran off, rubbing his upper arm. Edmund strode on, across the courtyard and in by the door to the tower opposite. Running upstairs, he reached his own chamber, where a little maidservant was finishing off making his bed. She gasped as Edmund strode in, bobbing a curtsey and trying to vanish at the same time. Impatiently, he waved her out of the room. He paced about with pent-up energy until there was a knock on the door and a scribe came bustling in, with his scrip dangling at his belt and a piece of parchment clasped in his hands. He bowed low and sat himself at the table set in the window. Carefully, he smoothed out the parchment, and weighted it at the top corners with two smooth stones that he took from the scrip. His quill pen followed, with knife and ink block. Finally, he brought out a small bottle of water. He studied the tip of the quill, then, satisfied with the existing point, poured a little water on the ink and sat waiting, gazing at Edmund. The message was soon written down and the parchment folded. Edmund sealed it and impressed his ring onto the wax, leaving an impression that was instantly recognizable to anyone who had dealings with Henry or any of his family. By this time, the steward had arrived in Edmund’s room and the precious message was passed to him with instructions to ensure that it would be given into Thibault hands in the morning, as soon as he was ready to leave. “Until then, however,” said Edmund. “Make sure you keep it about your person. If, as the messenger says, there are bands roaming the land in England who are still loyal to de Montfort, we do not want them to know of our plans. As hard as we may try to prevent them, there are bound to be those on this side of the sea who would love to know where we are, in order to tell our enemies.” The steward shook his head in mournful agreement. He was a lugubrious fellow at the best of times, always ready to think the worst might happen. “Alas, sir, I fear you are right,” he said. “Who knows whom we may trust?” “I hope you are one of those whom I may trust!” said Edmund. “Of course, My Lord Prince,” said the man, hurriedly. “To the death!” He raised his hand dramatically and thumped his heart, but the movement was lost on Edmund, who had turned away to thank the scribe and bid him leave. The man rose, gathered all his materials back into the scrip, bowed low to Edmund and slightly more perfunctorily to the steward, and left them alone. “Steward,” said Edmund, perching comfortably on the edge of the table. “We have many plans to make and you have many duties to complete in the next few days. Do you have sufficient men to carry out all that is required?” “I do, My Lord,” said the man. “All shall be attended to and ready in time for your departure and that of the Queen. Unless, of course, something unforeseen happens.” 57

“What do you think may happen?” said Edmund, curiously. “You never know, sir,” said the steward, shaking his head. “Any number of things might—I may not be able to find enough ships for us all, or perhaps someone might have an accident and be unable to walk about.” “And you might open that door and trip on a protruding stone!” said Edmund, laughing. “Come, man, look on the bright side for once. I have every confidence in you!” “Thank you sir,” said the steward. “I hope your confidence is not misplaced…” “And so do I!” interrupted Edmund, still laughing. “Go on about your duties.” The steward bowed politely and left the room, his face set in a worried frown as he considered all the things that might go wrong in the next three days before they set sail. As for what might befall them all on board ship—his mind refused even to contemplate such horrors! *** In Dover Castle another Eleanor sat, her face set in lines of sorrow, her heart bitter aching for her husband and sons. Simon de Montfort’s wife had believed wholeheartedly in the cause for which he had fought and lost his life. The last years of his life had been spent in trying to prove that no one man had the divine right to rule over his countrymen. Despite the victory at Lewes just over a year ago, and despite all that he had done to put in place the means of allowing others to share in the governing of the country, it had ended in defeat—and, worse, a defeat by the old means of war and death. Now, with de Montfort dead and so many of his friends and supporters, too, she would have to leave the country. Despite being the King’s sister, she could not throw herself or what remained of her family on his mercy. The wounds went far too deep: she must leave England and spend the rest of her days in exile. She sighed heavily and gazed out to sea. At least here in Dover, she was safe for a while. Loyal followers of de Montfort still held the castle and she knew that plans were afoot to aid her escape to France. But Simon, her son, was still at Kenilworth, the family home. Guy, who had been wounded and captured by Prince Edward, had managed to escape. Now, he was with her and brought great comfort to her by his presence, but without her husband she felt she had no strong support. Her sons she still thought of as children who needed her, rather than men strong enough to help her, try as she might to realise the true situation. The scene outside did nothing to lift her mood. The clouds, heavy and grey with unshed rain, were almost the same colour as the sea they met on the horizon. The water lay almost unmoving, save for the occasional sullen ripple as a light breeze moved across it. The clouds moved so slowly that their path was almost imperceptible. Even the cliffs, which stretched away to her right, were a duller version of their usual glistening white. They vanished into the misty atmosphere and the coastline itself was barely visible. Inside the room, she sat in felt damp and chilly and she shivered slightly. Going to the door, she entered her bedchamber and told the girl laying fresh, sweet rushes on the floor to get a fire prepared and lit for her in both rooms. The girl bobbed a curtsey and left to find someone to help with the kindling and bring a taper to light it. Eleanor took a furlined cape from the chest and flung it round her, huddling into its warm folds. She wandered back into the adjoining chamber and took up her seat by the window again. 58

There was a brief tap on the door and, before she had time to say anything, it flew open and her son Guy came striding in, full of vigour and excitement. “At last!” he said. “We can make ready to leave this benighted place and start a new life in France!” He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, but stopped as he realised his mother’s low mood. “What is it, Mother?” he said, his voice gentle. “Is your sorrow too great to bear today? What can I do to help ease it?” Eleanor smiled at him and shook her head. “My sorrow is no worse today than it has been these months past,” she said. “No, Guy, it is not that—but I do not wish to leave England like this. It has become my home, yet I must go and start afresh on the other side of the Channel. My husband and one of my sons lie buried at Evesham and I cannot go to pay my last respects before we leave.” “I know how much that grieves you,” said Guy. “But I think that leaving England will not be so bad, once we have finally gone. Amauri and Richard have already gone ahead and await us. The waiting is the hardest part, surely? Once we turn our faces towards France, we look toward a hopeful future, not a desperate and defeated past. That is how I try to view it.” “Ah, dear son, you have always been the optimist in the family!” said Eleanor. “I will try to follow your example. The souls of Simon and your brother Henry are not in Evesham, after all, but in heaven where they no doubt look down upon us.” “There are reports of miracles from Evesham, you know,” said Guy. “People say that my father has interceded for them and they have been healed.” “The monks say so,” agreed Eleanor. “So we are told—but monks often claim miracles to encourage pilgrims.” “Do you think they would do such a thing now?” said Guy. “My father was a great warrior, it is true, but a saint?” “They need something to soothe the people’s minds and divert them from the slaughter they have seen just outside the town,” said Eleanor. “What better than a miracle-maker?” “Well…” said Guy, doubtfully. “ You may be right.” He shrugged. “But now we must think of our own safety and the means of getting across to France,” he said. “We have held this part of England for our cause, but now there are signs that all around us are submitting to the King’s men and returning to the old way for the sake of peace. No one wants to fight against Henry any more.” “Except us!” said Eleanor, sharply. “And there are still those who support us who are led by your brother Simon.” “I hear he has his own problems and is currently hiding in Axholm,” said Guy. “The fens will hide him and his men for some time, I doubt not, and there are others in Ely under that good and loyal man, John d’Eyvill. But here, in Kent, men are unhappy and restless and see their lands falling into other hands. We cannot count on anyone now, I fear, in this part of England. Better to leave while we may, before Henry decides to make an example of us. It was glorious, but it is over.” “You think he would do such a thing to his sister?” said Eleanor, incredulously. 59

“I think he would do such a thing to anyone, if it will give him back undisputed control,” said Guy, sombrely. Before Eleanor could reply, there was a rap on the door and it was opened without waiting for a response. The man who came in was clearly in a hurry, but he took time to make a small bow and a nod to Guy before speaking. “We have more news from Windsor, Madam,” he said. “What is it?” said Eleanor, anxiously. “The King has received word that Kenilworth will not surrender, Madam,” said the man. “The siege will continue until they agree to terms or the castle is destroyed and all…” “Yes, yes, man!” said Guy. “But where is my brother? We heard that he had gone to Axholm with his chosen men.” “It is true, sir,” said the man. “My men have told me that Simon is indeed in Axholm and he and his men are planning to unsettle the country round there and raise more people to continue the fight.” He stopped and shifted his feet uncomfortably. “But there is news from London which is not so good,” he continued. “The King summoned their most prominent people to him at Windsor. Though he promised them they would be safe, he had many of them thrown into prison as soon as they arrived. Unless they surrender the City back into his hands, they will remain there, languishing in cells at Windsor. So they agreed and the City is his once more.” Eleanor and Guy listened aghast. Neither had thought that London would turn traitor like this—had not de Montfort made his headquarters in the Tower for many months? And so many of the London aldermen and their followers had sworn allegiance to him and his cause? Now it seemed they had been truly abandoned. Guy was the first to speak. “So—they have given in again!” he sneered. “Just as the rabble that fought beside us at Lewes. As soon as any danger threatened, those who had come the whole way with us turned and fled. Most of them didn’t even get as far as Lewes. A little hardship and they vanished into the night!” He spat the last words out so that saliva flew from his lips, then swung round to Eleanor. “Now is indeed the time for us to leave, Mother,” he said, bitterly. “But how can we, knowing that Simon is a fugitive in Axholm?” said Eleanor. “Simon will take care of himself,” said Guy. “I must take care of you and come with you to France. There we can begin afresh to carry out my father’s plans!” Eleanor put her hand on his arm. “No, Guy,” she said. “Enough of planning and killing. Your father and one of your brothers are dead. The family is scattered—Amauri and Richard are no longer here and only your sister Eleanor is with me. Simon fights for his life in marshland and water. How you came here without being taken is a mystery and took great courage, but let it be, Guy, let it be. The dream was glorious, but we cannot win!” She stepped away and turned again to the window. “There is our future,” she said. “Across the other side of the Channel. It is a narrow sea, it is true, but there we can build new lives.” 60

“I cannot just sit and think of the past as over, Mother,” said Guy. “I am a young man and I would fight for what I see as right.” “Seek your principles abroad, my son,” said Eleanor, still with her back to him. She felt tears fill her eyes—tears of pride and sorrow for this young man who had escaped with his life and whose burden of guilt would be with him for the rest of his days. No one could tell him that he could not have saved his father and be believed. Guy felt that he had failed in the hour when he was most needed. He had fought bravely, but he had escaped, as had his uncle. His father and his brother had not. Surely, he should have at least perished with them, if he could not save them? She heard the mixture of sadness and frustration in Guy’s sigh and her heart ached for him. Turning, she was in time to see him look down in so forlorn a manner that she could not help stretching out her arms to him. “Guy,” she said, softly. Without looking up, he moved to her and she put her arms round the broad young shoulders and hugged him as if she could make everything better still, as she had when he was a child. They stood like that for a long time, before Guy lifted his head and stared at her. “What will you do, Mother?” he said, his eyes full of concern for her. She lowered her arms and shrugged slightly. “I shall no doubt find some kind of peace in a nunnery which will allow me to stay,” she said, lightly. Guy’s face changed as he realised what she meant. “And you have already found such a place, have you not?” he said. “Yes,” she said. Before she could say any more there was a sudden outburst of shouting and the sound of fighting. A man at arms came bursting in, his face pale. Guy stepped forward, his face darkening with fury, but the man was already speaking. “The Lord Edward is here!” he panted. “He has entered the castle and is even now securing it with his forces!” “How did he enter so easily?” cried Guy, furiously. “Where was the watch?” “I-I-I cannot say,” stuttered the man, scared out of his wits even more by Guy’s reaction. “I-I-It was not my watch, sir, but suddenly the great doors flew open and he was in, with his men around him!” “Stay here, Mother!” said Guy. “I will find out what these cowards are about and show them how to fight!” He ran out of the room, as Eleanor called after him. “Find your sister,” she screamed. “Find Eleanor and send her here to me!” She stood rigid, listening to the shouts and cries from below. There was a pause, followed by a loud hallooing from fresh voices, then more fighting—the clash of sword on sword, the shouts of men struggling with each other. The door flew open again and Guy was back, dragging a young girl, her hair in wild disorder and her eyes wide with horror. “My daughter!” breathed Eleanor, her relief so great that she staggered as she moved towards her. They held each other tight and the older woman could feel her child trembling with fear. 61

“You are safe in here with me!” she said, praying that she was right. Men aroused by the excitement of fighting and killing did not hesitate to rape as well, as she was only too well aware. She listened for a sound outside the door, which would herald the entry of soldiers, but heard nothing close by. Then, there was the sound of someone walking on his or her own. Whoever it was, he wore mail and she could hear the sound of armour chinking together as he strode along. Finally, the footsteps came to a halt outside the door and there was a peremptory rap before it opened. She knew the man who stood before her only too well. It was her nephew and Henry’s eldest son. The Lord Edward stared back at her, his face sombre, then, to her surprise, he raised his sword and saluted her, lowered it, and bowed formally to them both. “Mesdames,” he said, politely. Turning, he nodded his head at Guy, with a wry smile. “So, cousin, you came here as I thought you would,” he said. Guy, his face a mask, nodded back. “As you see,” he said. “Where else could I go, knowing that my mother and sister were here—safe, as I thought, from your marauding bands.” Edward’s eyes flashed dangerously, but his voice was calm enough. “My men would not dare to come into these chambers, knowing that the sister of their King is here!” he said. “Although not for much longer, I think.” Eleanor took a step towards Guy and laid her hand on his forearm. “We are almost ready to leave here,” she said. “Sad though it will be to leave our country, we will go. But remember—my son Simon is still here and will fight for the cause as long as he is able.” “Then, Madam,” said Edward, sarcastically. “We shall not have long to wait! Many of your erstwhile supporters are coming to their senses and siding with their King. Indeed, that is how this castle has fallen into my hands so easily—some of your men released your prisoners as soon as we entered. Suddenly, there were many more for us than against us— and so Dover Castle is now in the King’s hands once again!” He grinned wolfishly at their startled expressions, bowed deeply and with heavy irony and strode back through the door. It banged shut behind him and the three de Montforts heard the key turn in the lock on the other side.

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CHAPTER EIGHT The autumn sun shone over Windsor and its great castle. It glinted off the flints in the walls and in through the window of the little chamber where Jervis sat cross-legged on his bed, his tongue poking out between his teeth, as he picked at the tangled lacing on his tunic. It was his favourite one and he was determined to undo the knots, even if it took hours, as seemed very possible. A single ray of the sun obligingly lit up the lacing and he patiently followed the route of the lace in his hand, through the tangle and out. He pulled and twisted and resisted the temptation to use his teeth, lest he snap the soft leather by accident. Finally, it was done and, with a sigh of satisfaction, he slipped the garment over his head. It seemed he had finished dressing just in time as the door flew open and Philip bounded in. “Are you ready?” he said, eagerly, his fair hair flying back from his face with the vigour of his movement. “Ready for what?” said Jervis, vaguely, turning his back as he found his leather belt with the pouch which hung from it and fastened it carefully around his waist. “For the hunt, of course!” said Philip. “Come, Jervis, how could you have forgotten the hunt?” Jervis swung round to his friend, with a grin on his face. “Well, bless me if I hadn’t forgotten!” he said. “How could that have happened? I’ve been looking forward to it for days!” “You must be in love!” said Philip, jokingly, as he turned to lead the way out. Grabbing his short cloak and the knife that lay upon it, Jervis followed without a word. His face had grown hot at Philip’s joke, but he would not say anything for the world, not even to his friend, he thought. Madeleine de Tourney was back at court and, even better, in the castle at this very minute. He had seen her last night, as he was serving John de Warenne with wine and his heart had skipped a beat. Madeleine! He had loved her dearly ever since he had first set eyes upon her less than two years ago. Her husband, the traitor Roger de Tourney, had died while out hunting with the King last year. Jervis had seen the whole incident and knew it had been a deliberate act of murder, but no one knew who had actually sent the arrow into his eye. Jervis was still unsure whether Madeleine knew what had actually happened to her husband, but he was certain that she had not loved him. What would her reaction be if Jervis were to turn their light-hearted flirtation into something more serious now? He was sure that Madeleine was aware of his feelings for her—but how did she feel about him? Perhaps it was time to find out if she was simply enjoying his admiration or if she might feel something more. He was, after all, older now and more than simply a squire to John de Warenne. By now, he and Philip had reached the stables and they set about putting saddles and bridles on their horses. Philip’s grey looked restless and excited, rolling his eyes and snorting, but Jervis’s smaller and more docile chestnut stood quietly and he had her ready and was out in the yard astride her well before Philip was ready. Finally, his friend led out

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his stallion and leapt astride it nimbly, controlling the cavorting beast easily, so that finally it stood, breathing more calmly, as Philip stroked the proud neck and soothed it. They rode out of the stable yard and down the slope to where they could see the rest of the party gathering. Henry was there in the midst of them, and Jervis could see Sir John de Warenne, as usual close by his King and listening with bent head to whatever was being said to him. As the King fell silent, he answered. “You are right, my liege, as always,” he said. “The Londoners who have been thrown into prison are no doubt eager to assure your Highness that they have learnt their lesson. Surely, if they are released soon, they will return to London and tell those who are still in that wicked place that they must swear their allegiance to you or take the consequences. A heavy fine will make your displeasure even more clear to them.” “It will also help me to pay some of my debts, eh, de Warenne?” said the King, laughing. “War is an expensive business, whether one wins or loses, as we know. It has been a famous victory, but now we must consider those who have supplied us with our needs during that period and who must be paid.” “Indeed so, Sire!” agreed de Warenne. How long would Henry remember all those who awaited payment, he wondered. He knew of several merchants who were owed thousands of marks. Apart from these, there were the loans that the Jews had been forced to make. Would Henry repay any of those loans or would he consider the protection he had given the Jews as sufficient recompense? The London Jewry had suffered the most appalling massacre the year before, when de Montfort’s men had gone on the rampage. He had heard all about it from Jervis FitzHugh, he remembered, who had befriended someone from London. Who was it? He turned in the saddle as Jervis and Philip approached and bowed from the waist to Henry. “If you would allow me, Sire,” he said, “I would speak to these two for a moment.” “Certainly, certainly!” said Henry, with a good humoured wave to the young men. “We will let our huntsman lead us to a likely place for our day’s sport. Follow us when you may—but quietly!” He smiled at all three and nudged his horse into movement. Obediently, the rest of the group accompanying him on his hunt followed after and were soon some way across the great park that lay at the foot of the castle. The three left behind sat and watched as the pack of hounds led the way, casting about for a scent that would excite them, with the group of eager huntsmen trotting along behind. “Tell me, Jervis,” said de Warenne. “You have friends among the Jewry in London, do you not?” “Indeed, sir,” said Jervis. “Aaron and Judith Yechiel and their family are well known to me—and to Philip here, as well.” “Are they safe in London, think you?” said de Warenne. “As far as I know,” said Jervis. “Is there any reason to fear for them?” He looked at de Warenne anxiously. “They returned there from Winchester only a few weeks ago,” he said. “Judith is with child and they were ordered home by none other than the King himself.”

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“Ah!” said de Warenne, satisfied. “If Henry sent them back to London, then they must be safe—at least, so far. But who knows what the result of our King’s imprisonment of so many Londoners might be?” “If there is any fear for their safety, then we must also fear for Gregory,” said Jervis. “His support for the King rather than de Montfort was well known all through the recent upheavals. Indeed, de Montfort’s men took him and held him in the Tower, until we rescued him.” “Mmmm,” said de Warenne, pursing his lips. “It might be as well to check on the safety of all three. Perhaps you and Philip would like to carry out this errand for me?” He smiled at the two eager young faces. “I shall inform the King of my intentions and ask if he has any messages for this Gregory—what is his surname?” “Rokesley, sir,” said Philip. “Indeed, I took a message from the King himself, which was the reason for his appearance at Winchester. I believe he is now supplying the court with wine.” “Excellent!” said de Warenne. “Let us join the hunting party for now and I shall arrange everything before tomorrow. Good hunting to us all!” They cantered down the slope to where they had seen the hunting party disappear into the woodland. Slowing the horses to a walk, they followed the path of flattened grass left by the others until they saw the King, surrounded by the chosen huntsmen, waiting in a small clearing. As they approached, the group suddenly burst into action and the three stragglers kicked their horses into a full gallop and joined the hallooing crowd, which rushed out of the sheltering trees and raced across the short turf in pursuit of the stag, which ran straight ahead of them. It was a short, hard chase and then the beast was felled by an arrow from one of the archers who flanked the party. The horses were all brought to a slithering stop and waited, flanks heaving and breath clouding the air, with their riders panting almost as hard. The King dismounted and strolled over to the kill, walking round it and nodding appreciatively. “A fine kill,” he said to the archer who stood proudly to one side of the body. The man’s face reddened with pleasure and he grinned from ear to ear. Henry turned to one of the party. “See this man has a goodly portion of the animal,” he said. “We shall all feast on his handiwork today, but now let us find our next quarry. Come!” He remounted and they all turned back, the horses walking slowly along and their riders chatting animatedly. Suddenly, with a terrified snort, a boar burst out of the trees and ran across the path, almost under the hooves of the King’s horse. The animal reared, understandably startled, and Henry fought to keep his seat. The man on the horse closest to him had to dance his own mount sideways to avoid the hooves that lashed the air inches away from his face. He jerked his head to one side and, completely off balance, fell from the horse and on to the path. Only his quick thinking, as he rolled away into the undergrowth, saved his life. Swiftly, Henry had calmed his horse and let the animal stand, trembling, as he stroked its neck and uttered soothing sounds. The men behind their King, who had been frozen

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into immobility as they watched the scene in front of them, began to move towards him, but Henry raised his arm in a movement clearly meant to halt them. “I am unharmed,” he said. “As you see, all is well with me—but look to this poor fellow on the ground. Give him space and air while he composes himself. How do you sirrah?” The man was already scrambling to his feet. “I am also unharmed, Sire,” he said, shamefaced. “I lost my balance in the melee, but that is all.” “A few bruises, then, and an extra cushion at table?” said Henry, a smile twitching at his lips. “Indeed, Sire!” said the man, now on his feet and brushing grass and dust from his clothes. He smiled wanly and then turned to glare in the direction of a muffled laugh from someone behind him. A shout from one of the huntsman who had stopped some way off made them turn their heads in his direction. He pointed over to his right as another rider came bursting through the undergrowth and along the path towards the King. Approaching the group, he pulled on the reins so hard that the horse skidded as it stopped. Flushed and panting, the man dismounted and sketched a rapid obeisance before holding out a sealed packet to Henry, who took it, glanced at the seal, and broke it open with an anxious frown. He scanned its contents hurriedly, his expression lightening, then nodded his dismissal to the messenger. “You have done well,” he said. “Go back to the castle and rest yourself and your horse. You will need to return as soon as possible—eat, drink and sleep if you can. You will be called when all is ready.” The man bowed again, remounted and backed his horse a few paces, before turning and trotting back along the path he had rushed down so precipitately. Henry turned back to de Warenne, a smile on his face. “The Queen has crossed from France at last,” he said. “She is making her way from Dover to London and should arrive there in two days. Let us prepare to meet her at Westminster!” He wheeled his horse round and forced it into a canter, heading back to the castle with the rest of the hunting-party streaming behind him. De Warenne held his horse back, with Jervis and Philip beside him, watching the riders rush past, exhilarated by the day’s sport and the good mood of their King. As the last few disappeared, he turned to the young men. “Well, now!” he said. “You need no excuse to go to London, after all. We are all bound for Westminster, it seems. I suggest you two set off as soon as you can, go to Master Rokesley in Milk Street, and find out how he does. But first—let us eat and drink with our liege and prepare for the journey!” He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and set off at a more sedate pace than the King had set. The three of them trotted along cheerfully, chatting about the day’s hunting and the news of the Queen’s arrival. As they entered the castle proper, the narrow gate meant one of them had to go ahead. De Warenne waved on Philip and, as he drew away from them, turned swiftly to Jervis. “Come to my apartment before you leave today,” he said, softly. “Come alone.” 66

“My Lord,” said Jervis and followed after Philip without another word. They left their horses in the care of the ostlers, with instructions for them to be rubbed down and fed well, ready for the journey later on. Just as Jervis was trying to think of a way of freeing himself from Philip so as to go to de Warenne’s chambers without arousing either curiosity or offence, that young man solved the problem himself. “Jervis, I must bid goodbye to a friend,” he announced. “Shall we meet at table?” “And who would she be?” said Jervis, grinning as Philip reddened. “No one you know,” he said and set off at a brisk pace. Jervis chuckled to himself—Philip was making the most of his good looks and charm these days, he thought. And why not? He would break a few hearts, and have his own wounded, too, before he had to marry. Let him enjoy himself while he could. As for Jervis himself—he sighed deeply as he thought of Madeleine de Tourney. How could he make his feelings known in such a way that she would take him seriously? Their relationship had been one of teasing and fond friends until now. He sighed again and discovered that his meditations had brought him to de Warenne’s door. He rapped three times and the door swung open. De Warenne himself stood there and beckoned Jervis in. To his surprise, his lord looked out anxiously before closing the door softly. Walking to the table in the middle of the room, he picked up a parchment and folded it carefully, sealing it with wax on which he impressed his ring, which bore his family crest. “This is for Gregory Rokesley,” he said. “It is imperative that it be delivered to him as soon as possible and that it does not fall into the wrong hands. Let no one know that you carry it, Jervis, not even Philip. You must understand how very important it is that you keep it secretly about you.” “As you wish, My Lord,” said Jervis, puzzled by de Warenne’s tension and the anxiety in his voice. His expression was not lost on de Warenne, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jervis, that this is not something I may discuss with you,” he said. “Not because I cannot trust you, because I know I can, but because it is better that you know nothing of its contents. It is safer for you and for Philip—do you understand?” “Yes, sir,” said Jervis, firmly. “I will keep this message safe in my scrip. It will be hidden under my cloak.” “Travel safely,” said de Warenne. “And may God protect you both.” Just as the sun reached its zenith, their bellies well filled and suitably attired for their journey, Jervis and Philip left Windsor and made their way along the road that would take them back to London. Jervis was as pleased as Philip at the thought of seeing Gregory again. He had his own reasons, too, and the message from de Warenne was stowed safely away in the scrip, which hung from his belt. His feeling that de Warenne needed them to go on their way quickly was justified—this was no doubt the King’s business with which he was being entrusted and he was glad and proud to do it. Philip, unaware of the more serious part of their trip, chatted and joked in high good humour as they made their way along the road, now clad in autumnal colours. The trees that grew along one side were splendid in their red, yellow and orange garments, while here and there a holly tree or a holm oak offered a contrast with their dark evergreen leaves. The grasses beside the empty ditches bordering the surface on which they rode 67

were dry and withered now and the road itself was dusty. It was a busy route and the dust swirled uncomfortably as they trotted past other travellers. Now and then, a cart lumbered along the side of the road, almost hidden in the dust-cloud it raised, and they both drew their cloaks across their faces to avoid choking. They came at last to the tenterfields on the edge of London and trotted past the great lengths of cloth set to dry on the tenterhooks. The open gates of the Moorgate beckoned them and they jostled their way through among the motley crowd of other travellers and those who had been working outside since early morning. Finally, they were inside and heading down the street until they could turn to their right and into the Chepe, almost empty at this time of day. Very soon, they reached Milk Street and turned into it. They drew to a halt outside Gregory’s house and looked at each other, grinning. “You rap on the door this time, Jervis!” said Philip. “See what kind of reception we get!” Jervis swung himself down and had raised his hand when the door opened suddenly and Gregory himself stood there, beaming. “Welcome, welcome!” he cried, his arms outstretched to them both. They hugged and shouted and crowded back into the house, Gregory leading the way. “Hubert!” he called. “I was right—it’s Jervis and Philip! Walter! Walter!” A voice behind him, where the door still stood open, said: “I’m here, Master, and the horses will be dealt with as soon as I can get them into our yard for a good rub down. Young sirs, you have ridden hard today!” They turned and saw Walter’s normally solemn features broken by a wide smile. He tugged his forelock to them politely, then vanished from sight, leading the horses away to be cared for by him. Hubert appeared from the cellars below, smiling warmly and greeting the young men with a pleased nodding of his head. “Why, you are a welcome sight, Master Jervis and Master Philip!” he exclaimed. “Hubert, we must find food and drink for them both,” said Gregory. “They are growing lads still and must be hungry after their journey!” He ushered them all in front of him and up the stairs into the small parlour. Jervis pondered how he was to pass over the message he had without attracting anyone else’s attention. He perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the settles on each side of the fireplace, trying to catch Gregory’s eye. “Well!” said Gregory. “How pleasant to see you two together again—and what different circumstances from the last time we met! Here you are, in my house with me, safe and secure. What brings you both to London?” “The Earl de Warenne was concerned to know if you were safe, after the events of the last few weeks,” said Jervis. “We knew that the King had summoned many of you to Windsor and that some were not permitted to leave as soon as they wished!” Gregory looked grave. “Indeed, some of my fellow aldermen and others whom Henry either knew, or suspected, of behaving disloyally were shown who is now in power,” he said. “I understand that he needs to exert control, but to promise that they would not be punished if they presented themselves, and then break that promise, was not how a king

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should behave, in my opinion—although, of course, that is an opinion which I would not express outside these walls!” “I doubt that either of us would quote you in his presence!” said Jervis. Philip, who had been fidgeting beside Jervis as the conversation went on, now stood and went over to the window to gaze out at the street. Taking a chance, Jervis looked hard at Gregory and touched his scrip. With a barely perceptible nod, Gregory stood as well and beckoned to Jervis. “Come with me,” he said. “If Philip will excuse us for a moment, I have something you might like stored in my cellar, Jervis.” “You are going to appeal to the peacock in him, I warrant,” said Philip, without turning away from the window. “And why not?” said Gregory. “For you, Philip, no doubt the arrival of something to eat and drink will be more welcome than a trip to a dark cellar.” He and Jervis left the room and Gregory took him back down the staircase and into the cellars that he used as a warehouse, in common with other London merchants. It was cooler and gloomy down there, but there was enough light for Gregory to break the seal on the parchment that Jervis handed to him. He scanned the contents quickly, then looked up at the younger man. “Were you told the content of this message?” he said. Jervis shook his head. “I was told only that I must give it to you in secret and that no one, not even Philip, was to know about it,” he replied. “Then I must tell you something of which you have been unaware until now,” said Gregory. “This message from de Warenne gives me leave to tell you more of my activities than you knew before. But we must find somewhere private, without Philip, where we can sit and talk. It may have to wait a few hours, until we are all supposedly asleep. Be patient and give no hint to your friend that you have something on your mind. Now—I have a piece of silk here, which I will give you to take back upstairs. If you like it, it is yours!” He vanished behind a pile of woolsacks and then reappeared with a small roll covered in sacking. Untying it, he revealed a fine silk cloth of shimmering turquoise. Jervis stared at it, then put out a hand to stroke the material delicately. He looked at Gregory and nodded, too overcome to speak. Smiling, Gregory retied it and handed it to him, then clapped him on the shoulder, turned him round, and gave him a gentle push toward the stairs.

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CHAPTER NINE The next morning Gregory, Jervis and Philip gathered round the table for breakfast together. As they ate and drank, Jervis and Philip told Gregory about life at court. “The King is fully recovered from his wounds and leads us all a merry dance,” said Philip, cheerfully. “When we are not out hunting, we are eating, and when not eating, we are dancing!” Jervis shook his head. “It’s not all fun and frolics, Philip,” he said. “His Majesty is doing as much as he can to bring peace to the country again.” Philip shrugged. “I take no interest in all of that,” he said. “And the King does not require me to—so I enjoy myself instead. God knows there were months when all was solemn and dark. I am glad of a chance to throw off the gloom and feel happy again.” “That’s true enough,” agreed Jervis. “It has been hard at times to keep our spirits up.” “You were in France for some time, I understand?” said Gregory, taking a draught of small beer. There was an awkward pause, which made him look across at the other two in surprise. He was in time to catch Jervis flushing slightly and frowning, while Philip’s mouth twitched in an ironic smile. “Some of us were safe in France,” said that young man, sarcastically. “While some of us stayed in this country.” “I did as I was asked by de Warenne,” said Jervis, shortly. He turned to Gregory. “He instructed me to stay with him and his family and to go with them to France,” he explained. “But Philip…” “…was completely forgotten!” interrupted Philip. “You were not forgotten,” said Jervis, patiently. Clearly, this was a topic that had been discussed between them many times, but Philip either could not or would not understand. “My Lord de Warenne asked different things of us,” continued Jervis to Gregory. “Some of us he wished to go with him and some he wished to remain in Lewes, where the King was held hostage in the priory, as you know.” “I remember how chaotic that time was,” said Gregory. “Nobody knew where to go or what to do for the best.” Philip nodded eagerly. “Exactly so!” he said. “Those of us who were left behind—” he caught Jervis’s gaze on him and flushed angrily “—those of us who remained were left without guidance or leadership, while our masters and their chosen favourites took themselves to safety as fast as possible!” He sat back and folded his arms across his chest, glaring defiantly at Jervis. Gregory cleared his throat. “Yet here you are, Philip, as safe as any of us,” he said as gently as possible.

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Philip looked away, then nodded reluctantly. “I suppose so,” he said, grudgingly. He took a deep breath and made a visible effort to relax. “I’m sorry, Jervis,” he said, awkwardly. Jervis stood and slapped him on the shoulder, affectionately. “We must try to put the past behind us, old friend!” he said. “It was not easy to ride away from Lewes, knowing that my friends were still there. But de Warenne would brook no arguments and his fears for his family were uppermost in his mind. You know him better than to blame him for whatever befell you, Philip!” He looked hard at the young man. “You’ve never told me the whole story of those months when we were on different sides of the Channel, have you?” he said. “Perhaps you would feel better if you did.” Philip shrugged. “Perhaps I will, one day,” he said. “Not today, though—today I want to enjoy being in London!” He stood up. “Have you any errands or messages for me, Gregory?” he asked. “If I am going to wander through the streets, I may as well have some reason, if only to give some direction to my walk!” Gregory shook his head, with a smile. “My thanks, Philip, but no—I have nothing for you to do,” he said. Philip turned to Jervis. “Are you coming, Jervis?” he said. “Not this time, Philip,” said Jervis. “I feel too lazy to do anything much this morning. Perhaps, if Gregory would not mind, I could have some parchment for a letter…” “For the fair Madeleine, I expect?” said Philip, winking at Gregory. “Ah!” said Jervis. “Perhaps—perhaps not!” “It’s for Madeleine!” said Philip, grinning. He waved a hand to the other two men as he left the room. Gregory sat with his ear cocked, saying nothing, and hushing Jervis with a raised hand when he started to speak. They sat listening as Philip called noisy greetings to Hubert, who responded cheerily. Philip started whistling, the sound fading until it was cut off entirely as he banged the door to the street behind him. Gregory let a full minute pass before he spoke. “Well done, Jervis!” he said. Jervis grinned. “I thought it would be harder than that,” he confessed. “But it’s true—I do wish to write to Madeleine!” “So you shall,” said Gregory. “As soon as we have had our talk.” He gestured to Jervis to sit down again and the young man did so. Gregory leant towards him and lowered his voice. “You may already have some idea that I am more than just a merchant of London,” he began. Jervis nodded, but looked mystified. “I know that you are also a supplier of wine to the King and perhaps something more…” he said, tentatively. “ I know also that you are a firm friend of Aaron and 71

Judith—indeed, of their family. I have often wondered how you came to be so close to a Jewish family?” “Ah,” said Gregory. “As I thought, Jervis, you have a quick mind! Aaron and his parents I have known many a year. Judith I met only last year, when de Montfort began his ill-fated plan. But I always knew what she was about. This house, you see, belongs to the priory in Lewes. I knew that Prior Foville had recruited someone to work for the King and his cause, but not that it was a woman. Foville himself told me that there was someone with whom he regularly had contact. It did not occur to me that he would even contemplate dealing with a woman—but Judith’s rage at the treatment of her family at the hands of de Montfort’s followers was sufficient reason for her to be trustworthy for the King’s business!” “I see that now,” said Jervis. “But what had it to do with you in the first place?” Gregory smiled. “My activities as a merchant gives me reason enough to travel all through the country and abroad, for example to Gascony or Normandy, should it be necessary,” he said. “Nobody finds it strange that I should be seen at all the ports and at the fairs that are held throughout the year, or to see me meeting and talking with many different people.” He paused and looked hard at Jervis. “D’you see how such a man could be of use to a cause in which he believes?” Jervis looked at him, his mouth slightly open and his eyes sparkling. “So—you really are a spymaster, Gregory?” he said, his voice cracking with excitement. “Indeed, Jervis!” said Gregory, soberly. “That is exactly what I am—and this house is a safe place for those who need shelter because they have helped us.” He sat back, his face very serious. “So,” he said. “Do you see why we must be careful and suspect everyone, until we have reason to be satisfied that they are no danger to us?” Jervis nodded, deep in thought. “And you think that Philip is not to be trusted?” he said, slowly. “It would seem so,” said Gregory. “Philip is not always where he is expected to be— and where has he really gone now?” “Whom would he know here, do you suppose?” said Jervis. “De Montfort and his men held the Tower, but surely none are left now?” “None from his known supporters,” agreed Gregory. “But much of London thought itself allied to his cause, if just to spite the King. We are a proud and independent city and our freedoms are precious to us!” “And there are those who still wish to rid the country of King Henry, despite there being no one to put in his place now that de Montfort is dead?” asked Jervis. Gregory nodded. “Earl Simon and one of his sons may be dead,” he said. “And the Lady Eleanor and others of her family exiled. But we know that there are bands of his followers, now outlawed, but roaming the countryside. They will have their supporters, never doubt it— and some of them will be here in London!” *** 72

Philip walked along cheerfully, lips pursed, whistling soundlessly. He was pleased with the way in which he had managed to get out of the house alone. He was fond of Jervis, he thought, but what a ninny he was, sometimes! Despite having played the same game himself, he had never noticed that he, Philip, was also pretending to support one side but really supporting the other. He broke off whistling to grin widely and throw out his chest. A man who could fool others so easily had a right to feel proud, he decided. He walked casually along Great Swan Alley and turned into the Guildhall Yard. Crossing it, he went down Gresham Street and crossed the Chepe, weaving between the stallholders and their eager customers. As usual, the market was in full swing and the noise followed him as he walked down Dowgate Hill. He swung to his left slightly and crossed London Bridge—a feat of weaving and ducking through even more crowds than in the Chepe. The buildings, which lined most of the bridge, left some space in the centre, down which jostled horses and walkers as best they might. A cart occasionally fought its way across, the driver shouting for people to make way. A barrage of abuse followed the progress of every cart, as everyone else was pressed even closer together to make way. Philip dodged along, making his way round slower walkers and once narrowly missing a pile of dung. A horse snorted and kicked nervously when he got too close and, lurching back from the flailing hoof, he stepped on to someone’s foot, which earned him a mouthful of oaths and a shove between the shoulders. At last, stepping smartly to one side as two riders came trotting towards him, he was over the bridge and into Southwark. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to his left, walking along by the river. The water was swirling as the tide turned and he paused, fascinated by the way the water was forced to turn, so that the current flowed back towards the sea. A sluttish woman glided towards him immediately. “Like some fun, young sir?” she said hoarsely, as he passed. She was dressed in a grubby gown and her face was pockmarked. Philip recoiled and shook his head, dodging round her to continue on his way. “A pox on you, then!” came echoing after him, to the amusement of a band of seamen on the other side of the street. “It would be if I went with you,” thought Philip, smiling grimly to himself. He made his way through a maze of streets and alleys until he could see the Tower rearing up on the other side of the river. Just on his right, set in the middle of an anonymous stone wall, there was a door with a small, barred opening set at head height. He knocked sharply on it three times, paused and knocked once again. At once, an eye appeared on the other side of the bars, squinted at him and vanished. He heard grunting and the sound of well oiled bolts being pushed back, then the door swung open soundlessly. On the other side stood a man he had not seen for months and hardly expected ever to see again. “Monchesny!” he said, warmly and stepped through into the garden behind the door. William de Monchesny stepped forward with a smile and grasped the young man by both shoulders. “Well, young Philip!” he said. “We have both survived these unhappy months!” A man emerged from the shadows behind Monchesny and Philip stepped back, his hand moving quickly to the dagger in his belt. 73

Monchesny laughed, hands on hips, then turned and beckoned to the man who stood behind him. “Step forward, Master Albyn!” he said. Then, turning back to Philip, he said. “You must not kill our host, Philip!” Philip let his hand drop from his knife and hesitated. Then he bowed stiffly. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “I acted without thinking, seeing only an unknown face emerging suddenly behind my friend.” John Albyn smiled and shrugged. “I cannot blame you for your actions,” he said. “As William says, we have all survived a dangerous time. Many of us have done so by our own quick actions. I can see that you are one such. But you are among those who share your opinions and your loyalties.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “John Albyn, fishmonger and citizen of London,” he said. “—and owner of this fine house, I gather!” said Philip. “I am delighted to meet you sir: I have spent some time among those whom I consider to be sadly misled in their thinking and it is a great relief to meet someone who knows the right path.” The man who stood before him was short and stocky, with bowed legs and a massive chest. His face, bearded and seamed with lines, was cheerful and a pair of deep brown eyes gazed up at him. His clothes were of good quality, russet and brown wool with a white tunic underneath. Albyn’s handshake was so firm that Philip winced and he gripped the other’s hand with all his strength in return. The cheerful face split into a wide grin. “You’ll do!” he said. Monchesny laughed out loud at the puzzled expression on Philip’s face. “Master Albyn enjoys testing the grip of every man he meets,” he explained. “He fancies it gives him a clue as to the newcomer’s character!” Albyn nodded. “So it does, so it does!” he protested. “This young man squeezed back as hard as he could—this shows he is brave and ready to defend himself.” “What would a weakling do, then, Master Albyn?” said Philip, curiously. “Why, he would try to withdraw his hand, to save himself from possible injury!” said Albyn. “And, if he were a spineless or devious fellow, he would offer me a hand that felt like a limp lettuce leaf to shake, which would slide away out of my grip.” He put both hands behind his back and nodded again at the other two men. Monchesny, still highly amused by John Albyn’s manner of assessing character, beckoned to both men and began walking along one of the narrow paths dividing the garden toward the house. “We had better go inside to talk,” he said, over his shoulder. “Walls have ears, as we know, and garden walls may have who knows what on the other side! The others are already here and waiting for us.” The three men entered the house through a heavy wooden door set under an ancient arch. Once inside, they were in a large hall, with a stone staircase leading to an upper level. There were tapestries on the walls and some beautifully carved chairs set at the far end on a small dais. Philip’s eyebrows rose as he looked about. 74

“Not what you expected, eh?” said Albyn, proudly. “Well—no,” admitted Philip. “Master Albyn has flourished in recent times, have you not, John?” said Monchesny. “He has bought this house from none other than the Prior of Lewes!” “From William Foville?” said Philip. “Well, there’s an irony!” “Ah, yes—Philip knows Lewes well!” said Monchesny, a smile twitching one corner of his mouth. “Mph!” said Philip, tersely. “That is where My Lord de Warenne has a seat with a fine castle. And it is where I was left behind to make the best of things after de Montfort defeated King Henry!” There was a pause. “And would that be where you changed your mind and your loyalties?” asked John Albyn, delicately. “It is where I saw who had the better plan for the good of all men, not just for himself!” returned Philip, bitterly. “And who was the stronger, perhaps?” said Albyn. Philip felt as if his mind were being probed—very gently, but very keenly. It would be foolish to try to deceive this man, he thought suddenly. “De Montfort was indeed the victor at Lewes,” he agreed. “But that was not the sole reason for my decision—obviously, or I would have changed back again after Evesham.” “So—what else was in your mind, young man?” said Albyn. The deep brown eyes were now fixed on Philip’s face and the cheerful countenance was suddenly hard. “I realised that the King thought only of himself and his right to rule as he chose,” said Philip. “But de Montfort thought that no one man should have such power and that there should be rule by consensus. That others should have the right to have their opinions consulted also before making a decision. It seemed fairer that way. I do not believe that just one man has the sole right to rule a country, simply by accident of birth.” Albyn studied him for a while longer and Philip held his gaze, though the colour rose in his cheeks. Finally, the older man turned to Monchesny. “Let us hope there are many more like this one, William,” he said. “We shall surely achieve our aim if so—and in short order, too! Now, let us have the others join us!” He clapped his hands smartly and a boy’s face appeared through the doorway on the right of the dais. Albyn nodded to him and the boy turned and said something over his shoulder, then stood to one side. Two men squeezed past him and into the hall. One was a thin, white haired man, who looked as though he had been very ill recently, while behind him came a dark man with a discontented expression. As they came nearer, Philip saw the dark man was holding the yellow bonnet, which marked him out as a Jew. Albyn saw his expression and smiled grimly. “I present to you Gilbert le Armourer, Philip,” he said, indicating the white-haired man. “And our other friend here is Joseph, who has brought us much useful information during the past months.” Philip nodded uncertainly at both men. He was amazed to see a Jew helping their cause. The King offered all Jews protection and, despite his constant taking of money 75

from them, they had remained loyal—or so Philip had always understood. He wondered what Aaron and Judith would make of this man. Joseph was beginning to look uncomfortable under Philip’s stare. He glared back at the young man defiantly. “Never been in the same room as a Jew before?” he said truculently. “Of course I have,” said Philip. “But I thought you were all supporters of the King’s cause!” “Why should we be?” said Joseph. “Because you have his protection, surely?” said Philip. “Has not de Montfort been responsible for the deaths of many of your people?” The others, who had been watching Philip’s reactions with interest and some amusement, all chuckled. “Protection, perhaps!” said Joseph, bitterly. “But the King has bled us dry. Yes, de Montfort and his followers have the blood of my people on his hands, but the King will go on and on making his demands until no Jew has a penny left. Why should I not support those who would bring about his downfall once and for all?” Philip shrugged, his disbelief plain. Albyn led the way to the dais, where they pulled the chairs that stood there closer together and sat down. He beckoned and the other four bent their heads nearer to his. He placed his finger on his lips and then said in a low voice: “We must be careful what we say, even here in my house. So we shall speak softly, just in case we are overheard.” The others nodded their understanding and Albyn continued. “Although we have lost many of those who shared our ideas, including our beloved Simon de Montfort, we shall continue with the fight to bring fairer rule to this land,” he began. “Those we have lost must be replaced as far as we are able—especially by those who are not under suspicion.” Monchesny turned to Philip. “You are one of those whom we would charge with higher responsibility than you have had so far,” he said. “We believe we can trust you to keep a secret, Philip—even from those of whom you are most fond. Do you think you can do so?” “I can, Sir William!” said Philip. “Ask what you will of me and I shall do my best to carry out your command!” Monchesny smiled slightly at the young man’s eagerness, but his face grew serious again. “You are a young man, Philip,” he said. “And we know how much young men like to enjoy themselves with their friends. Will you be discreet even when you are full of wine and food, among your friends and fooling as all young men do? Or will your tongue loosen and you will boast about the secrets that you hold?” Philip’s quick temper was aroused and he opened his mouth to retort, but Monchesny laid his hand on his shoulder. “I ask if you might, Philip,” he said, gently. “I do not say that you will.” Philip’s face changed and he sat back again, with a rueful smile. “As you see, Sir William,” he said. “My temper is quick, and sometimes I say things that I regret—but those things do not include secrets to which I am privy.” 76

“Good,” said Albyn. “Let us to business!”

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CHAPTER TEN The King dismounted and stood gazing at the Thames with satisfaction. “Westminster at last!” he said, fists on hips and legs astride. This was what he had longed for, he thought, the time when he came back to his palace just upriver from London, to show all those who had ever doubted, that their king was ruler again. No matter what those wretches had tried to do, his divine right had not been shattered. God was truly on his side—this arrival in Westminster was the final proof. After all that had happened over the past few years, he, Henry Plantagenet, had prevailed. His son, Edmund, strode forward. “Westminster Palace again, Father!” he said. “Is it not wonderful to see it?” “Indeed it is, my son,” said Henry. “Those who would defy us in the future should think back and remember today—the day their King came back to London.” “Will you show yourself to the Londoners again, Sire?” said Edmund, clearly relishing the prospect. “Not immediately, Edmund,” said Henry. “Let us wait until your mother is with us also, then we can process in a right royal manner through the City to the Tower. Let us show London that the King is once again in charge, his divine right to rule now strengthened by the obvious help he has received from God!” “As you wish, Father,” said Edmund, trying not to show his disappointment at the thought of waiting. Another idea struck him and he brightened. “But at least we can feast well tonight?” he said, hopefully. Henry laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, we can feast as much as you like!” he said. “If you cannot parade in front of a crowd, what better than to fill your belly with the best food and drink in the land? We shall have lampreys and swans and whatever else you desire. Let us summon the steward and give him his orders.” He swung round and beckoned to Edmund to follow him. The horses had already been taken to their stables by two of the servants milling round behind them. They parted like the Red Sea as Henry and Edmund walked, bowing as they passed, then straightening and continuing with their tasks. The King made his way across the great hall of the palace and into his private apartments, where his valet helped him off with his riding cloak and boots. Edmund hovered unsure whether he should stay or not. As Henry settled himself with a sigh on one of the padded chairs, he caught his son’s expression. “You no doubt have your own plans for now, my son,” he said. “Let us meet again at table.” Edmund’s relief was obvious. He bowed politely and left the chamber, smiling as soon as his back was turned. He loved his father, but having to be wherever he was until dismissed was sometimes wearying in the extreme, he thought to himself. A few hours away from the courtesies required when in his presence were more than welcome. His father never forgot that he was King and never allowed anyone else to forget it either, not even his sons. Only Eleanor could talk to him easily and without all the bowing and

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scraping, as Edmund thought of it. He puffed out his cheeks and heaved a great sigh as he entered his own part of the palace. His manservant was waiting to take his heavy cloak. “Have some wine and food brought to me here,” he said to the man. “We have a while to go before the feast and my appetite cannot wait so long!” The man bowed and withdrew and Edmund was alone at last with his thoughts. He rose and walked over to the window that had been set in the wall overlooking the river. Thanks to his father’s fascination with new building materials, the window had glass as well as shutters. The glass tended to obscure the view, so he pushed open the small hinged part in the centre and gazed out across the water. As usual, small boats went to and fro, rowed by sturdy oarsmen. Some of them were ferrying people from riverbank to riverbank; some were bringing goods and stores up to the palace. The endless flow of building stone for the abbey was still going on. This was Henry’s pride and joy, Edmund knew, but it was also the reason why there was never enough money for other things in the royal chests. His father’s obsession with Edward the Confessor, the Anglo-Saxon king who had led the saintly life, which had earned him his name, was behind Henry’s wish to augment the abbey. It had already stood for well over a hundred years, but it was Henry’s idea to make it such a splendid and beautiful building, in honour of the saint. He squinted along to his left, where a wooden jetty poked out into the river. One of the boats laden with stone was having its cargo removed and taken up to the abbey. He watched idly as swarms of men heaved and pushed at the blocks and a rough pulley of stout rope suspended from a wooden frame was secured round a particularly large stone. There was a shout of warning and everyone on board stepped back as the stone was swung out over the side. On the riverbank, men ran forward to catch it and bring it safely to ground level. It was lowered on to an ox-cart, one of a line that were constantly going to and fro between the jetty and the abbey. Straw was stuffed around it to keep it steady. Satisfied that it was safe, the overseer raised his arm and the man in charge of the oxen gave the nearest one a slap on its haunch. Edmund could see the great flanks of the beasts heaving as they strained to start off, then the cart suddenly jerked forward and they were off along the bank and the rutted track, which had been worn into the ground. There was a knock on the door and Edmund swung away from the window. “Enter!” he bellowed, and his man appeared, accompanied by a serving-girl. She carried a silver plate full of meat, with some apples beside it. His man held a pitcher and a silver beaker. Edmund gestured to the table and the girl placed the plate on it, then turned and curtsied to him, before scuttling out of the room. His man, with a grin at Edmund, poured the wine and stood back. “What’s amusing you?” he said, picking up a chunk of meat and taking a bite out of it. “That young maid was terrified of coming here, sir!” said his man. “She was convinced you wanted more than food and drink!” Edmund grinned back. “Not after a journey such as we’ve just suffered,” he said. “Even I don’t have the energy for anything more than eating and drinking.” He leant forward and eyed his man suspiciously. “What did you tell her?” he said. 79

The man looked at him innocently. “That she would not interest you, My Lord!” he said. “At least—not today!” “Ha!” said his master and applied himself seriously to his food. The man bowed and left the chamber silently. Outside, the serving-girl stood waiting. “You see?” said the man. “He probably won’t even recognize you next time he sees you. What was there to be afraid of?” He put his arm round her waist and gave her a squeeze and she giggled. “Come on, my girl!” he said. “I’ve got my own plans for us!” Keeping his arm round her, he urged her forward and they hurried along the stone passage and down the spiral staircase inside the tower at the end. At the bottom of the steps they crossed the courtyard and into the stable yard behind it. An empty stall with plenty of fresh straw beckoned and they went into it, closing the wooden half door behind them. *** London was agog with an angry excitement and the people who had crowded between the buildings lining London Bridge sounded like a great flock of starlings from this far away downriver. It was not a welcoming noise and Queen Eleanor, sitting under the fringed canopy in one of the great royal barges, heard the sound and shivered despite herself. She was under no illusions about the crowd’s welcome. She was the King’s wife and coming into what had been one of de Montfort’s strongholds. “They hate me!” she murmured to the man sitting beside her. He shrugged. “They hate all of us!” he said. “This City hates us—but they will have to accept us in the end.” Eleanor stared at him. “Do you truly believe the whole City hates us?” she said. “And yet you come here with me as if on a triumphal entrance?” He smiled. “We are on a triumphal entrance,” he said. “King Henry is back in power, as he should be. Now you must show that you have come home again. As for the whole City— no, there are some who were for you always and they will still be your loyal supporters. And, of course, there are those who did not care much either way, as long as they were able to continue with their activities unharmed and undeterred.” “But you have come from His Holiness, the Pope,” said Eleanor. “Do you feel that you are part of this? Or are you simply noting what happens and already planning what to do?” Cardinal Ottobuono Fieschi, Papal Legate, glanced at her and nodded. “You are shrewd, Madam,” he said. “As you have already decided, I am here, not simply for my own satisfaction, but to take note of the mood of these Londoners. It will take more than a journey upriver in His Majesty your husband’s finest barges—but, as this is the way I must enter the City, I intend to enjoy it as much as I can!” He stretched out his legs in front of him and leant back, folding his hands across his ample stomach, so that his ring glinted in the sunshine. His capacious cloak fell around

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him in soft folds, the fine wool from which it was made moulding itself to his change of position. Eleanor looked at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed inwardly. Was this man going to be a help or a hindrance, she wondered. He certainly had a good opinion of himself, that much she had learned during their journey from France and now, as they processed up the Thames, all she wanted was to be rid of him. She longed to be with Henry again, to bask in his love for her and to put all the events of the past months behind her. The last few weeks had been a confusing mixture of fear and hope, frustration and progress. The recent journey across the Channel, delayed for so long by adverse weather, had been uncomfortable, but mercifully short. Seeing the towering white cliffs coming ever nearer had been compensation for the roughness of the crossing. Then to cap it all, to learn that Eleanor de Montfort had been sent across the Channel in the opposite direction at almost the same time had been sweet indeed! Despite the hurly-burly all around, a smile tugged at her lips. The cardinal saw her expression change and gave her an approving nod. “Straight and proud, Madam, straight and proud!” he said. “Let them all see you smile!” He was right, thought Eleanor, even though he had misunderstood the reason for her smile. She straightened her shoulders and inclined her head to the crowds, ignoring their jeers and the fists being shaken at her. Rotten vegetables and eggs rained down on the barge as it was rowed under the central arch and out the other side. An egg broke on the cardinal’s red skullcap and the foul-smelling contents trickled down his face. He sat, expressionless and unmoving, as slimy cabbages and carrots hit his robes and slid down the folds into the bottom of the barge. Eleanor could not help feeling a grudging admiration for the way he bore it without flinching. When a carrot bounced off the side of the bench on which she was seated she flinched in spite of herself and heard a shout of evil glee from above. The barge captain shouted at the rowers to pull harder and, sweating, they bent to the task, as eager to escape the putrid shower as their passengers. The barge surged away from the bridge, free of the swirling waters, and shot upriver to safety. Only then did the cardinal take a kerchief from his capacious sleeve and offer it to Eleanor, but she shook her head. “I fear you took most of the onslaught,” she said with real sincerity. “Pray, use it yourself.” He lost no time in doing so, rubbing his face vigorously and grimacing at the smell. Then, unexpectedly, he gave her a broad smile. “At least we know exactly how they feel!” he remarked. “But, if that is the worst they do, we shall escape with nothing more than a need for clean water and fresh clothing.” She could not help smiling in return, then, as the sheer farce of the whole situation struck them both, they started laughing. In the stern behind them, the barge captain listened in amazement and shook his head. He gestured to the drummer just below him to keep the rhythm steady and the rowers bent to their task with long, steady sweeps of the oars. The magnificent barge, pennants waving and the rich silk and velvet of the coverings glistening in the sun, moved majestically upriver. 81

“Look!” said Eleanor, her voice soft with pride and delight. Ahead of them, the Palace of Westminster lay along the right bank. Behind it, the gleaming twin turrets of the abbey’s west front rose above it into the sky. The cardinal nodded. “It is indeed a fine sight, madam,” he said. Eleanor said no more, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion. She was longing to see Henry again after all these months of separation. Was he fit and well again, she wondered? The reports she had received had assured her that his wound was healed and that he had been treated well by de Montfort’s followers when they had held him captive—but she would not believe what she had been told until she had seen him for herself. Soon, she told herself, soon they would be together again. She leant back against the cushions behind her and tried to look composed. The cardinal looked at her from the corner of his eye. She looked calm enough, it was true, yet her breast rose and fell rapidly as she strove for a more dignified appearance. He smiled to himself and clasped his hands loosely in his lap, as the barge captain shouted to the oarsmen to stop rowing. Obediently, the oars were lifted from the water and held there, dripping, as the tiller was eased over and the great barge turned slowly towards the bank. “Pull!” shouted the captain and the oars dipped and thrust through the water one last time. The boat rocked slightly, turned half back again and came alongside the jetty. “Hold!” came the command and the oars were kept steady beneath the surface of the water, slowing the barge until it bumped gently against the wooden staves and the ropes which would hold it steady were thrown from the barge and wrapped round the stout uprights. The barge captain jumped ashore and started barking orders at those who stood waiting to push the gangplank across the gap between boat and jetty. The cardinal rose and held out his arm to Eleanor. She stood up gracefully and placed her fingers on the proffered forearm. Together they walked across the gangplank and, in moments, they were both safely on the jetty and walking towards the palace. The cardinal looked straight ahead as he advanced, ignoring the bowing barge captain and the shoremen who doffed their caps and bowed as they passed, but Eleanor , conscious of her position as their queen, smiled graciously and inclined her head from side to side. A shout from the palace made her look ahead—and there was Henry, striding towards her, his arms held out in welcome. Eleanor took her hand from Fieschi’s arm and went to meet him, her hands held out to meet his and clasp them firmly. “My dear lady!” he said, with a tender smile. “How I have longed for this moment!” “My Lord and King,” she replied formally, curtseying low. Then, as she straightened, she beamed back at him, her love shining from her eyes. “I am so pleased to be back, Sire!” she said in a low voice. “I have missed you greatly.” Henry let go of one hand and drew her to stand beside him. Then he faced the growing crowd of courtiers. “As you see, my Queen and yours is safely returned to England and our court!” he said in a loud voice. “We shall have much feasting and dancing this evening, to celebrate her homecoming!”

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Most of the familiar faces turned to her smiled with pleasure, as the assembled throng bowed and curtseyed. Eleanor inclined her head and smiled graciously back at them, apparently oblivious of anything other than the welcome she was expecting. Those who thought she was so unaware were mistaken: behind the smiling faces and among those who thought themselves unobserved, very different emotions were being displayed. Not everyone there was pleased to see her and she took note of those who were not, planning to ask Henry about the different factions who now battled for his attention and support. The court was always a hotbed of intrigue and gossip as now one group, now another, sought to persuade the King that they knew what was best for him. Luckily, Henry was shrewd enough to be able to make up his own mind and his instincts were usually right. The King had turned to Fieschi, who had been waiting patiently behind Eleanor. “My Lord Cardinal,” he said. “I thank you for accompanying my wife on her journey. You are most welcome in our home and we shall have much to discuss. But not tonight, My Lord—tonight is for celebrations! I trust you will favour us with your presence?” The cardinal’s heavy features lit up with pleasure at the prospect of a feast. “I am honoured, Your Majesty,” he said, bending his great bulk into some semblance of a bow. Henry nodded his acknowledgement of the cardinal’s courtesy. “I shall have you conducted to your rooms for now and then someone will come for you in time for the festivities,” he said. “You will no doubt wish to rest after your journey.” “I should be grateful, Sire,” said the cardinal, the sincerity of that emotion obvious. He bowed again, as best he could, then retreated backwards from the couple, almost bumping into the man who had stepped forward to conduct him away. There was an illconcealed laugh from somewhere, quickly hushed, which the cardinal chose to ignore. Instead, he turned to the monk who stood humbly to one side. “If you will follow me, My Lord,” said the monk, blushing, and with both hands thrust deep into the sleeves of his habit. “We have prepared lodgings for you within the abbot’s house.” “You are very kind,” murmured Fieschi, politely. He turned and bowed again towards the King and Queen and hurried off after the monk, who had set off at a brisk trot. Then, arm in arm and with their faces wreathed in smiles, the King and Queen walked towards the Palace of Westminster, with their court walking behind them. It was a stately procession, but this time watched only by the barge captain, the oarsmen and a few gawping idlers who had been gathering along the riverbank.

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PART THREE

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CHAPTER ELEVEN Time had done nothing to calm the anger of the followers of Simon de Montfort. Almost a year after the defeat at Evesham, bands of the Disinherited and their followers still roamed the country and those travelling about their lawful business were fearful for their safety and the safety of those they trusted to carry out business on their behalf. It was a hot July day and Hubert stood patiently in front of Gregory, listening yet again as he went over his instructions. “You will take great care to stay with others on the journey to Boston, Hubert?” said Gregory. Hubert nodded. “As we have always done, Master,” he said. “And you will ensure that the money I have given to you stays always on your person or in your sight?” continued Gregory. “Indeed, Master,” responded Hubert. “Just as I have seen you do yourself.” He tried not to fidget, aware that time was passing and he should be on his way as soon as possible. Gregory’s sharp eyes noticed the twitching fingers and rocking feet and laughed suddenly. “I am sorry, Hubert!” he said. “I know you will do everything you have been asked and I know I can trust you to go without me to Boston and see our creditors—but this is the first time I have not gone myself.” “I understand, Master Gregory,” said Hubert, soothingly. “But I have been with you many times before. I know the traders and merchants with whom you have dealings and they know me as your trusted man. Even the Hanse merchants will be happy to deal with me, since I will be there in your name. In any case, I have your ring with your seal upon it and your letter confirming that I am there on your behalf. What could go wrong?” “Probably nothing once you arrive safely in Boston,” agreed Gregory. “But the way there is not as safe as it was, despite the fact that some of the time you will be on the boat. We have all heard of the bands of outlaws who maraud and rob their way across the country. The fenlands are crawling with de Montfort’s erstwhile supporters, now disinherited and rootless. Even though you will land so close to Boston, I fear your capture, to say truth, more than anything!” “I shall do everything you advise me to stay safe on the way,” said Hubert. “And, besides, Philip will be with me, will he not? You know Philip well and he is a strong young man, well able to protect me as well as look after himself.” “Yes, true, but he has a hot head, too!” said Gregory. “You may find that you are the one who has to look to his safety. Try to keep him away from trouble—and from too much ale at night!” “I shall, Master,” said Hubert. “I shall impress upon him that he is responsible for my safety and that you will be most seriously displeased should he put me in danger.” “Hmph!” said Gregory. “He will listen to you and promise in all seriousness—but maybe he will forget if the situation arises. If Philip sees what he fancies is a maiden in distress, he will be off to her rescue whether she needs him to or no!”

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Hubert looked at him curiously. “May I ask a question?” he said. “Certainly you may,” said Gregory. “It seems that you are keen to get Philip away from here and that my journey to Boston Fair is an excuse as much as anything,” said Hubert. “Is there something that you do not wish him to know or to see?” Gregory nodded. “Yes, Hubert, there is,” he said, soberly. “We, that is Earl de Warenne and others with whom I have contact, are not sure how trustworthy young Philip may be. Jervis we know is loyal to both his lord and the King, but Philip—something is not right there. He seems to be a happy, open and honest young man, enjoying life, yet my bones tell me that all may not be as it seems.” “Because he was so much in awe of Roger de Tourney, who betrayed the King?” said Hubert. “Maybe, maybe…” murmured Gregory. There was a pause, then Gregory stood and held out his hand to Hubert. “You must go down to the Dowgate,” he said. “Or they will sail without you!” “And Philip will wonder where I am,” returned Hubert. “We must not arouse his suspicions, must we?” “Certainly not!” said Gregory. “Go with God, Hubert—I shall see you back here soon, with a good report of how well you have done!” Hubert bent his head, half nod, half bow to the master who seemed more like a respected and admired friend. He left the chamber and clattered down the stairs into the main hall of the house, where he had left his pack and a light cloak. He slung the latter round him and then picked up his pack by its strap and left the house. In Milk Street, it was shady enough to feel cool, but the heat of the day enveloped him as he crossed the Chepe. As always, the hot sun had made the street detritus smell worse than ever and Hubert tried to hold his breath as he walked past a particularly malodorous pile of dung. To walk from Milk Street, across the Chepe, and down the hill to the Dowgate took only a few minutes. The City was about its work, as usual, the unceasing round of making, buying, and selling which made it so rich a city was in full spate. Hubert, keeping his cloak firmly wrapped around him to hide the leather pouch containing coinage, looked around carefully as he walked. Apart from the need to watch where he stepped in order to avoid the filth in the streets, there as always the chance that someone had waited for him to appear and was following closely behind. He could usually sense if someone were following but the streets were so busy with stallholders and hawkers all shouting their wares, plus the sheer press of people thronging about him, that it was impossible to do more than hurry along and hope all would be well. As he neared the end of the steep slope of Dowgate Hill, he caught sight of Philip standing by the quay, looking as anxious as he, Hubert, was feeling. As though he could feel Hubert’s eyes upon him, Philip turned and looked straight at him. His worried expression vanished and he waved his hand in greeting. “Well met, Philip!” said Hubert, a smile on his face. The young man grinned widely. 86

“I thought I had missed you in the crowd,” he said. “Or that I was at the wrong place.” “No, no, all is well,” said Hubert. “Master Gregory’s ship should be already here. All we have to do is to spot it and make our way on board.” The quay had several different craft bobbing at anchor, or tied to rings in the stone wall, which rose out of the Thames. Hubert searched among them, until he saw one of the larger cobs, laden with wine tuns, tied up just along the quay. “That’s our one!” he said to Philip, pointing at it. Philip looked at it and a shadow passed across his face. “What’s wrong?” said Hubert. “What were you expecting to see?” “Exactly what I do see!” said Philip, mournfully. “A boat on which I shall have to stay until we reach King’s Lynn. By which time I shall probably have lost all dignity. I am no seaman, Hubert!” He looked so doleful that Hubert felt really sorry for him. He was only a fair traveller on the water himself and it was not the method of travel he would have chosen for comfort. However, it was the quickest route and probably the safest too. “I do not have the stomach for travelling by sea myself,” he said. “But it will be quick and, if we are lucky, not too rough!” He squinted up at the burning blue of the sky. “If it stays as hot and still as this, we shall take a long time to reach our destination,” he said. Philip shrugged resignedly. Together they made their way up the quay to the cog and hailed it. Almost immediately, Captain Bonami’s face appeared and he beamed down at them. “Ah!” he said. “My two travellers from Master Rokesley—come aboard and be welcomed!” They both made their way up the gangplank, which lay bridging the gap between deck and quayside. It was not a steep slope and they both made it without mishap. One look at their expressions told the captain that he had two unhappy men on board and he grinned at them. “Landsmen both, I see!” he said cheerfully. “We’ll soon make you feel more relaxed— come into my cabin and have some of the good wine Master Gregory allows me!” He turned to lead the way astern. Philip and Hubert trailed along behind him, trying to look as if they did this often, but first Philip stumbled over a rope, then Hubert lurched and almost lost his balance as the cog swung slightly and bumped back against the quay. He grabbed hold of the side and stood still. Captain Bonami looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see both men had stopped. “What’s the matter?” he said, puzzled. “Surely you don’t feel seasick already—we’re still tied up!” “But it moved without warning!” protested Hubert, still hanging on. “Did it?” Captain Bonami’s sea legs were clearly so well established that he had been completely unaware of any movement. “You’ll soon get used to it!” he assured them. “Just follow me, before any of my men see you standing there like two green boys.” 87

His words had the intended effect. Straightening their shoulders, Philip and Hubert strode forward and followed him long the length of the boat without further mishap. Luckily, whatever had caused it to lurch and bang had stopped and it lay as steady as solid land. Inside the cabin he occupied, which stretched across the width of the boat, Captain Bonami indicated two chairs for them to sit on. He flung himself onto a long, padded seat with cushions piled up at one end. Hubert and Philip looked around with interest. This was not at all what they expected to see on a boat! It was positively dripping with luxury— the chairs on which they sat were padded and covered in fine silk and more silk covered the bench on which the captain reclined. The walls had patterns painted on the wood in gilded and coloured paints, showing a hunting scene with men clad in strange clothes on fine horses, chasing a deer of a kind they had never seen in England. The captain watched them and smiled with pleasure at their amazement. “Not the rough mariner’s quarters you expected, then?” he said, at last, laughing. The two before him shook their heads, still speechless. “Let us speak of the journey you are making with me,” he continued, sitting more upright. Hubert dragged his gaze away from the walls. “Yes, indeed!” he said. “How long will we be on board this fine vessel?” “It depends on the winds and their direction,” said Bonami. “If they are blowing us up the coast, we can reach our destination in a very short time—just one week—two at the most. If they blow against us…” He shrugged and spread out his hands. Hubert did not reply, but he hoped with all his heart and mind that the winds would blow in their favour. He was sure that their own quarters would be nowhere near as grand as the captain’s and experiencing seasickness in cramped confinement with Philip, who would no doubt be suffering similarly, was not a pleasant thought. “Leave anything you wish here in my private space,” continued the captain. “No one will dare to touch it.” “I have nothing to leave,” said Philip. “All I have are my cloak and my arms—which I am sure you would not expect me to leave anywhere!” He swept back the front of his cloak and revealed a belt with a short sword tucked in one side and a dagger with a finely wrought handle in the other. Hubert studied the weapons with interest. “You are very well armed, my young friend,” said Bonami. “Am I not here to protect Hubert, as Master Rokesley requested?” responded Philip, standing up very straight and looking hard at the captain. “Hubert needs no protection from me!” snapped Bonami. “No, no,” soothed Hubert. “Philip does not realize how long my master and you have known each other, Captain. He has indeed been entrusted with my safety—but after we leave you and are travelling round the countryside.” He frowned at Philip. “Master Gregory and the captain have known each other for more than ten years, Philip,” he said. “Do not offend him, I beg you. We are safer here on this boat than anywhere on land!” 88

Philip had the grace to look embarrassed, his young face turning pink as he realized his faux pas. “My apologies, Captain Bonami,” he said with an effort. “No matter, young man!” said Bonami. “Gregory has clearly chosen someone of valour and your apology is accepted.” There was a knock on the door and a sailor appeared with a tray carrying three beakers and a jug of wine. He placed it on the table in the centre of the cabin and withdrew at a nod from Bonami. “Come,” said the captain. “Let us drink to a safe journey and fair weather!” He poured the wine into the three beakers and handed them round. “A safe journey and fair weather!” echoed Philip and Hubert, raising their cups to each other and the captain. There was a shouted order from outside and a fainter reply in answer. Two splashes and a rush of bare feet along the deck followed by the sound of the sail being hoisted made Hubert and Philip look at the Captain. In answer to their unspoken question, the boat lurched and began to move. “We’re away, then?” said Philip, nervously. “Indeed we are!” said Bonami, with a broad grin. “If you stand outside my door, you can see a view of the Thames which you have likely never seen before.” They went out and looked about them. Moving slowly downriver, they could see the jetties, quays and warehouses which lined the left bank. Looking over his shoulder, Hubert could see the massive bulk of London Bridge behind them, with the buildings on it looming above the river. In contrast to the busy scene on their left, the right bank lay empty and the marshy land had the usual faint dampness of wintertime hanging over it as a wispy mist. All around them were other boats, some as large as the one on which they travelled, but most of them much smaller. Their own craft sailed steadily on, with no more than a gentle sway in the light wind that had sprung up, which only just filled the huge single sail. Majestically it ploughed through the water, the smaller craft getting hurriedly out of its way, as it made its way down the widening river towards the open sea. As the estuary became the ocean itself, the swaying motion on board increased. The ship swung to the left and began to make wide tacks, back and forth, to make headway against the stronger gusts that met them once they were out of the shelter of the land. The boat began to dip and rock alarmingly, or so it seemed to Hubert and Philip, although the crew seemed unconcerned. There was a sudden lurch as a bigger wave slapped against the side. Philip, suddenly an interesting shade of green, clapped his hand over his mouth and ran for the side. Hanging on to the rail, he retched miserably. Hubert looked away, feeling his own stomach heave in sympathy. He swallowed hard, but it was no use. Another lurch from the boat sent him across to join Philip in his suffering. They stayed where they were for what seemed like ages, then the boat settled suddenly, as they slipped round the coast and out of the wind’s buffetings. Philip sighed with relief and sank down on to the deck. His face was wet with sweat and he passed his hand across his forehead. Hubert slumped down beside him, groaning. “You may not think so,” said Bonami’s voice above them. “But the worst is over for you. You will soon find your sea-legs now!” 89

He sounded sympathetic and Hubert glanced up at him. “It feels more as though I am near death, Captain!” he said, weakly. Bonami laughed. “I have seen many men in your predicament, Hubert!” he said. “Believe me, you will be sorry to leave us at the end of the voyage.” Hubert looked at him doubtfully and Philip shook his head. “I think not, sir,” he said. “Wait and see, wait and see!” said Bonami, cheerfully. “Meantime, stand up and look at the horizon. I will get something for you to eat!” “Eat?” said Philip and Hubert in shocked chorus. “Indeed,” said Bonami. “You must have something in your stomachs. Seasickness on an empty stomach is far worse than on a full one.” He nodded at them and left them. Slowly, feeling as though he had the worst fever that he had ever endured, Philip clambered to his feet, followed by Hubert. Together they stared across the water, taking great breaths of the salt-laden air. The colour began to come back into Philip’s face, Hubert noticed, and he was feeling stronger himself. Catching each other’s eye, they both half-smiled to cover their embarrassment. “Well,” said Hubert. “Yes,” said Philip. “The captain should know what he’s talking about!” said Hubert. “Perhaps we should take his advice and eat something.” At that moment, a member of the crew appeared before them. He had a tray on which sat some dry bread and some broth. “The captain says to eat as much as you can,” he said, offering them the tray. “Our thanks to Captain Bonami,” said Hubert. He looked at the tray doubtfully. “Perhaps you could set it down on the deck,” he said. The man nodded and bent down, hiding a smile as he did so. By the time he stood again, he had managed to compose his face. He gave a slight bow and went, but Hubert and Philip could hear him chuckling to himself as he went behind the mast. “Shall we try some of this?” said Hubert to Philip. They slid down the side again until they were sitting, legs outstretched in front of them, on either side of the tray. Gingerly, Philip broke off a piece of bread and dipped it into the broth, then put it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and carefully, then a surprised expression changed his face completely. “It’s very good!” he exclaimed. “Have some, Hubert—it’s really good!” Encouraged by his reaction, Hubert followed Philip’s example. It was indeed excellent—the bread fresh and the broth tasting wonderfully of chicken and herbs. The two of them sat, backs to the side of the boat, contentedly dipping and chewing. The sun came out and shone down on the boat, as it lay in the calm waters and suddenly all was well. Captain Bonami came some minutes later and squatted down beside them, elbows on knees and hands clasped together.

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“I see you are much recovered,” he said, gravely, but with an undeniable twinkle in his eye. “As you see, Captain!” said Hubert, cheerfully, waving the last mouthful of bread at him before swallowing it. Philip nodded in agreement, his mouth too full for speech. “Chicken soup is a well-known cure-all!” said Bonami. “You will feel easier now as we continue our journey.” “When will that be?” asked Philip, squinting against the sun. “Why, lad, we are about to move again,” said Bonami. “We stopped only for you to recover—usually, we would have just gone on our way. But you two are important passengers, as Master Gregory made very clear. We are to keep you in good health, or we must answer to him!” He stood up, laughed at them, and strode off to the stern of the ship. Hubert and Philip were left staring at his retreating form, then Hubert struggled to his feet and stood looking around as there was a shout and the great sail filled again. The wind had shifted in the time that they had sat at anchor and now it blew from behind. The sail filled, the ship settled slightly and then they were scudding along as though flying. There was hardly any motion at all, except a gentle rocking. Philip stood too and took a great lungful of the salty air. “This is better!” exclaimed Hubert. “It feels as if we are flying above the water instead of sailing on it!” “We shall be at Ipswich in no time,” agreed Philip. “But we are going to Boston, surely?” said Hubert. “I heard one of the crew say we stopped at Ipswich to unload some goods and take on fresh water,” said Philip. “We cannot sail all the way to Boston without stopping!” Hubert looked at him for a moment, then turned away. He had heard no mention of Ipswich himself, although he knew that they would indeed land there in a day or two. He had made the trip several times before, but how did Philip know, if he had never been on board ship? Perhaps Master Gregory had been right to be suspicious of the young man who stood beside him, thought Hubert. He would keep a careful watch on his movements from now on, he decided. As the sun began to go down, the cog made for an inlet again and the anchors were let down fore and aft. One of the crew appeared and told them that the captain had requested their company in his cabin for some food. Hubert was surprised to find that he was extremely hungry and, from the look on Philip’s face, that young man felt the same. They made their way aft and knocked on the door of Bonami’s quarters. A cheery hail from inside bid them enter. In the cabin, a table had been set with flagons of ale and a roast capon perfumed the air. Bonami sat in a splendid, throne-like carved chair at one end and beckoned them in to sit at smaller chairs on each of the long sides of the table. “So—you have found your appetites again?” he said. Hubert and Philip eyed the table and nodded, eagerly. “Then fall to!” said Bonami, encouragingly. “There is plenty for all of us. We stay here for the night, so relax and enjoy yourselves!” They did as they were bid and the succulent capon vanished in no time. The ale was excellent and the flagons were soon empty. The three men sat about the table chatting like old friends as they ate, until there was nothing but the remains of the trenchers from 91

which they had eaten and some apple cores and peach stones from the fruit which had been offered afterwards. Finally, Philip heaved a great sigh of satisfaction and wiped his greasy fingers on the trencher before dabbling them in the finger bowl in front of him. “And now,” said Bonami. “I expect you will wish to sleep. Your bedrolls are here— you will find it more comfortable to sleep outside on the deck. The air will be fresher and you can count the stars until your eyes close!” “Already?” said Philip in surprise. “Is it not still early for sleep?” “Perhaps, if you are staying in a castle and safe on the land,” said Bonami, grinning. “But we will be sailing again with the sunrise—you will not sleep with my men running back and forth and shouting instructions to each other!” Philip looked uncomfortable. “I had not realised…” he said. “Why should you?” said Hubert, quickly. “You have never travelled by boat before, you tell us!” Philip looked up and frowned. “Nor have I!” he said, tartly. “Do you doubt me, Hubert?” “Why should he?” said Bonami, soothingly. “He is simply saying that there is no reason why you should know the habits of those who sail the seas. Calm yourself, my young friend.” He looked at Philip, his face serene, but his eyes were hard. Philip gazed at him, then looked away. The message was plain—he was to behave himself while on the captain’s boat, or he might find himself in trouble. “My apologies, Hubert,” he said, stiffly. “I misunderstood.” “It doesn’t matter, Philip,” said Hubert. “We are both tired after our experiences earlier today. Come, let us take our bedding and find ourselves somewhere to sleep, as Captain Bonami suggests.” They went to where their bedrolls had been stowed away and picked them up. Together, they turned to Master Bonami and bowed politely. “We bid you good night then, Master Bonami!” said Hubert. “And a good rest to both of you, as well,” said the captain. He watched as they turned and left the cabin. Young Philip had the makings of a hotheaded young fool, he thought, combing his beard with the fingers of one hand. Gregory Rokesley was right when he said he would bear watching carefully. He was not the only one wondering just where Philip’s loyalties really lay.

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CHAPTER TWELVE Hubert and Philip walked briskly away from the riverside towards the centre of Boston. The fair was in full swing and the streets were crowded. The sun was hot even at this time of day and they could feel it beating down on their shoulders as they walked. Pushing their way through the throng, the two men worked their way along until they stepped out into the huge square in the city centre. Despite the crowds, its size was immediately apparent. The stalls that had been set up were numerous enough to form a small town on their own. Different crafts and trades had separate sections of the square set aside for them. They passed stalls piled high with fish, then a section where the reek of the fish was overtaken by the smell of fresh bread and rolls. A mouth-watering aroma of hot pies from the trays carried on the pie-sellers’ heads wafted past. The next section of the market was given over to the cordwainers, offering shoes and boots in all shapes and sizes. Then the stalls with leather and other cured hides lined their way. The stallholders all called their wares and showed off their goods in an effort to attract attention and the noise was tremendous. Everywhere people argued and bargained for the goods they wanted, the sweat trickling down their faces and the flies buzzing round to annoy them. Still, however hot it was and however weary they felt, the trading continued. This was one of the busiest times of the year for Boston—and it showed. As they reached the side of the square, where the wool and cloth merchants were making their trades, the atmosphere suddenly calmed down. Bales of wool spilled from their sacking wraps, some already dyed and some still in its natural colours of brown, black and white. Other merchants had rolls and lengths of cloth displayed. It ranged from hardwearing, felted cloth to the finest scarlet. Hubert stopped and looked about him. “Who are you looking for?” said Philip, curiously. “No one in particular at the moment,” said Hubert. “I like to see what’s being offered here. Master Gregory deals in woollen goods, as you know, as well as wines.” Philip grinned. “Your master seems happy to deal in anything that might come his way!” he said. Hubert shook his head. “No, indeed, Philip,” he said. “Master Gregory would never deal in anything which might have come here dishonestly.” “How can you tell?” said Philip. “If it’s for sale in this market square, who’s to know whence it has come?” “Most merchants are honest people and trade with those who are also honest,” said Hubert. “The misteries that have been set up see to that. People have to be able to trust each other if they are to prosper—a dishonest rogue is soon unmasked, as those who have tried it have found!” He pursed his lips and nodded at Philip. “Be sure that everyone I deal with while I am here will know that I am Master Gregory Rokesley’s man and therefore to be trusted as he would be trusted, were he here in person!”

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Philip looked at him consideringly, chewing his lip. “Is that so?” he said, thoughtfully. “Yes—it is!” answered Hubert firmly. His eye was caught by a thickset man in well-made clothes, who gave him a brief nod and beckoned him over. Hubert raised a hand in acknowledgement and turned to Philip. “There is one of the men I am to meet here,” he said. “Why don’t you go to the inn where we are to stay? It’s called the Mitre and it’s on the other side of the square from here—as soon as you are across the square, you will see the sign hanging from the building. They are expecting us. Say you have come with me and that I shall follow shortly.” “Very well,” said Philip. “When I am settled there, I shall look for food. Unlike your stomach, Hubert, mine needs filling regularly!” He gave Hubert a friendly clap on the shoulder, which made the other man wince slightly, and set off. In a few seconds, he had vanished into the crowd. Hubert made his way across to the man who stood waiting patiently for him and soon they were deep in conversation. Philip walked in the direction Hubert had told him to go for a short while, until he was certain he was out of sight, then he turned down a side street and headed for the river. The sounds and smells of the market square faded behind him and the different smells and noises from the river took over. The clatter of goods being unloaded, the sound of shouted orders, the chanting of groups pulling on ropes and pushing on heavy loads grew louder. There was a pervading smell of fish and the rank smell of the river, which was enough to make Philip wrinkle his nose and catch his breath. He was between two stone warehouses when a hooded figure suddenly appeared in front of him. His dagger was in his hand and his arm raised to strike when the figure hissed his name. “Philip! For heaven’s sake, hold!” Startled, Philip took a step back and slowly lowered his arm. “Who are you?” he said, suspiciously. The hood was thrown back and a pair of blue eyes under a fringe of thick white hair looked at him with a twinkle in them. “Gilbert le Armourer at your service, young sir!” he said. “I believe we have some business together?” He stepped forward and linked his arm familiarly in Philip’s. “Come, young sir,” he said, cheerily. “Let us sit in comfort with food and drink before us, and make our plans!” Before Philip had time to collect his wits, he was turned smartly round and marched back up the lane in the direction he had just come. Anyone watching would have seen two men, perhaps father and son, walking amiably along together, but Philip could feel a vice-like grip on his upper arm as he was hurried along. He had no choice but to go with this stranger, unless he wanted to draw attention to the two of them—and, he realised, Gilbert knew that he would not want that. To his relief, they turned into another street before reaching the market square. Small shops and tenements lined both sides, and there was an inn at the far end. This was clearly where they were heading for and Gilbert hustled Philip along and into the 94

doorway at breakneck speed, before releasing his arm and striding across the room to an empty table. Following him, Philip sat down gratefully on the bench by the wall and leaned back, breathing heavily. Gilbert watched him for a moment, a slight smile on his lips, then raised his arm and beckoned to one of the serving men, who came over at once. “My young friend is a stranger to Boston,” said Gilbert. “Show him how good your wine can be, friend—and bring the same for me!” The man nodded and walked off, returning with two beakers of wine, which he set down in front of them. Gilbert picked his up and took a swallow, then nodded his satisfaction. “Try it, Philip,” he said, encouragingly. “It’s some of the best wine you’ll taste outside London!” Obediently, Philip raised his beaker and took a sip. Gilbert was right—the wine went down his throat like liquid silk. He took a good mouthful and let it trickle slowly down, enjoying the layers of taste. Gilbert leant forward and spoke in a low voice. “Philip,” he said. “We must plan carefully—your companion is well-known and it will not be easy to spirit him away.” “So I have realised,” said Philip, ruefully. “We certainly can’t just knock him on the head and drag him away in broad daylight. And he seems to be well known at the inn, too. He told me to go to the Mitre as if that is where he usually stays when he’s here with Rokesley.” Gilbert nodded. “Indeed he does,” he said. “Ralph, the innkeeper, is one of ours. He is ready to help us spirit away Hubert.” “And when he does,” said Philip. “I shall wait for a day or so, then return to Master Rokesley, weeping and wringing my hands over the disappearance of his most trusted man!” “Do you plan to return to Rokesley’s house, then?” said Gilbert, surprised. “What else?” said Philip, with a shrug. “But,” said Gilbert. “I thought you were planning to join d’Eyvill and his men in Ely!” “I had not planned to join anyone in this Godforsaken part of the country!” said Philip. “If I disappear at the same time as Hubert, it would immediately arouse suspicion.” He leant forward over the table until his nose was almost touching the other man’s. “Besides,” he whispered. “I fancy Master Gregory is already suspicious about me and my activities. If I am seen no more, what other work can I carry out for the cause? If I return, wringing my hands and fearful, it should put his and other minds at rest. That way, I might learn something of importance to pass on—perhaps via your friend Joseph the Jew?” “Hmmm,” said Gilbert. He looked at Philip, thinking deeply, then slapped the table and grinned. “You have a good brain hidden beneath that coxcomb’s exterior!” he said. “Nor do you lack courage, it seems!”

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Philip sat back and placed both hands on the table, suddenly feeling more confident. This was going to be easier than he had anticipated, he thought. “Now,” he said. “I presume you have some plan in mind?” *** Hubert, meanwhile, had been very busy indeed. He had met five of the men that Gregory had told him to contact. Four of them had been happy to deal with him, instead of his master, and only one had looked doubtful. He had managed to persuade even this man that he was there on behalf of Gregory de Rokesley and able to speak for him—especially after Hubert had produced the amount owing from earlier dealings from the pouch he had hidden beneath his tunic. As the coins had changed hands, the man’s demeanour had changed with them and, by the end of the transaction, Hubert had managed to persuade him to cut the price of the next order of lampreys that Gregory had requested on behalf of the King. Well satisfied with his morning’s work, Hubert decided to go to the Mitre and find Philip. He made his way to the inn and forced a passage through the crowded taproom until he came to the door at the back, which he knew would take him into the innkeeper’s own quarters. He knocked once and opened the door. To his surprise, the room was empty. He stared around, his hand still on the latch, as if he could conjure up the innkeeper by looking for him, but the room remained the same: the table under the window to catch as much light as possible, with the chest set beside it, its lid flung back and the contents bursting out of it. The stool on which the man usually sat was tipped over on its side, as if he had jumped up suddenly. Puzzled, Hubert stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and, as he whirled round, he saw a lifted arm and then felt a blow on the side of his head. He staggered, hand to his head, where he could feel the blood seeping out. A hard push sent him reeling against the table and a second blow, this time to the back of his head, was too much for him. As he began to lose consciousness, he heard a familiar voice saying: “Not too hard, we don’t want him…” The voice faded and everything went black. It seemed like an age before he was aware of his surroundings again. First, it was the jolting that he noticed and the way it hurt his head. The pain throbbed in time to the movement and he realised he was lying face down in a cart. There was just a rough cloth between him and the bare boards. The cart went over a particularly hard rut and his head bounced slightly. The extra wave of pain made him groan aloud. “Woken up, have you?” said a voice from somewhere just in front of him. “It’s about time!” Hubert raised his head very slowly, and tried to sit up, but discovered that his hands had been bound together behind his back. His struggles to sit upright amused whoever had spoken earlier and he heard the man chuckle, before he bent down, heaved Hubert up, and leant him against the side of the cart. It was uncomfortable, but not as bad as lying down. The jolts of the cart were easier to bear, despite the continuing pain in his head. As his vision cleared, he saw the man who sat opposite him. “Ralph?” he said, incredulously.

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“The same,” agreed the innkeeper. He leant back and placed both arms along the side of the cart, cocking one ankle over his knee. “Surprised to see me, Master Hubert?” he said. “Thought something had happened to me, did you—which was the whole idea, of course!” He smirked at Hubert, enjoying the other man’s obvious amazement. He uncrossed his legs, leant forward, and put his face so close to Hubert’s that Hubert could see his rotting teeth and smell his foetid breath. Instinctively he tried to draw back, but the side of the cart prevented him. “Ha—too good for me still, are you?” said Ralph. “Not much you can do about it now, is there? Coming into my inn with your high and mighty ways—but just a servant under it all, aren’t you? Just here obeying your Master Gregory!” Hubert stared at the man, shocked by the change in his attitude. Ralph had always been so pleased to see them and always given them his best room, when he had gone to the Mitre with Gregory. What had made him change so much? As if he had heard Hubert’s thoughts, Ralph answered them. “All that bowing and scraping!” he said, in a disgusted voice, leaning back. “All that pretending I was pleased to see everyone who came into the Mitre, when I despised them for their airs and graces. Who did you all think you were? And then your Master Gregory buying this and that for the King. Buying wine, buying cloth, buying fish—all for King Henry! Never mind if there was enough for the rest of us—as long as His Rotten Majesty had all he wanted!” Hubert listened aghast to the tirade. Ralph ranted on and on, his face getting redder and his voice louder, as he let all the hidden spleen of the past years spew out of his mouth. Hubert began to fear a blow as Ralph began thumping the side of the cart in his rage. Finally, the man holding the reins in front turned round, frowning. “No more of that, Ralph!” he said, sharply, taking the opportunity to speak as Ralph drew breath. He caught Hubert staring at him and turned his face away, quickly. Whoever he was, he was a stranger to Hubert, and clearly wished to stay that way. Hubert concentrated on the features he had seen and memorized them carefully. The man was in his middle years, with deep lines scoring each side of his mouth and thin lips. There was a mole on his chin and his eyes were deep-set. A thick thatch of straight black hair fell over his forehead and concealed it. His voice, Hubert realised, was not local to the Boston area, but he could not place the accent. Ralph, breathing hard and controlling himself with difficulty, leant forward with his elbow on his knees. Hubert cleared his throat and Ralph raised his head and looked at him. “I had no idea you found us so unpleasant,” said Hubert. “My master and I always felt welcome in your inn—did you really hate us so much?” There was a long pause before Ralph spoke again. He gazed at the floor of the cart as he spoke, refusing to meet Hubert’s eyes. “No-o-o,” he said slowly. “It was not you and Master Gregory I hated, it was what you stood for. It was the way you came and took what you wanted and never thought of us.”

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“But we were paying you well, Ralph,” said Huber. “We were staying at your inn, paying for our food and our room—are you saying that was wrong? Your inn would close without people like Master Gregory and me!” Ralph gripped his interlaced fingers tightly and nodded reluctantly. “Yes, that is true,” he agreed. “But you were buying food and wine for the King. If the King wanted it, no one else could have it—no one!” He ground out the last word between his teeth, unclasping his hands and thumping his knees with his clenched fists. Sitting upright, he stared at Hubert’s astonished face and gave a harsh bark of cynical laughter. “Hadn’t thought of that, had you, Hubert?” he said. “That others might suffer because the king must always come first! But Earl Simon saw it—he knew that it must be wrong for just one man to be treated thus—like a god!” “So—” said Hubert, “because of all this, you have taken me? What good will come of such a move?” “Why,” began Ralph, but the driver turned round and glared at him and he fell silent again. The man turned back and spoke over his shoulder as he concentrated on holding the horse and cart on the right path. “’Tain’t none of your concern!” he said to Hubert. “You just sit there quiet like and don’t give us trouble and you’ll be all right. We don’t want to harm you, but, if you try to get away, harmed you shall be!” The threat was clearly meant and Hubert said no more. Equally silent, Ralph seemed lost in thought and remained so as the journey continued on its dreary way. They had left Boston and were travelling through countryside so flat that Hubert could see far over it to the distant horizon. He turned his head to look back the way they had come, but there as nothing to see in that direction either, other than the same wideopen spaces, with here and there a few trees. Some stood alone, but there were small copses too. The light glinted off what was probably the river in the distance and he could see smaller streams criss-crossing the whole area. He thought he could see some faint drifting smoke way back and wondered if that was Boston itself, or had they come too far to see and it was simply an isolated manor house? He realised that, apart from Boston and King’s Lynn, he knew nothing whatever about this part of the country. All he knew now was that the sun was shining on the right of the cart, and the shadows they were casting were quite long. So they were travelling south and it was late in the afternoon. But where on earth were they, he wondered. Suddenly, he remembered Philip. Where was he? Had he gone back to the inn and was even now sitting waiting for Hubert to join him? Hubert sat and puzzled at the questions that crowded his mind. Gregory’s warning about Philip came back to him, but he could not believe that Philip would have had any hand in this—what would he gain from helping Ralph and his companions to kidnap Hubert? And yet—Gregory had been very clear in his warning and obviously thought that Philip was not loyal to the King and his followers. He shifted against the side of the cart, trying to get more comfortable, but the rope bit into his wrists and his arms felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. He looked at Ralph, trying to judge whether it was worth asking him to free his arms, or at least loosen the bonds a little so that he could ease the ache. 98

Just as he opened his mouth to speak the man driving the cart spoke. “Someone’s coming to meet us at last!” he said, sounding relieved. Hubert twisted his head to the front and saw a cloud of dust on the horizon. Soon, it resolved itself into a small group of horsemen and the sound of the horses’ hooves came faintly on the air. The driver hauled on the reins and the cart came to a stop as the horsemen approached rapidly. In a few minutes, they had drawn level with the cart and halted. Their leader was clearly the man mounted on a beautiful grey, which snorted and tossed its head, impatient at being stopped. The man who rode him was stocky, with a barrel chest. His strong arms controlled the grey easily and he moved with the horse as though they were one creature. His face was full of life, with restless, deep-set eyes that looked almost black, a great beaked nose and a full-lipped mouth set above a chin with a deep cleft. He was obviously used to being in charge, whether it be of men or beasts. Just behind him on a skittish chestnut, his face alight with excitement and glee, sat Philip. “You seem surprised, Hubert,” he said. “I wonder why!” Hubert shot him a look of contempt. “I’m surprised that you are happy to show yourself to me, Philip,” he said. Philip’s face darkened. “What do you mean?” he demanded. His horse danced sideways, unnerved by the sudden tightening of Philip’s hands on the reins and the young man fought to regain control. “I mean,” said Hubert. “That I am not surprised to discover you are a traitor—only that you have allowed me to confirm it so quickly and easily.” Philip scowled, urging his mount forward, his arm reaching for the dagger in his belt. Before he had time to release it and strike, the man leading the group had blocked the stroke and grabbed Philip’s arm in a vice-like grip. Philip struggled, but his strength was no match for the other’s. “Don’t be such a young fool!” growled the leader. “I told you not to come with us, but you just had to come and gloat, didn’t you?” He spat contemptuously and turned his horse round. “We stay in the manor house tonight,” he said, over his shoulder. “Tomorrow we shall return to Ely, where you will be well looked after, Hubert, until we have received the money we require to release you!” Digging his heels into the grey’s flanks, he urged it into a canter and started back along the road. The other three riders kicked their own horses into movement, leaving the driver of the cart to make his own way. He made no effort to catch up with the others, obviously knowing the way to the manor house without guidance. The cart, jerking into motion, nevertheless went at a faster speed than before, with the driver showing a fine disregard for the comfort of those travelling in the back. Hubert gritted his teeth against the bumping, swaying ride until Ralph leant forward and thumped the driver on one shoulder. “Watch where you’re going!” he snarled.

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The other man ignored him and continued to drive in the same way until, steering suddenly round the corner, he went under an archway and into a small yard. He hauled on the reins and the horse slithered to a stop. Ralph jumped off and ran round to the front of the cart, where he grabbed at the driver as he dismounted and gave him a push that sent him almost off balance. Turning back, the man launched himself at Ralph and the two of them reeled away until they crashed into the wall beside the archway through which they had just come. Hubert, amazed at the sudden fight, sat still in the back of the cart, watching what was happening. There was a sudden shout from inside the house on the other side, then someone came down the stone steps leading to the main entrance and ran across to the cart. It was one of the riders who had come to meet them. He swung himself up into the back of the cart and grabbed Hubert, hauling him to his feet. He pushed Hubert off the cart, then jumped down beside him, catching him just as his legs gave way. “Give me some time, for heaven’s sake!” gasped Hubert. “My legs will not hold me yet!” The man grunted and stood beside him. Then, to Hubert’s horror, he suddenly produced a dagger from his belt. As Hubert tried to sway to one side, the man gave a harsh chuckle, then leant behind him and slit the rope tying his wrists together. Hubert sucked in his breath as his arms, released from their bonds, swung forward. The pain in his shoulders was excruciating, but his relief at being free again was enormous. Before he had a chance to rub his arms, the man grabbed one of them and, holding the dagger at Hubert’s throat, led him across the yard and threw him into a stable. The door thudded shut behind him and he lay where he had fallen, gathering his wits and trying to ease his aching body.

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PART FOUR

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN Judith woke with a gasp and lay very still, waiting for what would happen next. This time there was no doubt—the contraction surged through her and she bit her lip so as not to cry out. When it was over, she shifted carefully until she was more comfortable, then nudged Aaron in the back. “What is it?” he said, sleepily, turning towards her. “It’s started, Aaron!” said Judith, in an urgent whisper. “The baby—it’s coming!” Aaron shot up in the bed, wide awake. “Stay where you are!” he said. “I’ll fetch Mother!” Despite her pain, Judith chuckled as he got out of bed. “I’m certainly not going anywhere,” she said, her face full of love and laughter. Aaron stood on one leg, struggling to get dressed, but stopped as another contraction made Judith writhe on the bed. Abandoning the idea of dressing, Aaron snatched up a robe from the end of the bed and ran out of the door, pulling it on as he went. Judith could hear him shouting for Dorcas as if the whole place was on fire. She lay back, panting, as the pain receded again, feeling excited and frightened at the same time. She had heard too many stories of women giving birth in agony, or even dying as a result, not to feel scared about what might happen to her. In no time, the kind face and reassuring presence of Dorcas was beside her. “Well, daughter, here comes your child, then!” she said, smiling down at Judith. “This is a wonderful day for us all, but especially for you and Aaron—there now, hush, hush!” she said, grasping Judith’s hands as another pain went through her again and she cried out. When it was over, Dorcas went to the door. “Aaron!” she called. “Go to the midwife and then you and Benjamin must just wait in patience and let us get on with delivering this child!” “I am not dressed!” said Aaron, sounding far too anxious for such a trivial reason. “Tsk!” said Dorcas to Judith, with a rueful shake of her head. “Just like a man— panicking over such a thing!” She bent over and picked up Aaron’s clothes from the stool where he had left them the night before. Then, bustling to the door, she handed them out and closed the door in Aaron’s face. “Now go!” she called through the wood and they could hear Benjamin trying to soothe Aaron and urge him out of the house at the same time. She turned back to Judith and took her hand. “There will be more of the pains,” she said. “And they will happen more and more quickly—then, if we are lucky, the child will come of its own accord. Now you must try and relax, to gather your strength for the next time.” Judith smiled tremulously at her. She was so glad to have Dorcas beside her, but she would have been even happier if her own mother had been there, too. Belaset had returned to Lewes some weeks ago, to see how her house had survived since she was last there.

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The contraction came again and she gripped Dorcas’s hand and moaned between gritted teeth. Dorcas waited until she was calm again before loosing her hand, patting Judith’s, then raising the covers to peer down the bed. She nodded in satisfaction. As they waited together for the next contraction, they heard the street door downstairs bang back against the wall as it was flung open. The voice of the midwife could be heard, chiding Aaron to stay where he was, then there was the sound of approaching footsteps, a great rustling of skirts, and the midwife came into the bedroom in a rush and with a face scarlet from her exertions. She was a plump woman, a headscarf tied askew in her hurry and her night garment visible under her cloak, but she brought an atmosphere of calm authority with her despite her appearance. She paused inside the room and took in the scene, taking off her cloak and laying it on a nearby stool. Then she rolled back the sleeves of her capacious nightgown as she stepped forward, nodding hello to Dorcas and, to Judith’s embarrassment, whisked back the covers from her naked body. Gazing down at her, the midwife placed her hand gently but firmly on Judith’s swollen belly. The child within kicked vigorously and another contraction began. Dorcas and the midwife beamed across at each other. The next few hours seemed like days to Judith as she had her first experience of giving birth. The child within her insisted on being born and she did her best to help it, but it was difficult and painful work. Time and again, the contractions overwhelmed her and she screamed in pain. She could hear Dorcas and the midwife talking to her, but their voices sounded far away and she felt as if she was alone in her struggles. At last, just as Judith thought she could stand no more, there was a sudden release as the child left her and slid into the waiting and expert hands of the midwife in a gush of blood and mucus. Immediately it was free, the midwife lifted it up, with the umbilical cord still attached and gave it a hefty whack on the backside. The child opened its mouth and howled lustily at this abuse, to the delight of the midwife and Dorcas and the disbelief of Judith. “A little girl,” said the midwife, as she snipped the cord, then swaddled the child and laid her gently on Judith’s breast. “And perfect—just perfect!” Judith, weak with her efforts and drowsy, looked down at the top of the head lying so close and instinctively cradled the child. She gazed at the baby’s head, which was covered in downy black hair, and gently raised her other hand to stroke it. “Black hair,” she murmured. “Like my Aaron’s hair…” She lay back, then felt something else leaving her. Startled, she looked up at the midwife for explanation. “It’s all right, my dear,” said the good woman. “It is just the afterbirth, which has come from you, as it should. All is well, Judith, all is well!” Drowsy and relieved that everything had gone well, Judith felt Dorcas and the midwife tending to her, cleaning her and fetching fresh linen. The baby lay warm against her and she was content to be taken care of in this loving way. She wondered when Aaron would be allowed in—she was longing for him to see his daughter. Downstairs, Aaron and his father had been unable to sit still. Pacing back and forth, Aaron shut his eyes and grimaced with each cry from above them. Benjamin walked beside him, occasionally putting his arm round his son’s shoulders to give what comfort he could. His memories of Aaron’s birth and his own distress and fear came into his 103

mind. He hoped that the birth would soon be over and that everyone would be safe and well. Bringing children into the world was such a dangerous business, he thought, ruefully. Suddenly, they heard a new voice crying out and paused in their pacing, listening to the child as it announced its arrival. Aaron turned to his father, his eyes bright with the unshed tears of his emotions and Benjamin nodded, a broad smile on his face. Then it went very quiet upstairs and Aaron started toward the door, but Benjamin stopped him. “You must wait until you are sent for, my son,” he said, gently. “They will call you when all is ready.” “But what’s happening?” said Aaron. “Has Judith survived—is the babe healthy? Boy or girl?” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, leaving it looking wilder than ever and walked to the door that led into the passage outside, where he stood drumming his hands against one of the door panels. Then he turned on his heel and walked across to the other side of the room, where he flung himself into a chair and began beating a tattoo on the arms. Benjamin watched him sympathetically. The door opened suddenly and a beaming Dorcas stood there. “Aaron!” she said. “Come and meet your new daughter!” Aaron leapt to his feet and rushed toward the door so quickly that Dorcas barely had time to step aside. Benjamin opened his arms and Dorcas went to him. She felt his arms hold her to him tightly and his heart beating strongly against her cheek, as she laid her head gratefully on his chest. A sudden weakness overcame her and she leant against him, her legs trembling. Quietly, they stood together, gaining strength from the love that flowed between them. Benjamin gently rubbed his hand up and down his wife’s back and she sighed and relaxed at last. He released his hold and led her gently to the settle, where they sat close together, still leaning against each other, both too overwhelmed to speak. Above their heads, they could hear the sound of Aaron’s voice, speaking softly to his wife and her occasional reply. Aaron gazed down at his wife and at the baby on her breast. He put out a hand and touched its soft cheek carefully, then stroked Judith’s cheek with equal gentleness. The midwife turned away, busying herself at the side of the room, a smile on her face. No matter how many times she went to give help on these occasions, she never failed to be moved by the experience of bringing new life into the world. She gathered up everything that needed washing, tied it into a great bundle, and left the room as quietly as possible. Judith was drifting in and out of sleep and Aaron watched lovingly as her eyes closed and her head slid to one side before a snore woke her up with a start. The baby whimpered softly and she could feel it moving against her. “Take her,” she said to Aaron, lifting the baby toward him. Nervously, he took the tiny bundle in his two hands and sat down carefully, then put the child against his chest and held it there. His hands trembled slightly and the baby stirred, so he instinctively held it closer. The tiny thing was almost invisible beneath his hands and arms and he stared at it, wondering.

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“How can such a tiny thing be another person?” he said to Judith, but there was no answer. Looking across at her, he saw that she was fast asleep, her hair about her face and with an expression of complete peace. He sat looking from the child in his arms to his wife, sleeping peacefully and felt such a surge of love that he thought he would cry out with the passion of it. He blinked quickly as tears came to his eyes. How they had looked forward to the birth of their first child—and, now that it had happened, it was even more wonderful than he could have imagined. The door opened softly and Dorcas came in. She saw her son with his baby in his arms and her face softened. Treading carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping Judith, she came to Aaron’s side and gazed down at the baby. She put her hand on her son’s shoulder and let it rest there, as one of the tears he tried to blink away slid slowly down his cheek. Tenderly, she bent and kissed him, then held out her arms for the baby. “She must be laid in her cradle and we must all get some rest, my gold,” she said to him. Reluctantly, he handed over the baby and Dorcas took her to the little wooden cradle, which stood ready by the side of the bed. She placed the child in it and pulled another cover over the swaddling, so that it felt safe and warm inside its own nest. “Come, my son,” she said softly. “Come and rest downstairs for a while. Judith must sleep and we can hear her from down there, if she should call out for any reason.” “Is she alright?” said Aaron, anxiously. Dorcas nodded. “She is a strong young woman, Aaron, as you know!” she said. “She just needs rest— giving birth is exhausting. You men would never survive it!” She gave him a little push and, meekly, he went out of the room before her. They went down the stairs and into the parlour, where Benjamin was still patiently waiting. He took one look at Aaron’s beaming face and nodded, satisfied. “All is well, then?” he asked his wife. Before she could open her mouth, Aaron spoke. “Oh, Father, you should see the little thing!” he exclaimed. He placed his hands a few inches apart. “It’s only this big!” he said. “But it’s so—” “She!” said Dorcas, reproachfully. “What?” said Aaron, confused. “The ‘little thing’ is a little girl,” said Dorcas. “Not an it!” She gave Aaron’s arm a little shake. “Your daughter, Aaron,” she said, trying to sound disapproving and failing utterly. Aaron blushed. “My daughter!” he said softly, half to himself. Then, turning to Benjamin, he cleared his throat and held his hands out again. “My daughter is only this big!” he said firmly, then, suddenly, his eyes filled with tears and he turned away from his parents. Dorcas patted his back. “It’s all right to be moved, my son,” she said. “It is a time for tender feelings and an overflowing heart!” “Indeed, indeed!” murmured Benjamin. 105

Silently, he put out his hand to Dorcas and they left the room. Aaron sank down on the bench beneath the window and stared between his knees, sniffing. Then, sniffing mightily, he brushed his hands across his eyes, put back his shoulders and stood up. “I am a father!” he told himself sternly. “I must be strong and responsible for my family’s sake!” He grinned to himself. Crossing the room, he flung back the door and called out. “I must tell Gregory…” He got no further. Dorcas came out of the kitchen, her finger to her lips. “Shush!” she said. “You must learn to lower your voice now, my son. There is a sleeping mother and babe upstairs. They must not be disturbed!” Aaron clapped his hand over his mouth and winked at her. “I must go and tell Gregory the glad news,” he said in a penetrating whisper. “I promised I would as soon as it happened.” “Yes, go!” said Dorcas. “Gregory will be overjoyed—remember to tell him that all is well!” Aaron was out of the door before she had finished and she turned back to the kitchen, with a shake of her head and a smile. Outside, Aaron rushed along the street at top speed and round the corner into Milk Street, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He skidded to a stop outside Gregory’s house and pounded on the front door as hard as he could. There was a scuttle behind the door and Gregory himself opened it. Aaron opened his mouth to speak, then realised that Gregory’s face was white and anxious. “What is it?” he said. “What’s happened?” Gregory shook his head and beckoned to him to come inside quickly. Then he shut the door behind them both and leant against it. “Hubert has been taken hostage,” he said. “And Philip has vanished.” Aaron stared at him. “But how do you know?” he said. “Who told you?” “Philip,” said Gregory simply. Aaron said nothing, waiting for Gregory to continue. “Philip came here at some point, without my knowledge,” continued his friend. “I came back to the house but a few moments ago and Walter was standing waiting for me in the kitchen. He gave me the ring, which I had given Hubert before he left, which he said he had been given by Philip. There was a message, too. He told Walter that Hubert was held hostage and would be released when I paid a ransom of one thousand silver pence. Before Walter had time to say anything to him, Philip left again!” He pushed himself away from the door and made a visible effort to overcome his anxiety. “But you have come here for your own reasons,” he said. “Come and tell me your news.” He squeezed past Aaron in the narrow passage and led the way to his study, where he took his favourite seat by the great oak table, waving Aaron to another chair opposite. “Are you sure you would not rather be searching for Philip?” said Aaron. “He cannot be far away, if Walter has just seen him.” 106

“I think I know where he may have gone,” said Gregory, grimly. “And he will probably feel safe enough not to move from there. So—tell me what has happened— although I think I may have guessed!” “Judith has had her baby,” said Aaron, his face breaking into a smile and his eyes lighting up. “We have a daughter, Gregory and she is perfect!” “Aaron—this is wonderful news!” said Gregory. “We must celebrate properly!” He stood up and flung open the door. “Walter!” he called. “Come here—and bring a bottle of my finest wine with you and three glasses!” He crossed to Aaron and thumped him on the back. “You are a father, then, Aaron!” he said. “It is a new responsibility for you—no more silly boys’ games now!” Aaron looked worried. “Really?” he said. “Must I be always sober and dignified now, then?” He looked so concerned that Gregory could not help laughing, just as Walter entered with the wine and glasses. “Walter,” said Gregory. “Our friend here is a father and worried that it will change his life forever!” Walter placed the wine and glasses carefully on the table and turned to Aaron, nodding his head. “So it will, Master,” he said sagely. Then, after a pause, “—but for the better!” Aaron stood up and held out his hand and Walter shook it gladly. “This is good news and the more welcome for coming after bad,” said the servant. “Indeed, Walter, well said!” said Gregory. “Now—pour the wine and join us in drinking to the new babe’s good health and joy to both her parents for many years to come!” Walter did as he was bidden and then the three men all took a glass in hand. “To Aaron, Judith and their new daughter!” said Gregory, raising his glass in a toast. “Thank you, Gregory!” said Aaron. The three of them tossed back the wine and Aaron was amused to see that Walter could not help shuddering as he swallowed, but he drained the glass and smiled bravely as he put it back on the table. “I must get back to my work, Master,” he said to Gregory and, with a friendly nod to Aaron, he left them. They could hear him running down the stairs. Aaron grinned at his friend. “Did you see his face?” he said. “I did!” agreed Gregory. “But he was pleased to be invited to drink with us, I know. He will no doubt tell all his friends, the next time they meet in the alehouse!” He sat down again and Aaron faced him. “Now,” he said. “You have been a good friend and shown your pleasure at my news— but what of yours? Is there nothing we can do to get Hubert back with us as soon as possible? What about Jervis—does he know what has happened?” “I fancy no one knows but myself and Philip—and those who have taken Hubert, of course,” said Gregory, bitterly. “I should not have sent Hubert with Philip as escort, but I had no idea that he was quite so embroiled with our enemies as this!” 107

He drummed the desktop in frustration. “Jervis is back with Earl de Warenne and they are in…” “What do you mean?” interrupted Aaron. Gregory looked uncomfortable. “I had forgotten, Aaron,” he said. “You have been involved in family matters.” “But Philip?” said Aaron. “Philip is for the other side? When did this happen?” “I’m not sure,” admitted Gregory. “But certainly, since Evesham, Philip has been working for our enemies. He has been seen talking in Southwark, talking to Sir William Monchesny.” “Monchesny was certainly always strong for de Montfort and his cause,” agreed Aaron, slowly. “But do we know that Philip is wholly for them, or is he playing a double game, as we thought Jervis did earlier?” Gregory shook his head slowly. “I think not,” he said. “Else, why should he be the one to leave a message to say that Hubert has been taken—and then disappear? If he had been for the King, he would have delivered the message and stayed to help us plan for Hubert to be freed.” Aaron looked thoughtful and Gregory could see that he was not convinced. Finally, the younger man shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I cannot believe that Philip went through everything he did at Lewes and after, only to throw in his lot with de Montfort’s side.” “Perhaps he was on that side for longer than we think,” said Gregory. “I think not,” said Aaron, firmly. “Philip is charming and handsome, but his mind is nowhere near the same standard!” Despite his anxiety, Gregory could not help laughing. “You must get back to Judith,” he said, standing up. “Your family will think that you have run away in fright at the thought of being a father!” Aaron rose with alacrity. “Yes, I must get back to them!” he said. “I left my Judith sleeping and the babe in her cot, fast asleep, too. She’s so small, Gregory!” “For now,” agreed Gregory. “But she will grow so quickly, Aaron! And she will love her father dearly, I know!” Aaron blushed with pleasure and gripped Gregory’s arm. “And she will love my friend, too—who will be her beloved uncle!” he said. “You must come and see her soon, Gregory—as soon as Dorcas will allow Judith to have visitors!” “Let it be soon—you have but to send for me,” said Gregory. He opened the door and let Aaron out and stood watching him walk along the street until he turned the corner, turning round and waving as he did so. Gregory closed the door and went back into the study, his face resuming a frown as he pondered on the mystery of Hubert’s capture and Philip’s part in it.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN “Are you sure that you were not followed from Rokesley’s house?” said William Monchesny. Philip straightened his spine and threw back his shoulders. “I am certain,” he said, confidently. “And what makes you so certain, young man?” said Monchesny. “Because Walter was so astonished to see me that he simply took the message I thrust into his hand and stood there like a statue as I rode away!” returned Philip. He grinned at the older man and folded his arms. “Walter has long had ambitions to read,” he continued. “But he does not have the quickest brain. He was probably still trying to fathom what was happening by the time I was entering your gates!” He began to laugh, but his amusement faded as Monchesny’s face darkened. “Did you check behind you as you were riding so confidently and openly towards this place?” he said. “Or did you take a more circuitous route, just in case someone was interested enough to follow you?” Philip’s face fell and he opened his mouth to say something but the other man held up his hand. “I thought not!” he said, in disgust. He turned away from Philip and spoke to the man at his side. “Get this young fool away from here as soon as you can,” he snapped. “He may have led someone all the way to the house. So far, we are safe, but no one must know that I am here, too, and he came to see me. It will endanger us all!” The man nodded his understanding and beckoned to Philip to follow him. He led the way out of the room and out to the stables. As the lad saw them approaching, he brought out their horses, already saddled, but clearly fed and brushed. Still without speaking, Philip’s escort mounted and Philip followed suit. The lad ran and opened the gate out into the street and the two men urged their horses forward. Philip was led through streets on a route that meant that he was soon lost. The man in front of him rode on without bothering to check if he was keeping up and had a tendency to suddenly swing down a side street without warning. They went along busy street markets, down between houses, through yards where people were working at their different crafts and, on one occasion, some cows looked up in mild surprise. Finally, the man in front turned sharply to his right and Philip could smell the river ahead. They came out suddenly onto a cobbled area with the Thames flowing swiftly just in front of them. The place was deserted and, for an instant, Philip thought he was about to be stabbed and thrown into the water. His hand moved instinctively to his belt and the other man, catching sight of the gesture as he turned, laughed. “You’re safe enough,” he said. “We need everyone we can find to support our cause— even thoughtless fools like you!”

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Philip opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing. He had to admit, however much his pride was hurt, that he had behaved very stupidly. Instead of the hot-tempered retort he had almost made, he nodded his head meekly. “I am sorry,” he said. “I am not used to acting in this way. I have much to learn.” “Well, well!” said the man in surprise. “This is not the reaction I expected.” Philip’s grin suddenly flashed out. “It is not the reaction I would have expected of myself until now!” he answered. “But—I was in error and I cannot deny it.” The man’s eyes narrowed, as he studied Philip. “You have realised that this is not some silly adventure, I think?” he said, slowly. Philip nodded. “I have,” he said. “I thought my life was to become dull and boring and I sought something more exciting. Now I realise that you are all in deadly earnest, despite the death of de Montfort and so many of his followers at Evesham.” “We are in earnest, that much is true,” said the man. “But our aims have changed.” “You mean you are no longer seeking to remove King Henry from his throne?” said Philip in surprise. The man shrugged. “Some still think that is possible,” he said. “Others want to see their lands restored to them and to have more say in how the country is ruled, rather than having to obey the King’s commands without question. That was de Montfort’s aim and that is still the aim of many of those who still believe in him.” “And where do you stand?” asked Philip. The man shrugged again. “My opinions are not important—I am a follower of Sir William,” he said. “Sir William follows d’Eyvill.” He kneed his horse until he was close to Philip at the water’s edge. “Here we must part,” he said. “Until we meet again then,” said Philip, holding out his hand. The other’s hand moved toward him. Too late, Philip caught the glint of the thin blade as the man suddenly thrust it forward expertly. The dagger slid easily through his clothes, between his ribs, and straight into Philip’s heart. He slumped forward, sighed faintly, and died. Glancing round, Trubodi checked that no one had seen them. He had chosen a good place. There was nobody at all as far as he could see. He dismounted and let the reins of his horse dangle, patting its neck and whispering to it to stay still. The horse bent its head and nuzzled the grass and weeds on the riverbank. Philip’s horse seemed equally tranquil, doing no more than turn its head as Trubodi eased Philip’s feet from the stirrup. Walking round to the other side of the horse, he tugged at Philip’s clothing and his body rolled off. Carefully, Trubodi let it slide down until it was on the ground. He looked round again, but still the area was quiet and deserted. He placed his foot in the small of Philip’s back and shoved. Slowly, the body of the young man rolled down the riverbank and slid into the murky water among the reeds with a slight splash. As he stood

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watching, the body sank beneath the surface, the blonde hair swirled briefly and then disappeared. Trubodi turned and remounted swiftly then, catching the reins of Philip’s horse in one hand, he urged his own mount forward. Trotting along the riverbank, he was alert for any sight or sound that might indicate that he had been seen, but there was nothing and nobody, apart from the birds in the sky above him. He was back at the house in a few minutes and left both horses with one of the men in the yard. “Give them both a good rubdown and feed and water them well,” he said. He walked into the hall and sought out Monchesny. “It is done,” he said briefly. Monchesny nodded. “Good!” he said. “We have enough dangers around us without courting them. Young hotheads are not the right people to help our cause.” “That is so,” said Trubodi. “And yet he seemed to realise that this was not a game.” “Indeed?” said Monchesny. “It is a pity he did not realise sooner. He was conceited as well as hot-headed—a dangerous combination for him as much as for us.” “As he learnt just now!” said Trubodi. He smiled sourly, bowed and left the hall. Monchesny watched him go, his hand pulling at his moustache and his lips pursed. Trubodi was proving a great asset to the cause, he decided. How he had managed to get back to England no one knew, and the man himself remained tight-lipped about the whole episode. He would say only that he had come back to help the cause and that Eleanor de Montfort had encouraged him to leave them once the family had arrived safely in Provence. Any questions were politely parried or met with complete silence. His loyalty could not be doubted and his willingness to do anything for the de Montforts had been proved several times since Monchesny had received him in Southwark. This last episode had shown that he would even kill if necessary. Philip had been a mistake, Monchesny decided, but he would not endanger them all again. The body of the young man who had been so vividly alive such a short while ago rolled back and forth in the river, a foot entangled in the reeds near the bank. A water rate paddled to it, nibbled at a finger, then lost interest and paddled on in search of something tastier. An eel nudged at the foot which blocked its path, then wriggled under it. A cormorant thought the yellow hair floating just under the surface looked interesting and dived at it. The tug the bird gave to the hair combined with the turning of the tide. The body floated free and bobbed slowly downriver, where it was bumped against the stone piers that supported London Bridge, before being tossed along on the millrace between the arches. Over and over it rolled, before it was thrown free and drifted, midstream, where it bumped up against a boat. The boatman, who was rowing his empty craft back across the river for the last time that day, cursed and looked over the side when he felt the bump. The body drifted alongside, as if accompanying him. He gave it a tentative poke with an oar to make sure that whoever it was, was dead. The nudge caused an arm to float up and the boatman spotted the ring on one finger. 111

He looked round quickly, but there was no one to see what he did next, which was to lean over and ease the ring from Philip’s lifeless finger. It was heavy, made of gold, with a large ruby set in it. The boatman grunted with satisfaction and pushed it into his pouch. Then he leant over again and felt cautiously round the middle of the body. As he had hoped, there was a belt. He struggled with it for a while, before he managed to loosen it. The body rolled over as he pulled the belt free and Philip’s wide-open eyes stared up at him as though in reproach. The boatman shuddered and gave the belt a furious pull. Obediently, the body rolled over again, and he was left with the belt and a dagger in a sheath attached to it. The boat had drifted downstream on the tide as he had rifled the body and he was in danger of going off course. He sat back on the seat, and pulled strongly on both oars, so that the boat shot a long way across the width of the river and the body floated free. He rowed hard across the river and slightly against the tide, aiming for the slipway on the other side, where Fresh Wharf lay. It was not where he had planned to go, but it was worth being slightly off course, he thought, to gather such treasure! He looked back down the river as he rowed and saw the yellow hair of the body floating on the surface. It looked like some straw come loose from the rest of the bale, he decided. No one would realise it was a body until it was well downriver—perhaps not until it floated out into the estuary. He wondered vaguely who it might be and what had happened. Well, a tavern brawl or some such, he thought. There were many who lost their lives that way and many of those ended up in the river. His boat ground softly against the end of the slipway and he stopped rowing and stood, walking to the bow and jumping out quickly, then bending and hauling the boat up the worn stones and out of the water. When it was way up and near to the quayside rearing up above him, he pulled the bow rope out of the boat and tied up at one of the iron rings in the wall. Then he picked up his old sack which he kept in the bottom of the boat, shoved the belt and knife into it, tied the end and slung it over his shoulder. Whistling tunelessly between his teeth, he made his way up the iron ladder fixed to the quay and up to Retherhethe Street. He had a mighty thirst on him, he thought, and the first alehouse he saw would make a good place to stop and quench it. *** Gregory sat in his chair and stroked his nose, deep in thought. He was amazed to think that Philip had had the gall to deliver a message telling him that Hubert had been kidnapped! Or was it typical of Philip’s careless attitude and lust for adventure? Had he perhaps been forced to bring the message himself, or threatened with his unmasking if he did not? Gregory shook his head at that thought. No, it was more likely that Philip, thrilled to find himself in the middle of such an adventure, volunteered to bring the message, as a way of boasting about his actions. That seemed like a better explanation, given what he knew of Philip’s character and lack of maturity. Gregory sighed and stood up. Whatever his reasons, Philip had left them and gone to work for the other side. The most important thing now was for Hubert to be released from captivity and brought back to London and his home. It was time to make plans and find people to help him. 112

He picked up the parchment that Philip had brought and looked at it again. So Hubert had been taken by one of the bands who roamed freely in the Fens and was being held in Ely. There he would remain, until Gregory paid the ransom that was demanded in the message. One thousand silver pence was the sum demanded and one that Gregory would willingly pay to release Hubert. He went across to the chest, which was set under the window and covered with a cloth and cushions, so that it served as a seat. Removing the cushions and folding the cloth, he took the bunch of keys from his belt and unlocked the chest. Inside lay the parchment rolls and sheets connected with his trading and some small goatskin pouches, tied at the neck and with wax seals to secure them. Each pouch contained 100 silver pence. He nodded, satisfied that there was enough for him to pay the ransom without drawing attention to the arrangement by borrowing from anyone. Now it was a question of who to send to bring back Hubert. He snapped his fingers—of course! He would find Jervis and ask him to help. As far as he knew, Jervis was at court and therefore in Westminster still. He would go himself, seek out Jervis, and ask him to go to Ely, pay the ransom, and release Hubert. Gregory gave a nod of satisfaction and went to find Walter. “Make ready my horse, Walter,” he bade the red-head, as he came towards him from the stable. “I must go to Westminster and speak to Jervis.” “Should I not come with you, Master?” said Walter, looking concerned. “It is not safe for you to travel alone in these times, especially between Westminster and London! Who knows what robbers and murderers may lie in wait for such as you.” Gregory was about to dismiss Walter’s fears when a thought struck him—perhaps Walter could find Cedric and Osbert for him. The two soldiers should be in quarters nearby if, as they had claimed when they were found in the forest a year or more ago, they were for the King. If they were, they would be useful as part of the group who would go to rescue Hubert. If they were nowhere to be found Jervis’s suspicions would be confirmed, although Gregory still thought them unfounded. Walter had been standing patiently by, waiting for his master to make his decision. “Very well, Walter, make ready yourself!” said Gregory. A delighted grin spread across Walter’s face and he bobbed his head and almost ran back across the yard. By the time Gregory had prepared himself, Walter was waiting, both horses ready and standing motionless under his capable hands. Together, they rode out of London and along the road beside the great houses and palaces that lined the north bank of the river. Here the senior churchmen and highranking nobles of the land had built beautiful residences for themselves, although they were only inhabited when the court came to Westminster, for the most part. The welltended gardens that surrounded them all were full of sunlight, glancing off the elaborate knot gardens and gravelled walks. There was not a soul around to enjoy the beauty. Gregory said not a word until they could see the entrance to the palace just ahead of them. He stopped his horse and signalled to Walter to do the same, then turned to him. “We seek three people, Walter,” he said. “Jervis FitzHugh I will look for, but you will seek out the two foot soldiers, Cedric and Osbert, who we found in the forest last year.” Walter’s face flushed.

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“What do we want with those two?” he said. “Did they not attack you, Master, and injure you badly, in Winchester?” “Indeed, they did!” said Gregory. “But I have never believed that they meant to attack me personally. They were desperate for money to buy food and I had the misfortune to cross their path.” Walter opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again as Gregory held up his hand. “First find them, Walter,” he said. “If they are here, then they spoke the truth when they said they were fighting for King Henry. I think you will see them here—and that they will want to make amends for their attack on me.” “Or they will see me coming, recognize me and take to their heels!” grumbled Walter, still reluctant to obey Gregory’s command. “In which case, Jervis will no doubt be able to find us two more men to come with us,” said Gregory, placidly. “Hmph!” said Walter, under his breath, as Gregory urged his horse forward again and his man followed suit. Gregory heard, but said nothing, moving slightly ahead of Walter so that the red-head could not see the smile he was trying unsuccessfully to suppress. The gates leading into the palace were open, but a guard stepped forward as the two riders approached. The man stood, legs firmly planted and a long stave in one hand. He held up the other hand as they drew nearer and they obediently drew to a halt. The guard took his time looking them over, taking in Gregory’s rich clothing and the quality of his horse, then looking hard at Walter, who glared back at him. The man said nothing, merely nodded his head and stepped aside so that they could enter the palace yard. Once in, they both dismounted and Gregory held out the reins of his horse for Walter to take. “Find where you can leave these two, Walter,” he said. “Then see if you can find Osbert and Cedric. Whether you do or no, let us meet again here.” “Will you be all right on your own, Master?” said Walter, his mood forgotten in anxiety for Gregory. “Have no fear for me,” said Gregory. “I am well known to many here at court and as safe as if I were in my own house—if not safer! In any case, as soon as I see Jervis, I shall have someone with me, shall I not?” Walter nodded reluctantly and watched as Gregory turned away and made his way across the yard, disappearing through a door set in the side of a tower. Then he took the reins of both horses and walked in the opposite direction, where he could see what looked like stables. The palace covered an enormous area and, as with the abbey looming over it, was always in the process of being extended or altered in some way. This time Walter had to skirt round a large square area which was being dug away to form the shallow foundations for another building of some kind. A group of labourers were in the pit itself, waiting to spread out the loads of stone being carted across to form the foundation. A stack of timber poles were being unloaded on one side to be ready to use as scaffolding. Walter had to lead the horses round the edge of the site, dodging other people coming from the opposite direction. He paused to look up at the construction work going on over his head and then went to move on, tugging the bridles of the two horses. 114

As he moved forward, there was a shout from above him and one of the scaffolding poles came thudding down to earth, bouncing and narrowly missing Gregory’s horse. The animal reared up in fright and Walter’s own horse jerked its head, so that Walter tried in vain to hold on to both bridles. His own horse freed itself and made off across the ground. Walter heard someone shout for the fleeing horse to be caught, so he concentrated on gentling Gregory’s nervous horse. Finally, the horse was calm enough to stand still, though it still trembled. Walter glanced over his shoulder, his hand still on the horse’s muzzle. He saw a scruffy-looking man in grimy foot soldier’s clothes walking towards him, holding Walter’s own horse by its bridle and talking softly to it. As the man drew nearer, Walter’s eyes widened as he recognised him. He took the proffered reins and spoke. “My thanks, Cedric,” he said. “Or is it Osbert?” The man stared at him. “I’m Cedric all right,” he said. “But how…?” “We met first in the middle of the forest,” interrupted Walter. “You were sorely wounded, so we took you and your friend to Winchester with us—and met Osbert again, very suddenly, in the dark that evening!” The soldier looked hard at him, then started to back away, a scared look on his face. Walter spoke hurriedly. “I am not looking for you to do you harm,” he said. “But my master, Gregory Rokesley, would speak to you. This is a chance for you and your friend to repay us as you should have done, instead of Osbert trying to rob us.” Cedric shuffled his feet and looked away uneasily. “Well,” he said at last. “’Twarn’t my idea…” His voice tailed off into an embarrassed silence. “You can explain to my master,” said Walter, impatiently. “If you are interested in coming with me, of course. Is Osbert with you?” “Oh yes,” said Cedric. “Osbert and me, we’re always together!” “Then find him,” said Walter. “Show me where to take our horses and bring Osbert to me there. And Cedric—make sure you return. Gregory Rokesley has influence at court, even up to the King himself!” Cedric looked doubtful, then deciding that this fierce looking red-head was speaking the truth, he nodded. He pointed across the yard. “The stables are over yonder,” he said. “There is a turning in the corner, which is hidden from here. I know where Osbert is and I’ll bring him to you as soon as possible.” He nodded again and turned away, walking swiftly across the yard. Walter watched him until he was no longer visible then clicked his tongue to the horses and led them across to the corner. Sure enough, there was a high wall concealing the turning, just as the soldier had described. The familiar smells of the stables wafted into the air and Walter sniffed with appreciation. Straw, hay, horseflesh and dung, the same in stables everywhere. He felt himself relax and his mouth curved up in a smile of satisfaction. A man came towards him and looked over the horses with appreciation. “These two are well cared for!” he said to Walter. “Indeed they are—I look after them myself!” returned Walter, taking an instant liking to the man. “I need to leave them with you, while my master completes his business here. 115

He has asked me to carry a message for him also—will you be content to look after these two for me until I return?” “It will be my pleasure,” said the man and held out his hand to take the reins from Walter. The horses were calm now and prepared to go with the stranger, which counted in his favour, as far as Walter was concerned. He was convinced that his horses knew a good man from a bad one and this man clearly knew horseflesh and loved it as much as Walter did. He stood, arms folded, watching the man leading them under the projecting roof and into the stables, then turned and walked back to the corner. Leaning against the wall, he made himself comfortable and watched the busy scene in front of him as he waited for Cedric and Osbert to appear. The scaffolding pole, which had fallen so dangerously, had been picked up by two of the men working on the site. They shouted and two ropers were lowered by their mates above. The ropes were fastened to each end of the pole and, at a shout from one of the men on the ground, it was hauled up into the existing structure. Shading his eyes with his arm, Walter watched as it was deftly caught by the two men above, the ropes untied, and the pole tied firmly in place at their shoulder height. Now that he was looking up into the construction site itself, he could see that the scaffolding was swarming with people. Some were scrambling about helping to raise it even higher, while others were working at lower levels. It still looked very flimsy to Walter’s eyes and he was glad he was not one of the gang working on it. He heard his name called and looked across to the far side of the yard. Coming through the door was a well-known figure. “Walter!” shouted Jervis, waving his arm enthusiastically. He strode across the yard and grasped Walter’s shoulders affectionately. Behind him came Gregory, a broad smile on his features, but shaking his head at the younger man’s lack of dignity. “It is all arranged,” said Gregory. “We may have the use of Osbert and Cedric until Hubert is back with us and we are all safe in Milk Street. Did you find them both, Walter?” “I found Cedric,” said Walter. “He has gone to fetch Osbert and they are meeting me here—if they reappear!” “I think they will,” said Gregory. “They are coming across the yard now.”

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN Gregory looked across at Jervis as they made their way back to Milk Street. Behind them rode Walter, with Osbert and Cedric walking one at each stirrup. Gregory leant to one side and murmured in Jervis’s ear. “I don’t know how long those three will take to accept each other!” he said, wryly. Jervis twisted in his saddle and glanced behind him, then faced front again. “Nor I!” he said, keeping his voice low. “What’s the trouble there?” “Ah,” said Gregory. “You were not with us in our Winchester lodgings, were you?” Jervis shook his head. “I was staying with My Lord de Warenne at the castle,” he replied. “Did something happen to make Walter look so suspicious of our two soldiers?” Gregory sighed. “It was an unhappy chance,” he said. “As we, that is, Walter and I, made our way from the castle to my friend’s house, we were attacked by footpads—one of whom was Osbert.” Jervis raised his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared. “And yet you sought him out to help us?” he said. “I am certain that Osbert did not realise it was us,” he said. “He was just one of a group of hungry men, left without food or the means of buying any, and wandering the streets looking for some way of getting what they needed.” “But why seek him out, of all people, now?” said Jervis. “I think he is a good fellow at heart,” said Gregory. “He and Cedric are uncomfortable with us now, because they feel guilty. We looked after them both when we found them in the forest. Cedric was wounded, so he had no part in the attempted robbery, but he will urge Osbert to make amends. They seem to be friends of many years’ standing. Osbert will listen to Cedric and, once they understand that I have no intention of exacting revenge, we will have two loyal followers—see if we don’t!” “We-e-ll,” said Jervis doubtfully. They were entering the City via the gate and there was no time to say more. As they rode past St Paul’s they were caught up in the flood of humanity that was crammed inside the confines of the walls. A babble of noise rose round them and any more conversation was impossible, until they were along the Chepe and had turned into Milk Street. Gregory and Jervis dismounted and handed their horses over to Walter who, jerking his head to Cedric and Osbert, led them off round to the rear of Gregory’s house. Gregory and Jervis made their way to Gregory’s own room where he flung himself into an ancient but comfortable chair by his desk and gestured to Jervis to take a similar one set against the wall. “Where is Hubert, then?” said Jervis. “And why has he been taken? And where is Philip?” Gregory steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “Hubert is taken hostage and is being kept somewhere in Ely,” he said. “As for Philip—he has not been seen since he delivered the ransom message.” Jervis frowned.

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“Philip actually came here and left a message?” he said. “Surely that was foolish and arrogant, even for Philip!” “You would think so,” said Gregory. “But that young man was clearly feeling very pleased with himself and the adventure he was caught up in! Who knows where he is now? He may have gone to ground with like-minded friends here in London, or, more likely, on the other side of the river, in Southwark.” “Why Southwark?” said Jervis, curiously. “I thought it was only the City itself that still harboured friends of de Montfort and his cause.” “No, indeed!” said Gregory. “Southwark shelters many sympathisers for that lost cause. There are many who own properties on both banks of the Thames—such as the Priory of Lewes, which owns this very house, plus a large palace in Southwark.” “So,” said Jervis. “We know that our good Hubert is languishing as a prisoner of the followers of de Montfort and is being kept in East Anglia. We also know that Philip came here and then vanished, but is most probably still nearby. What do you want to do first?” “First?” asked Gregory, puzzled. “Find Philip and kill him as a traitor, or find Hubert and leave Philip until later?” said Jervis, grimly. He stared at Gregory, his anger and sorrow at the betrayal of one who he had thought a close friend since boyhood etched on his face. His eyes had a flinty look that Gregory had never seen before and his mouth was set so firmly that deep lines showed on either side. He raised his fist and thumped it down on the arm of his chair. “That Philip should behave so!” he said between gritted teeth. “Philip!” Gregory looked at the young man opposite, no longer the carefree boy of a few years ago, now facing the knowledge that one of his closest friends had acted so traitorously. He nodded sympathetically. “I know it is hard for you to accept, Jervis,” he said. “Despite our suspicions, knowing definitely that Philip was a traitor must be a shock.” “What is harder is my own lack of wisdom. How did he manage to keep it all such a secret? Why did we not see what was happening?” Jervis frowned across at Gregory. “Why did I not notice?” he said. “We spent so much time together—how could I have been so blind? I should have known something was not right—I should have seen it and warned you!” Gregory shook his head. “I do not think that Philip was on de Montfort’s side until after the battle at Lewes,” said Gregory. “Until you left for France, all was well, but then—” Jervis nodded. “You heard how bitter he was at being left in England,” he said. “Indeed,” said Gregory. “It was clear that he felt himself badly treated by de Warenne, because he was not asked to go with you.” “So-o-o,” said Jervis, slowly and thoughtfully. “Someone on de Montfort’s side took advantage of his mood and asked him to work for de Montfort?” “Exactly!” said Gregory. “We both know how quick to take offence Philip could be and he no doubt made his feelings known to many people to whom he spoke. Both sides have always had spies in the other camp, as it were…” 118

“Like Sir Roger de Tourney,” said Jervis. He had never forgotten de Tourney’s unmasking, or his mysterious death in the forest. “Yes—and now that we do know what Philip is about,” said Gregory, briskly. “We must do our best to thwart the plans which have been made by those with whom he now rides.” “What are they?” began Jervis, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. It opened and Walter stood there with an odd expression on his face. He seemed to be annoyed and nervous at the same time. “What is it, Walter?” said Gregory. “It’s them two downstairs—at least they were downstairs,” said Walter. “But they wouldn’t stay here, Master. I’m sorry…” Gregory held up his hand. “No matter, Walter,” he said. “Just tell me what they said.” “It was Cedric who spoke,” said Walter. “No sooner had you and Master Jervis here left us, when him and Osbert started muttering together. Finally, after they’d had a good flagon of ale each, Cedric starts saying they’re not going anywhere just because we tell them to. They want proper orders, he says, or they’ll be in trouble with their sergeant. I told them that you would have made everything all right before we left Westminster, but they were having none of it. I said I would come and ask you to talk to them yourself— but as I came into the house I heard them running and they were gone out of the yard and into the Chepe by the time I got after them!” He stopped to draw breath, while Jervis stared at him in amazement. He had never heard Walter say so much all at once. Clearly, the man was distressed at what he saw as his own failure to keep the two soldiers down in the yard. Gregory shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Walter,” he said, sounding surprisingly calm. “All shall be well!” “If you think that, Gregory,” said Jervis. “Why ask them to come with us in the first place?” “Wait and see!” said Gregory and would not be drawn any further. Instead, he sat with Jervis and Walter talking about where Hubert was being held and the best means of getting there. “Ely is in the middle of the fens,” said Jervis, doubtfully. “And I have never been there.” “But we have,” said Gregory. “Several times in the last ten years or so—is that not so, Walter?” Walter nodded. “There is the great fair in Lynn twice a year,” said Gregory. “And a great abbey in Ely…” “…and you have traded for many years in wool and wine!” finished Jervis. “So the monks of Ely will know you well, I warrant, with their taste for good wine.” “Indeed!” said Gregory, smiling at Jervis’s opinion of monks and other religious.

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“Are you planning to follow the same route as Philip and Hubert took?” asked Jervis, sitting up suddenly and looking interested instead of miserable, for the first time since they had started talking. Gregory shook his head. “I was going to,” he admitted. “But then I realised we could be too large a party to take ship without attracting attention. I think it would be wiser to go via road and river and reach Ely that way, although we run a greater risk of ambush, I suppose.” “Why are we going so meekly to pay this ransom for Hubert?” said Jervis, suddenly. “Why, because I want Hubert back as quickly and safely as possible!” said Gregory. “What an odd question, Jervis.” “But hear me, Gregory,” said Jervis, leaning across the table. “If you pay the ransom, you are giving more money to our enemies, to use in their cause to destroy our King. We can do better than that, surely?” “And what do you have in mind?” said Gregory. “We should go and release Hubert secretly,” said Jervis. “Then we shall indeed have him back safe and sound, but there will be nothing for those who have held him captive. So—they get nothing for their ill-begotten cause and it may serve to stop them treating others likewise!” Despite the seriousness of the discussion, Gregory could not help feeling amused at the change in Jervis, now that he had thought of the idea of rescuing Hubert. His face was flushed and his eyes bright with enthusiasm. The energy it engendered made him fidget in his chair, as if he would leap up any moment, rush to his horse, and gallop off to the rescue. Even Walter was standing poised as if to go, his face lit up with sudden hope. “Have you a plan, Jervis?” said Gregory. Jervis shook his head. “Not yet—but together we could come up with something, I’m certain!” he said. He held his breath, waiting as Gregory thought it over. “Very well,” said Gregory, at last. “We cannot simply get on our horses and ride off without some kind of plan. In any case, I must make our arrangements—and we have to wait for Osbert and Cedric to return!” He smiled at the expression on the other two faces. “Did you not wonder why I took the news of their abrupt departure so well?” he said. “Their sergeant, whose wrath they were so worried about, will send them straight back to me. They have been given to me as guards for the duration of this little adventure!” He turned to Walter. “They may not be in the best of moods when they reappear tomorrow, Walter,” he said. “But I am sure you can soon change that. Feed them well and keep them occupied about the house and yard—after you have brought them to see me!” Walter tugged his forelock and went out of the room, his face a careful blank. Gregory knew he was suspicious of both the soldiers, and with reason, but he hoped that this enforced time in each other’s company would help to remedy that. Walter would be on home ground and therefore at ease and they would be uneasy in unfamiliar surroundings. Walter’s normal silence was comfortable and unthreatening and should calm everyone down. He was also very much at ease with the horses and perhaps his mastery of the

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animals would serve to impress two foot soldiers who would not be used to spending time with them. A sudden pounding on the main door of the house made Jervis jump in alarm. Gregory held up his hand to keep him quiet as they waited to find out who was there demanding entry. There was a murmur of voices as the door was opened, then the sound of someone hurrying towards them. The door to the room was flung open so forcibly that it banged against the wall. “Aaron!” said Jervis in delight. He stood and the two men hugged each other. Aaron’s hair stood on end and he was panting slightly. “I saw you turning into the house,” he said. “Then I saw two men leave in a hurry and Walter come into the street, scratching his head, before going back inside. Is all well? Have you been robbed?” “No, no,” soothed Gregory. “They were the two soldiers we found in the forest on our way to Winchester. I have arranged for them to join us on our rescue mission!” Aaron drew himself up. “You can have me, too,” he said. “I cannot sit idly by while you go to rescue Hubert— he has been too good to me and my family!” “What about Judith and the baby?” said Gregory. Jervis looked at Aaron. “The child is born?” he said. “Why has no one told me?” “She was born only this morning!” said Aaron. “There has been no time to spread the word beyond the Jewry—although I am convinced that everyone who lives here has been told and come to see the child already!” He laughed, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, then grew sombre again. “Judith will understand my wish to help you,” he said to Gregory. “And a birth chamber is no place for a man—not even the father of the babe.” “What about your parents—are they so understanding?” asked Jervis. “My mother is too busy with Judith and the baby to notice who is there and who is not,” said Aaron. “My father will understand when I explain the situation—he has a high opinion of Hubert!” “Does that help include accompanying Jervis and me to wherever we must go?” asked Gregory. “You might be away for weeks, Aaron. Are you prepared to be separated from Judith at this time in your lives?” Aaron nodded. “I am,” he said. “Judith loves Hubert as much as I do—she would want me to go with you.” “Then let us make our plans!” said Gregory. “My first step in any plan must be to go and let Judith know what has happened and what I must do!” said Aaron, firmly. “Go then!” said Gregory. “Jervis—do you need to tell anyone apart from Lord de Warenne?” Jervis blushed. “There is another, yes,” he said, carefully. “I should like to tell her of my absence and set her mind at rest.” 121

Aaron and Gregory exchanged amused looks. “And who might this lady be?” asked Aaron. Jervis took a deep breath. “Madeleine de Tourney,” he said. There was a brief silence as the other two digested this news, then Gregory cleared his throat. “I did not realise that this friendship had developed further than mere casual acquaintance,” he said. “Oh,” said Jervis. “It has become much more important to me than that…” His voice tailed away and he began to frown. “Do you think my lady is not to be trusted because of her late husband’s views?” he said. Gregory opened his mouth to answer, but Jervis went on speaking, his anger plainer with every word. “And do you also think that I would be fool enough to ally myself with anyone whom I knew to be a traitor to our King? I am deeply offended, Gregory—you saw my reaction to the news of Philip’s actions.” “Stop it, Jervis!” said Gregory, peremptorily. His voice had such natural authority that Jervis closed his mouth immediately, but his clenched jaw showed that he was still annoyed and he breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling and his fists clenched by his sides. Aaron stared at him, surprised at his reaction. “What about Philip?” he said, bewildered. There was a pause, then Jervis shook his head as if it would clear his mind. “Philip,” he said. “Our good and loyal Philip has taken himself to the other cause and has been seen with John d’Eyvill and his men in Southwark. He was involved in the plot to kidnap Hubert. Not only that, but he had the gall to deliver the news that Hubert had been taken himself!” “I cannot believe such a thing of Philip!” said Aaron, paling with the shock. “Nor could I,” said Jervis. “Despite Gregory’s warning, I did not believe it until we had the proof in front of our eyes.” He looked at Gregory. “I can assure you,” he said. “Madeleine was never of the same mind as Sir Roger. I asked her before Lewes if she followed her husband’s way and she said that she did not. Then, when Sir Roger died in the forest, I spent time with her. I was surprised at how quickly she seemed to recover from the shock of losing her husband, but, while we were all in France, we became close friends. She told me then that she had been married to Sir Roger to please her parents and it was far from a love match.” “But now it is?” said Aaron, grinning. “Yes, Aaron,” said Jervis, solemnly. “Now it is—I have loved her from the moment I saw her, but hid it as well as I could until she was free. Now that I am older, she seems happy to be in my company and I believe she is beginning to love me too.” “That’s wonderful, Jervis!” said Gregory, warmly. “Of course you must go and tell her that you will be away for a while.”

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“I can say simply that you have invited me to go with you on one of your visits to Ely,” said Jervis. “She need know no more than that—but what of My Lord de Warenne?” “Earl de Warenne must know the whole story,” said Gregory. “Will you go and tell him yourself, Jervis, before you speak to Madeleine? He must be the first to know what you are about and why you are not at court. The King will understand and excuse your absence, if Earl de Warenne tells him he gave permission for you to go, will he not?” Jervis nodded. “I’m certain of it,” he said. “Especially when I tell him I am going with you, Gregory— and with Aaron, of course!” He grinned across at Aaron and thumped his shoulder with delight. “It will be good to be doing something, instead of idling about in Westminster!” he said. “Other reasons for your activity would have been preferable,” said Gregory, with a note of reproof. Jervis had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, yes, of course,” he said, hurriedly. “Perhaps I should go now, Gregory?” Gregory waved toward the door. “Perhaps you should,” he said. “We shall expect you back tomorrow, then, in the forenoon. And Jervis—try not to look too excited when you enter the Palace. You can never tell who might be watching and waiting to pick up news to pass to our enemies.” Jervis nodded, turned on his heel and left the room. They could hear him clattering out and into the yard to collect his horse. Gregory sighed and steepled his fingers, gazing at them sombrely. “This is a bad business, Aaron,” he said. “I am sorry that it must intrude on such a joyful time for you.” “I should be annoyed if I thought you would keep such news from me,” said Aaron. “We are all friends, Gregory, and Hubert is part of our lives. Did he not help to save us from the massacre in the Jewry?” “He did,” agreed Gregory. “Then helped to rescue me, as well. I literally owe him my life, Aaron, and I must get him back here safely. He mocked me for worrying about his safety—and now my worst fears have been realised!” He sighed again and his face looked suddenly much older. “We will get him back, Gregory,” said Aaron, firmly. “I know we will! I am going now to explain what has happened and to make arrangements to join you on the morrow. Until then, let us all see what plans we can come up with to bring our friend home with us as soon as possible!” He nodded at Gregory and left him alone with his thoughts.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN Jervis strode through the rooms in Westminster Palace, looking for John de Warenne. People looked up as he rushed past, surprised at so much energy in the normally languid atmosphere of the court. He stopped by a group of squires sitting at a table, playing five stones. “Do any of you know where My Lord de Warenne is at this moment?” he said. There was a general shaking of heads, except for one youth sitting slightly apart from the others. “I saw him with My Lady de Tourney,” he said. “They were going towards her rooms, I believe, Jervis.” “Thank you,” said Jervis politely, ignoring the smirk on the youth’s face, with all it implied. He would deal with him later, he decided. It was important to get ready as quickly as possible, so that he could return to Gregory in Milk Street. He made his way through more rooms and across a small inner courtyard, coming at last to the turret where he knew Madeleine’s rooms lay. Whistling softly to himself, he ran up the twisting stairs, rapped smartly on the door and flung it open. Halfway in, his eyes took in the scene in front of him. John de Warenne stood leaning over Madeleine, both her hands in his, their two startled faces turned towards the door. Jervis stared, frowned, and backed out again, crashing the door behind him. He ran blindly down the stairs and outside, where he leant against the stone wall, his fists clenched. He heard his name called and de Warenne appeared in the doorway. “Jervis!” he said. “Why did you leave like that?” “You were clearly engaged in a most private conversation, sir,” said Jervis, stiffly. “I must apologize for my untimely intrusion…” De Warenne’s mouth twitched with amusement as he gazed at his squire. “I fear you have completely misunderstood what you saw, Jervis,” he said. “Oh, I fear not, My Lord!” said Jervis. De Warenne sighed. “As you wish, Master FitzHugh!” he said. “Were you seeking me, or the Lady de Tourney?” “Both of you,” said Jervis. “I need your permission for an absence of several weeks, while I go with Master Rokesley to the fenlands. I was coming to seek you out and ask you if that would be acceptable, before I told Mad—Lady de Tourney. But no doubt you will be content for me to absent myself and will waste no time in informing my lady!” “I am a patient man, Jervis,” said de Warenne, frowning. “And normally I have a high opinion of you. Your refusal to understand, or even to listen to me, strains that good opinion. An absence of several weeks is an excellent idea—it will give you time to think over what I am now going to say. You have nothing to concern yourself about regarding my relations with Madeleine. I know that you and she feel great affection for each other and I would not come between you.”

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“If you say so, sir!” said Jervis, stiffly, his disbelief plain. “Go with Rokesley, man!” said de Warenne, exasperated by Jervis’s mood. “I look forward to welcoming you back as the young man I know, not this mulish child!” He turned back into the tower and Jervis trailed miserably away, his high spirits of the morning thoroughly dashed. His eyes down, he wandered back through the palace toward his own space. A snicker made him look up—there stood the squire who had told him where to find de Warenne. The youth’s face was alight with malicious glee as he took in Jervis’s change of mood. He opened his mouth to stay something, but Jervis gave him no time. Lashing out with his right fist, he hit the youth squarely on his nose, which promptly began to pour blood. His enemy howled and clutched his face, backing away as he did so. Jervis, hands on hips, made to step closer. The youth turned and fled, leaving a trail of bright scarlet drips behind him to mark his path. A bellow of laughter and a round of applause followed the vanishing youth and Jervis, grinning and feeling much better, went to join his friends. “Well done, Jervis!” said Robert, his oldest friend. “That boy has been annoying all of us with his sly comments and implications. He richly deserved a bloody nose. Perhaps now he will keep his foul thoughts to himself!” He pulled out a stool for Jervis. “Sit awhile with us, share some wine and tell us what caused you to rush through just now,” he said, placing a full beaker in front of Jervis. Jervis took a giant gulp before answering, to give himself time to think. He glanced around him, but the rest of the group were absorbed in their game, their heads bent over the stones, which had just fallen on the table. “I have been invited to join Gregory Rokesley on one of his journeys to the fenlands,” he said, in a low voice. Robert looked impressed. “Gregory Rokesley is a man of great influence,” he said. “And a friend of the King himself, it is said.” “Yes, indeed,” agreed Jervis. “But I cannot say much more about the purpose of this journey, Robert—you must not speak of it to anyone, other than My Lord de Warenne!” “—and Madeleine, I presume?” said Robert, with a grin. Jervis’s face darkened. “Mmmm…” he said non-committally. Robert’s eyebrows shot up. “But I thought you and Madeleine de Tourney planned to marry?” he said. “The news is all round the court!” “So did I,” said Jervis, his misery returning. “Yet I saw my lady and de Warenne together in her chamber just now—” He broke off and swung round to rise from the table, but Robert caught his shoulder and forced him to sit still. “Jervis, you are being too prickly and possessive by far!” he said. “My Lord de Warenne and the Lady de Tourney have always been very close. His wife and she are such friends. Did he say anything to you when you found them?” Jervis shrugged slightly. 125

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “He told me that I had misunderstood what I saw…” “…And so you did!” said Robert. “You leap to conclusions still, Jervis, you know that. Surely you trust your lady enough to believe she is innocent of any wrongdoing?” Jervis thought for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes, Robert, old friend, I do trust her!” he said, in a more cheerful tone. “But it is hard to love as I love her and not to be afraid of losing someone so precious!” “Ah, Jervis!” said Robert, teasingly. “Love is so painful to a young man’s heart, is it not?” Jervis cuffed him playfully and stood up. “I shall tell you all about being a young man in love when I return,” he said. “Meanwhile, I must gather my things together, get my horse readied and make my way back to Rokesley’s house.” He leant over Robert and spoke softly again. “And I shall tell you all about my travels when I return, too,” he said. “Should anyone ask, all you know is that I have gone to join friends in London and that I have permission to do so!” He stood up again, nodded, waved to the group playing five stones and left the hall, whistling cheerfully. Back in the chamber he shared with Robert, he stuffed some small clothes into a cloth bag. A quick look round to ensure that nothing was forgotten and he walked across the room and opened the door. Outside, her hand raised ready to knock, stood Madeleine de Tourney. Jervis felt himself go pale, then red. He stood to one side and she walked into the room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it as she searched his face. “Madeleine!” he said. “Why have you come here? You will lose your reputation…” “I fear I may have lost it already with the one person who matters the most to me, Jervis,” she said. “I had to know that you did not misunderstand what you saw in my chamber. De Warenne is an old friend, as you must know.” Jervis looked embarrassed. “So he told me himself,” he admitted. “It seems I completely over-reacted.” Madeleine smiled and put her hand to his cheek. “You did, you did!” she said. Putting his hand over hers, Jervis pressed it to his face, then turned it over and kissed it. “It is only because of the love I feel,” he said. “But with love must come trust of the beloved,” said Madeleine. “Do you not trust me, Jervis?” “Yes, of course I do!” he said. “It is other people I do not trust—how do I know that someone will not take you away from me?” She shook her head at him, still smiling. “It is still a matter of trusting me!” she said. “No one can take me from you—I love you, too!” He sighed and folded her into his arms, holding her against him and feeling her warmth. They stood motionless for a long moment, then he sighed again and spoke, feeling her soft hair against his face. 126

“I have to go away, my love,” he said. “Gregory Rokesley needs me to go with him to the fenlands immediately.” She moved within his arms and looked up at him. “He needs you?” she said. “It is not a pleasure trip, then?” “No,” he said. “It is far from pleasure, Madeleine. Gregory’s man Hubert has been kidnapped by those still following de Montfort’s cause. They are holding him for ransom in Ely, according to the message Gregory received.” “Then you must go at once, Jervis,” she said. She put her hands against his upper arms and stepped back as he reluctantly let her go. “Are you ready?” she said, all business now that she knew what he was planning. He nodded. “I am sure your friend Hubert will soon be back here,” she said. “You and Gregory will not rest until he is—but Jervis, please take care and do not do anything on impulse!” He smiled at her ruefully. “Seeing what my impulsive action has just led to, I shall do my best to think first and act afterward!” he said. “Better still—listen to Gregory Rokesley and do as he wishes, not what you wish,” said Madeleine. He bent and kissed her cheek swiftly, then opened the door and looked both ways before turning and ushering her out. He picked up his pack and swung it over one shoulder, then followed her out and closed the door firmly behind him. “Do you wish to go first and then I shall follow after a little later,” he said. “Oh, tush, Jervis!” said Madeleine. “If people see us together, it will simply confirm what the court has known for months. And, besides, if people see us together so openly, it might stop other men from having foolish ideas!” She linked her arm cosily through his and they walked together through the palace and toward the stables. *** Aaron sat gazing at both parents anxiously. He could almost hear his mother’s mind working through the options and her own emotions, trying to reach the best solution. Should she agree to his joining Gregory to find Hubert? How much danger would he be in? Should she insist he stay with his wife and new baby? What would Judith want him to do? She turned away from her son’s eyes and met her husband’s instead. Benjamin was looking at her with an odd expression—half wary, half waiting. He raised his eyebrows as she looked at him, and smiled slightly. Taking a deep breath, she took the plunge. “I think you should speak to Judith about this plan,” she said. “I am your mother, but she is your wife—and you two must take these decisions between yourselves now.” “But how do you feel, Mother?” said Aaron, anxiously. She shook her head. “My opinion should no longer be what sways you, Aaron,” she said. “You are a husband—and now a father, however new!” 127

Benjamin put his arm round her waist and squeezed. “You are a wonderful woman, my gold!” he said tenderly. She could see the relief in his eyes and knew why. “Did you think I would still seek to lead my son, Benjamin?” she said, reproachfully. “Yes!” he said without hesitation, and laughed. Aaron stood up. “Thank you for listening to me, both of you,” he said. “I think I already know what Judith will say, but I must go and talk to her at once!” “Go gently, my son,” said Dorcas. “Judith is strong, but she is very tired.” Aaron nodded. “Don’t worry, Mother!” he said lightly, although his face was very serious. “I shall enter the room as softly as a mouse and speak as gently as a dove!” He left and they could hear him running lightly upstairs. “My son is a man,” said Benjamin proudly. “With a boy’s heart!” said Dorcas. “And a boy’s taste for adventure!” “But you know that Judith will want him to go, too,” said Benjamin. “Gregory saved our lives when he led us from the massacre by Monchesny and his men just two short years ago. We owe him a debt which must be repaid!” “I know, I know,” said Dorcas, leaning against him. “But I wish he could have stayed and enjoyed the baby a little while before rushing off and into we know not how much danger!” They sat quietly, comfortable in each other’s arms, and waited. Above them came the murmur of Aaron’s voice, interrupted by Judith’s. She said something short but emphatic, then there was a short silence before they heard the bedchamber door open and close and Aaron bounding down the stairs again. He threw open the door and stood holding the handle, beaming at them both, but with suspiciously bright eyes. “I was right!” he said. “Judith bids me go with all speed to help our friends, as they helped us in our time of danger.” He cleared his throat. “I have such an understanding wife!” he said huskily. “She all but got out of bed to push me out the door. No word of how much she wanted me to stay, although I know she did. Indeed, I would rather be with the two of them than anywhere, yet I cannot fail Gregory at such a time!” “Then we must get you ready and send you on your way,” said Dorcas, standing up. “I must prepare something for you to take with you—and enough to feed everyone who travels with you and Gregory. How many of you will there be?” “Five, dearest Mother,” said Aaron. “So you will give me enough for ten, I have no doubt!” He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” he said. “I will not be leaving today—but I must go to Gregory’s house now and tell him that I shall be joining him as soon as he is ready.” He was out of the house before Dorcas had time to answer. She looked at Benjamin. “Go on,” he said. “Go and see how Judith is taking all this.”

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Dorcas nodded and went upstairs. She stood by the door of Judith and Aaron’s chamber and listened, then opened it quietly. Judith lay curled on her side, her eyes open and tears trickling silently down her face. The baby lay beside her on the bed, peacefully sleeping. One tiny fist was curled round one of Judith’s fingers. Judith turned her head as Dorcas came in. “Is she not beautiful?” she whispered. “Yes—very beautiful and perfect, too!” said Dorcas. “Are you very upset at Aaron’s leaving, Judith?” Judith sniffed. “I wish he did not have to go,” she said. “But he must—I want him to go and help our dear friend Gregory.” She looked at her sleeping baby again. “I just hope he comes back safely to watch her grow,” she said. “My only fear is that he will not!” Dorcas sat on the side of the bed and put her hand on Judith’s shoulder. “Hush, Judith!” she said. “Of course he will come back safely—he has even better reasons to look after himself now than ever he had before!” “Mmm,” said Judith doubtfully. The baby stirred and opened her eyes. She gazed at her mother’s face then, as if reassured, closed her eyes again and gave a little snore as she settled back into sleep. The two women looked at the peaceful, trusting baby and sighed in unison. “It will be all right!” said Dorcas firmly, but Judith only sighed. “Now you must sleep some more,” Dorcas went on. “Aaron is not going tonight, so you will see him again before he leaves.” Judith nodded and closed her eyes. Before Dorcas had reached the door, she was asleep as well.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Hubert sat in the window seat and stared out. He was being well treated by his captors, but he was getting very bored and felt stifled. It had been days since he had walked outside and breathed the fresher air and he longed to feel the space of the outdoors around him. Here in a chamber on one side of the gatehouse of Ely Cathedral, he could catch tantalising glimpses of what lay around him. If he looked to his left, he could see the massive walls of the cathedral towering above him. On his right was the end of a building, which was probably a barn, next to the old motte of the Norman castle and the sloping grass of meadows, down to the Great Ouse meandering along through the marshlands. The choice of a room in the gatehouse had puzzled him at first, until he realized how closely guarded he was. There was always at least one watchman or other gatekeeper on duty beneath him and the whole of the complex of monastic buildings were overlooked either by the cathedral itself, or by each other. Even if he managed to make his escape from the building, where would he go? The marshes were treacherous and only a fool would cross without a guide. There was, in any case, little shelter from trees and he would be spotted within a very short time. His captors had chosen well and here he was forced to stay until events beyond his control dictated what would happen to him. He drew in his breath and let it out in a hiss of frustration. The door of his chamber swung open and a man came in, bearing a wooden plate of food and a beaker of small beer. The plate had a small loaf of coarse bread and some meat on it—his usual midday fare. “When can I go outside and walk about?” said Hubert. “Soon,” said the man. “But you said that yesterday,” said Hubert. “Not up to me,” said the man, grumpily. “Then ask whoever it is up to!” snapped Hubert, growing tired of being polite to the man. “It is clear that whoever is in charge here wants me to be kept in good health. Tell him I shall go mad if I am kept locked up in here with nothing to do and no proper exercise. I am sure he does not want to hand me over to my master half-dead or out of my mind!” The man stared at him, then, muttering under his breath, left the chamber and banged the door behind him. Hubert took the meal across to the table and stool, which stood in one corner and left it on the table. He paced back and forth, his arms folded across his chest, then wandered over to the window again and stared out. Suddenly, he heard the sound of hooves on the cobbles as two riders came in and stopped directly below his window. Grunts of relief floated up as the riders dismounted, then there came the sound of someone running across the yard toward the gatehouse. “Here, boy!” came one voice. “Take both the horses, feed and water them well and give them a good rubdown. They have carried us a long way these past days!” “Yes sir,” answered a young voice, as yet unbroken.

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The sound of hooves started up again, fading off as the horses were led away. Hubert started to move away from the window when the voices below started again. “I would say that was a successful mission,” said the first voice. “Indeed, Sir John!” answered his companion. “I have seldom had more satisfaction from a visit to London!” “You are easily pleased, Trubodi,” said Sir John. “We have not completed our plan as yet.” “But all goes smoothly, does it not?” replied Trubodi. “Rokesley has received our demands and the troublesome messenger had been disposed of and will trouble us no more.” “True,” said Sir John. “Philip outlived his usefulness—you did well there. How long until he is found, I wonder?” “A long time, if ever,” said Trubodi, cheerfully. “The river runs strongly and he is probably somewhere in the North Sea by now, if he has escaped the attentions of a hungry bird or fish.” Hubert stood shocked above the speakers. Philip had been killed by this mysterious Trubodi? What a fate for one so young and full of promise—even though he had turned against the King, it was a sad end. He knelt up on the window seat and tried to peer down and catch a glimpse of the two men below him. All he could see from above was two men in travelling cloaks walking away from him. The only distinguishing mark he noticed was that the shorter of them wore silver spurs which chinked as he walked and looked, allowing for the foreshortening effect of his viewpoint, as if they were much longer than normal. He watched as they strode across the yard and turned into a door on the left, then sank back onto his knees in thought. If Gregory knew that he had been captured and was being held for ransom, there was no doubt at all in Hubert’s mind that his master would do everything he could to get him back. He did not know how much had been demanded—would it be an outrageously large sum, which even Gregory Rokesley would find it difficult to raise? Or would be a smaller sum which he would have no difficulty finding? The money Hubert had brought with him had been taken, of course, as soon as he was captured. But who had it now? The rebels, or the innkeeper, or even the man whom he had seen in the cart with him when he came to as they were travelling to Ely? He shrugged. It didn’t really matter what had happened to the money, the important thing was what might happen in the future. How long before Gregory and whoever came with him arrived? The very thought that a rescue was possible in the coming weeks was enough to change Hubert’s mood for the better. Suddenly, he was famished. He crossed to his meagre meal and devoured it. No sooner had he swallowed the last mouthful than the door to his chamber crashed open again. The man who had brought his food came in, collected the empty beaker and spoke. “You can walk outside for a while now,” he said. He went back to the door and jerked his head. “Come on, then!” he said. “Not changed your mind, have you?” Hubert stood and walked out past his gaoler, unable to believe his luck. Outside the door, he walked down the stairs and then had to wait for the man to unlock the door at 131

the bottom. He stepped outside and found himself at the same spot where the two horsemen had been. He was just inside the gates and in the yard he could see from his window. He glanced up at it. “No use looking up there,” said the man with him, giving him a none too gentle shove. “There’s no way down from there, as you can see.” It was true—the stone walls were sheer and there were no creepers of any kind to grip. It was a drop of at least twenty feet, straight on to the cobbles below. The risk of breaking a limb was high. It was certainly not an escape route. Not that it mattered to Hubert any more, he was content to be patient and wait for Gregory to come. The man with him, who was clearly there to guard him on his walk, led him away from the gatehouse and round its corner. He was in a large open space that was clearly part of the monastery gardens. Neat rows of vegetables stretched in front of him and there was a small orchard to his left. He could see the barn more clearly now and it was obviously much larger than it had appeared from his window. Stone built, it reached almost as far as the gatehouse itself. He realised he was looking at the monastery’s tithe barn, where the inhabitants of Ely and its surrounding demesne were expected to bring a tenth of their own produce as their contribution to the upkeep of the monastery and its monks. “No wonder I’ve never seen a thin monk!” thought Hubert, wryly. He had stopped walking when he saw the size of the barn. The guard had allowed him a brief halt, but now prodded him sharply in the back to make him move on. Walking slowly round the boundary of the garden, Hubert savoured the delight of breathing in the scents around him. Grass and earth, the tang of growing vegetables and the soft odours of lavender and camomile wafted past. He delighted in them as never before, contrasting them with the hot, stale smell in his chamber. He walked round the upper end of the garden, passing another outside wall. Since the herbs grew just beside it, he guessed it was the infirmary buildings. He paused again and leant back against the wall, enjoying the warmth of the stone on his back. His guard looked at him uncertainly. “Relax, man!” said Hubert. “Surely, I can lean against the wall for a few moments without making you suspect I am up to something? Come, lean here beside me—I can’t escape, can I?” He waved an arm at the surrounding area. There was clearly nowhere to hide and no means of getting away other than running. The man grinned suddenly, nodded, and propped himself against the wall beside him. “Are you my guard wherever I am, then?” asked Hubert after a short silence. The man nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I am not a burdensome duty!” said Hubert. “It must be better to walk round in the sun with someone than having to go out raiding for food.” “Not much need for raids in this place!” said the man. “You must have noticed the piles of food these monks have laid up for themselves!” He laughed suddenly. “I saw your face,” he said. “You looked shocked.” Hubert smiled. 132

“I thought, as most people do, that monks take vows when they enter a monastery,” he said. The man nodded. “Obedience, chastity—and poverty!” he said. “Not much sign of that, is there?” “Hmph,” grunted Hubert. “I was thinking that I’d never seen a thin monk and now I know why.” The man nodded and was silent again. The atmosphere between them had changed from suspicious to almost companionable, thought Hubert. All the better—if he could get this man to feel at ease with him, he might learn something useful to pass on to Gregory. He had no doubt at all that Gregory would come and find him as soon as possible. All he, Hubert, had to do was to keep his temper, make friends with those who were charged to look after him, and find out as much as possible about who these people were and what their plans were for the future. All he knew at the moment was that he was in Ely and in the hands of the Disinherited. He settled himself more comfortably against the wall, closed his eyes and raised his face to the warmth of the sun. Faintly, from the cathedral church behind him, he heard the chanting of the monks begin, the sound rising and falling and lulling him to sleep. He heard the guard beside him give a deep sigh and knew that he, too, was succumbing to the warmth and the hypnotic chanting. *** Gregory and Jervis ambled along on their horses, the reins loose, as they chatted idly. Behind them, Aaron and Walter grinned at each other as the cart following them bumped over loose stones yet again and the muttered curses of Osbert and Cedric reached their ears. They had joined a carter travelling along the same route soon after leaving London, and the two soldiers had been delighted with the offer of a ride with the carter, in exchange for keeping an eye out for robbers from their vantage point. Sitting on the rough bench inside the cart, they had been very content, until the party had left the old Roman road which led due North and turned on to the more local route at the start of this, the third day. Now, at noontide, they were feeling every bump and slide of the cart. At last, the carter cried “Whoa!” to the patient horse plodding along and the cart stopped. They had entered a small copse and a stream trickled along on the far side of it. The shade was a welcome relief, as the sun had grown steadily hotter as the time passed. Hearing the cry, the others stopped too and everyone dismounted. Osbert and Cedric both stood up and scrambled off the back of the cart with much grumbling and groaning. “It was your stupid idea!” said Cedric to his friend. “’Twarn’t!” said Osbert, indignantly. “Whoever had the idea, you have ridden in comfort until this morning,” came Gregory’s amused voice from behind them. “Perhaps you would prefer to walk—if the carter feels safe enough now, of course?” He turned to the carter and winked, without the soldiers seeing him. “Well now,” said the carter, slowly. “I reckon I can manage without these two fine fellows for a few hours. Perhaps they’d walk beside the cart, instead of in it. ’Course, that’ll be a bit dusty, now!” 133

He looked expectantly at Cedric and Osbert, who stared back at him in horror. “I think,” said Gregory, taking pity on the two men. “I’d rather they walked together, just ahead of me. They can look out for villains from the front, for a change.” “Yes, Master Gregory,” said Osbert, gratefully. “Me and Cedric can do that all right!” “Good,” said Gregory. “But now let us rest ourselves and our horses for a while. We can continue on our journey when the sun has lost its heat a little.” He looked at the four other travellers who had caught up with them earlier that day. The two groups had not exchanged a word during the whole trip, as the four clearly preferred their own company. The group of four seemed to consist of two well-dressed men and two servants, but Gregory was not entirely convinced. The only conversation he had overhead was conducted in low voices, as if the men wanted to keep their reasons for travelling secret. Nonetheless, they had been welcome companions, as the larger the group the less chance there was of attack. They had not dismounted like everyone else, so now he turned to them. “Will you rest with us?” he said. Their leader shook his head. “We would prefer to continue on to Ely,” he said. “Godspeed to you!” “And to you, also,” returned Gregory, politely. The leader nodded curtly and waved his arm at the other three. Together, they trotted off down the track, and vanished round the bend where the track followed the stream. The carter hesitated for a moment, then touched his forelock to Gregory politely and clicked his tongue. Obediently, the horses moved off in the same direction. As the others began to settle down on the grass and get out food and drink, Jervis stood looking after the horsemen. “I wonder who they are?” he said. “Because they were very ill at ease with the rest of us.” He turned and went to sit beside Gregory, accepting the large slice of cheese and hunk of bread that was offered and taking a huge bite of the cheese. “What do you think, Gregory?” said Aaron. “I feel the same as Jervis,” said Gregory. “I think they were not such innocent travellers as they wished to appear and Cambridge is not their destination. Ely is a stronghold of the Disinherited and further along the same route. Perhaps they were going to join them.” “They were not friendly,” said Jervis. “And kept us firmly at a distance.” Aaron laughed. “Not everybody frisks up to strangers like a puppy, Jervis!” he said. Jervis grinned and lifted his wine cup in acknowledgement. There was silence as they ate and drank, then Walter went to see to their horses. Osbert and Cedric lay with their backs against a handy tree and fell asleep. Cedric’s mouth sagged open and he snored softly. Gregory, Aaron and Jervis moved closer to each other and spoke in low voices so as not to be overheard. “Did either of you recognise any of the four who have just left us?” said Aaron. The other two shook their heads. 134

“I knew the face of one,” he continued. “I don’t think he knew me—the last time we met, he was lying on a cart and seemed near death.” “Who was he?” said Jervis. “His name is Gilbert le Armourer,” answered Aaron. “He was the older man with white hair, riding on the chestnut. I saw him last year, when Judith and I had to leave Winchester and return home without the rest of you. We were travelling with another Jewish family when we met him and his attendant on the road to Guildford.” He stopped and glanced over at the sleepers behind them. “What do you know of this man?” said Gregory, his eyes narrowing. “I am sure that he is for de Montfort’s cause. He was clearly expecting to meet Joseph, the man of the family we were with,” said Aaron. “Joseph said he had arranged the meeting and became angry when we suggested we wait for him. Joseph sent his family on ahead and insisted that Judith and I went with them.” “But what makes you think that this Gilbert is for de Montfort?” said Jervis. “I also remember seeing him by the Thames while I was in London,” said Aaron, simply. There was a silence while the other two digested this information, then Gregory shrugged. “There is nothing we can do about it,” he said. “Except pray that he did not recognise you—or you, Jervis.” “I don’t know why he should recognise me,” said Jervis. “Where did you see him in London, Aaron?” Aaron frowned in concentration. “I have thought long about it,” he said. “All I can remember is that it was not in the City itself, but somewhere across the river in Southwark. I cannot remember why I was there or where I was exactly. I keep hoping it will come to me.” “Never mind,” said Gregory. “These things often come to mind when you stop wondering. But we should be even more on our guard now, in case he is going to Ely and tells the wrong man that he has seen you on your way there.” “Are we to just ride into Ely and up to the abbey, when we get there?” asked Aaron. “Probably not,” said Gregory. “I have other friends in Ely.” He lay back on the grass. “Let us rest for now and go on our way when it has cooled off,” he said and closed his eyes. Aaron and Jervis looked at each other, then followed suit. Soon there was only the sound of the horses cropping the sweet grass and the heavy breathing of five men fast asleep. The sun had moved well to the west when Gregory awoke. He turned his head lazily to his right and saw his horse nuzzling the grass, with the others behind him. The horse lifted his head suddenly and blew down its nose, alerted to a faint noise somewhere in the copse. Gregory sat up and listened intently. The noise came again—the faint jingle of someone on horseback coming towards them. Gregory leant over and shook Jervis by the shoulder, putting his finger to his lips as the younger man opened his eyes. Gregory cupped his hand round his ear and gestured to the other to listen. 135

Jervis cocked his own ear, nodded, sat up and kicked Aaron’s foot to rouse him. Aaron’s eyes flew open, he looked once at the other two and sat up, scratched his head, then stood, without a word. Their movements had woken Osbert and Cedric. Still silently, they all made preparations to leave, Walter picking up any signs that they had been there. The horses had not been unsaddled, so it was a simple matter to pick up their belongings and mount up. The two soldiers had nothing to carry and simply stood for a few moments until all were ready, then they all moved off as quietly and swiftly as they could. The jingling sound has ceased, as if the rider were listening, too. Suddenly, there was the noise made by hasty movement among the trees and then the sound of hooves galloping back the way they had come. Gregory looked round at the tense faces and laughed. “It seems whoever was coming here has changed their mind!” he said. The copse was a small one and they were soon out of it and following the rough road that would lead them to Cambridge. In a short while, the two on foot were panting heavily and Gregory took pity on them. Signalling to the others to stop, he turned to Walter and Aaron. “As you two are the lightest, will you take Osbert and Cedric up behind you?” he said. “We can move faster if we are all on horseback and it seems to me that the sooner we reach our beds for the night the better.” Obediently, Osbert clambered up behind Walter and Cedric behind Aaron. The four horses were urged into a fast trot and the miles slipped away. Just as dusk was falling, they arrived on the outskirts of Cambridge. They entered the town without being challenged and made their way through the streets, attracting curious looks from the few people they passed. Jervis and Aaron stared around them, their curiosity aroused by the sight of prosperous dwellings outside their own city. Finally, Gregory stopped his horse outside a well-built stone house, which reminded Aaron of his own home in the Jewry. “This is where we stay tonight,” said Gregory, as he dismounted. “Are we expected?” said Aaron, in a low voice. Gregory shook his head. “No,” he said. “But we will be welcome, have no fear!” He turned to the others. “Jervis, come with Aaron and me,” he said. “You three, stay here and hold the horses for a while, until we have announced ourselves.” He went up to the heavy wooden door and rapped smartly. It was opened after a few moments by a stocky man, holding a lantern, which he raised to light their faces. “Why!” he said, after a shocked pause. “Why, Master Rokesley—this is indeed a pleasure!” “We are on our way to Ely, Mosseus, old friend,” said Gregory. “But it is time to halt for the night. Will you allow us to descend on you without warning like this?” “You are welcome, Master Rokesley,” said the man. “Far more welcome than many who come knocking on this door nowadays. How many are you?” “We are six altogether,” confessed Gregory. “My companions here with me and three who will be more than comfortable with your servants or in the stables. We have four

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horses, but my man Walter is well used to caring for horses, if you can but arrange for them to have food and shelter.” “Of course, of course,” said Mosseus. “Come inside and I shall direct the other three round the side to the rear yard.” He nodded pleasantly at Jervis and stared hard at Aaron as they entered behind Gregory, then went out again and they could hear him directing the other three to go round to the stables and find themselves some food in the kitchen. A murmur of thanks came from Walter and then the sound of hooves as the horses were led away. Mosseus re-appeared and closed the heavy door behind him. “It is well that you have broken your journey here, rather than riding straight into Ely,” he said, ushering them into a large room to the left of the door. “It is sadly changed since last I saw you there, Master Rokesley.” “So I have heard, Mosseus,” replied Gregory. “Perhaps you can tell us more about the situation there?” “I insist upon it, for your own good!” said Mosseus. “But first, take off your cloaks and boots and be comfortable!” Aaron and Jervis promptly swung off heir travelling cloaks. Gregory took off his own cloak, laughing at the blissful expression on the other two faces. There was a sudden sharp intake of breath from their host and they all turned to look at him in surprise. He was staring at Aaron. “Forgive me,” he said. “But are you not Aaron, son of Benjamin Yechiel?” “Yes, I am,” said Aaron, a puzzled expression on his face. “Do you know him?” Mosseus clasped his hands together. “Do I know him?” he said, in delight. “Yes, yes—Benjamin and I had dealings with each other many times in earlier years, but I have not seen him since before the dreadful massacre in London some three years ago. I was afraid that you were all dead and no one could reassure me otherwise.” He strode across the room, arms outstretched, and enfolded Aaron in a hearty embrace. “Well, well,” he said, releasing him at last. “This is a wonderful day—is the family well, Aaron?” Aaron grinned. “Not only well, but increasing,” he said. “I have a wife and a daughter just a few days old!” “Whom he has left in the tender care of his wife and his own mother,” said Gregory. “To come and help us in our quest.” Aaron shrugged. “I have told them, Master Mosseus,” he said. “Jewish men are not wanted when there is a new baby in the house! So I thought I should find some way of being useful to my friends instead!” He gestured towards Gregory and Jervis. “Ah!” said Mosseus. “Mazel Tov, Aaron! And I will hear all about why you are here, after you have eaten and drunk!” He left the room and they could hear him bustling along the passage, calling to his servants as he went to prepare food and drink for his friends. The three men sat down 137

heavily on a covered settle that stood against the wall. Sighing in unison, they eased off their dusty boots and wriggled their toes. The door opened and Mosseus reappeared, followed by two of his servants bearing trays of food and wine with cups. The servants silently placed their burdens on the table in the middle of the room, bowed, and withdrew. Mosseus beamed at his guests and beckoned them to the table. “Come, eat and refresh yourselves!” he said. They all gathered eagerly around the table. The food and drink were delicious and there was silence for a while, until it was broken by Gregory. “We have come to rescue one of my household,” he said. “Hubert is my most trusted man and I sent him to Boston to finish some dealings with my contacts from the Hanse fleet.” “Did he carry money?” said Mosseus. Gregory nodded. “Indeed he did,” he said. “For that reason, I sent him with a young man called Philip, well known to all of us here.” He paused, aware of the expression on Jervis’s face. “Philip, alas, was no longer on our side,” he continued. “He led Hubert into the hands of his captors and then brought me a message demanding a ransom for Hubert’s release.” Mosseus shook his head in sympathy. “It is no longer an unusual story,” he said. “I hear from my own contacts that several have forgotten their loyalty to the King and turned to de Montfort’s followers. It seems that the idea of peace was not one they welcomed.” He looked across at Gregory. “Do you know where Hubert is held?” he asked. “Indeed—he is in the monastery buildings in Ely somewhere,” said Gregory. “Our plan is to try to release him without paying the ransom and return with him to London.” “I can help you!” said Mosseus, simply. He leant towards Gregory. “I have in my possession a house that was given to me as surety for a loan I have made to the Abbot of Ely,” he said. “Where is this house?” said Gregory. “I have somewhere to stay in Ely already, but it is kind…” “It isn’t in Ely,” interrupted Mosseus. “That is the point of my offer. It lies just three miles on this side of the city and makes a perfect place for you to stop—either to ready yourselves on the way into Ely, or as a resting place on the way out!”

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The four men talked and planned for hours before they separated for the night. Gregory was given a room on his own and Jervis and Aaron shared another, but even those two were too tired to talk further and fell asleep within moments of lying down. They had fully recovered by the next morning and were downstairs before Gregory, where they were greeted by one of Mosseus’s smiling servants, who placed cheese and bread in front of them, poured each some wine and left them alone. “Will we be successful today?” said Jervis, wine cup in hand. Aaron nodded, his mouth full of fresh bread and cheese. “Gregory seems to have thought of everything,” he said at last, after swallowing hard. “We-ell, I suppose so,” said Jervis. “But I keep thinking there’s something that we have all failed to see.” He took a huge gulp of the wine and smiled appreciatively. “Master Mosseus serves fine wine,” he said. “Keep your mind on our plans,” said Aaron, severely. “What do you think we have omitted to take into account?” “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be wondering what we’d missed!” said Jervis. “Mmm,” said Aaron, but said no more. The two young men ate steadily until all the bread and cheese had gone. They finished off their wine and sat back. Jervis patted his stomach as he wiped his mouth with the napkin that had been placed beside him, then swivelled round as the door opened to admit Gregory. “Good morning to you both!” he said cheerfully, sitting down at the table beside Jervis. The servant entered with a plate and wine cup for Gregory, looked at the crumbs, which were all that remained of the food she had brought and backed hurriedly out of the room again. They heard her scurrying along the passage and then scurrying back as quickly. The door opened again and in she came with a new loaf and more cheese, both of which she placed in front of Gregory. “Jervis!” said Aaron in mock dismay. “You have eaten Gregory’s breakfast as well as your own!” “What?” said Jervis. “This from a man who had so full a mouth he could not answer my question when I put it to him?” The servant, who had been hovering in the room looking dismayed, suddenly realised the joke and giggled, blushing, hand in front of her mouth. She bobbed a curtsey to the three men and escaped hurriedly. They could hear her laughing on her way back to the kitchen. The door opened a final time and there was Mosseus, eyes bright, and his familiar broad smile on his face. “Good morning to you all!” he said, sitting down at the table beside Gregory. “I trust you all slept well?” “Thank you, yes!” said Gregory. “I fell asleep as soon as I was in bed and knew no more until I heard these two up and about.”

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“And I did the same,” said Jervis. “Not even Aaron’s snoring could keep me awake!” “That’s because there wasn’t any snoring,” said Aaron, peaceably. Gregory pushed his empty wine cup away from him and placed his forearms on the table, linking his fingers and leaning forward. “We must not linger too long over our food,” he said. “I need to explain to Walter, Osbert and Cedric what their parts are in our plan.” He stood up and turned to Mosseus. “You have been a most gracious and welcoming host,” he said. “Please forgive me if I leave you three and go and talk to the others without delay!” Mosseus nodded, mouth full, and gestured his understanding. Gregory left the room immediately and made his way through the kitchen, where he found Walter and the two soldiers enjoying a breakfast with the servants. The three men stood and followed him out into the yard without speaking. Once out of earshot, Gregory halted and turned to the others. “We think we have a plan to rescue Hubert, but it depends on everyone playing their part,” he said. “If we do that, there should be no danger to any of us.” Osbert and Cedric looked disappointed. “No fighting, then?” said Osbert. Gregory shook his head. “I hope not,” he said. “Play acting, yes. Fighting, no.” “Play acting?” said Walter, his face alive with interest and curiosity. “What parts will we play, Master?” He told them and their faces, which, especially for the soldiers, had been puzzled and showed some reluctance, gradually brightened as the plan was explained to them. Finally, when all three were grinning at the sheer cunning of it, they nodded their understanding, and went to make their own preparations and Gregory returned to Aaron, Jervis and Mosseus. “Well,” he said, sitting down. “I think those three understand what is expected of them—Walter I know will do exactly as I have asked. Osbert and Cedric seem to be in some awe of him now, so they will no doubt follow his lead.” Mosseus leant forward, his kind face creased with anxiety. “You do know just how many of the Disinherited lurk in these parts, Master Rokesley?” he said. “They lie in wait for all unwary travellers and take whatever they can find from them—sometimes, even their lives!” Gregory nodded. “Yes, Mosseus, I know we face some possible danger,” he said. “But we have two soldiers with us and we are all well-armed. We must do this, for the sake of Hubert.” Mosseus rose from the table. “I must leave you to prepare yourselves,” he said. “The less I know the better for us all—I cannot put you in danger with a loose tongue, and you will know that only your own group knows what is to happen. All I can say again is that you take great care and look for danger every step of the way.” The other three stood up and all of them embraced the good man who had given them shelter. Mosseus embraced Aaron the longest.

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“You must stay alive and well for the sake of your family, especially your baby daughter!” he said. “You need have no fears for me, Master Mosseus,” said Aaron. “I intend to spend many years watching my daughter grow—so I shall be more careful than I usually am. Why, I might even turn tail and run if someone simply waves an arm in my face!” The silly joke had the desired effect and the tension eased as they all laughed at the idea of Aaron behaving in such a way. Mosseus left them and disappeared into the kitchen, where he could be heard arranging for some food for the travellers. The others went to their rooms and gathered their things together, reappearing at the same instant ready to leave. Outside in the street, Walter and the other two waited. The horses were saddled and they had only to mount and ride away, with Osbert walking beside Gregory, who rode in front, and Cedric walking by Walter’s horse at the rear. It was still early in the morning and the way to Ely was empty save for themselves. There was a slight mist over the fenland, already being dispersed by the increasing heat of the sun as it rose in the sky. It promised to be a hot day, with the sky displaying an everdeeper blue and no clouds. A bird called repeatedly, sending a plaintive cry across the flat and empty landscape. Despite the heat, Jervis shivered and felt the hairs rising on his neck. The silence was somehow eerie, he thought, and this vast empty land felt threatening. Now and then, the reeds growing on either side of the causeway rustled slightly, as some small animal or bird made its way along through them. At first, he felt himself start at every sound, until he realised the cause of the rustling. The steady pace of the horses, slowed to allow the two on foot to keep up with them, became almost hypnotic. Everyone fell silent and the clopping of hooves and occasional heavy breath of one of the horses was the only noise that came from them. It was Gregory who broke the silence, as they came in view of the stone house built on a patch of firmer earth where the stream had been widened into a pond. Walter dismounted and, with the two soldiers on either side, led the horse slowly toward the house. Then Cedric and Osbert, moving more quickly and silently than any of the others expected of them, approached the door and pushed it. It opened and they disappeared inside. There was a tense silence, then the two reappeared and waved at the others. Quickly, they all gathered in front of the house. “Is there any sign that this place has been used recently?” said Gregory. Cedric and Osbert both shook their heads. “Nobody’s been here for months,” said Cedric. “It smells of damp, that’s all.” “That’s good news,” said Gregory. “You know what you have to do now?” Cedric spoke up. “We go ahead and go an’ beg for food at the monastery and let on we’re lookin’ for the King’s enemies,” he said. “And why?” prompted Aaron. Cedric gave him a dirty look, but answered after a nudge from Osbert. “We’ve been kicked out on our arses from the King’s army, ’cos they don’t need us any more, so we’re comin’ to give ourselves to t’other side,” he gabbled, all in one breath. 141

“We know what to do, Master Rokesley,” said Osbert, in a more pacific tone than Cedric had used. “I rely upon you both to do it, then,” said Gregory. “You two must understand that we know little about you and rely on the word of your sergeant until you have proved yourselves to us.” Even Cedric looked suitably chastened and simply nodded his head. Silently, he and Cedric walked off. The other four stood and watched until a bend in the track hid them. “Well now,” said Gregory. “We must wait for Mosseus. Let us make ourselves comfortable until he arrives and that should give them sufficient time before we follow them.” Jervis had stepped inside the house as soon as the others had set off and he reappeared with his nose wrinkled and a disgusted expression on his face. “We will certainly not be comfortable in there,” he said. “It reeks of fish!” Aaron and Gregory both laughed. “Then we shall have to stand and wait patiently,” said Gregory. They had barely time to look around themselves to ensure that no one was near, when they saw a horse and rider cantering towards them from the direction of Cambridge. It was Mosseus, slightly breathless and with a large pack slung across one shoulder. “What’s in there?” said Aaron, curiously. “Just some food and a little wine,” said Mosseus. “You didn’t take it from the kitchen. My cook was mortified—she thought you had spurned her offering, but I explained that you had just been anxious to leave!” “What an oversight!” said Gregory. “You must tell her from us that her food was wonderful and I am pleased to have the chance to eat more of it!” “You must get on to Ely as soon as possible,” said Mosseus. “It is now but three miles distant—get there as soon as you can and make yourselves known to friend Salomon!” Gregory shook his head. “We must wait yet awhile,” he said. “Osbert and Cedric have only just gone and we must give them time to get into Ely and approach the monastery there before we arrive.” “Very well,” said Mosseus. “But it is not wise to wait around for too long—you are visible for a very long way here in the fenlands.” He dismounted with a grunt and patted his horse’s neck fondly. She was a grey, dappled mare and clearly well used to carrying Mosseus. She shook her head and whickered softly as he stroked her. He handed the pack over to Walter, who hung it from one side of his saddle. There was a silence, then Mosseus looked about him uneasily. “I think you should really set off now,” he said. “If you catch up with your soldiers, can you not pass them as if you are all strangers?” “I think Mosseus is right, Gregory,” said Aaron. “He knows this area better than any of us and how the Disinherited are behaving. If he feels we should move, then I think we must.” “Very well then,” said Gregory. “Mosseus—you have been kinder and more helpful than we had any right to expect. My heartfelt thanks!” He offered his hand and Mosseus shook it warmly. He got back into the saddle and leaned down to Gregory. 142

“Good luck to you all,” he said. “I hope to see you back here with your Hubert tomorrow evening. I shall wait here for three days, otherwise, and then return to Cambridge—but let us hope that will not happen!” He raised a hand to the others and then turned the horse back towards Cambridge and cantered off. The others watched him go and then set their course toward Ely. In single file, with Gregory in front, followed by Aaron and Jervis, with Walter taking up the rear, they moved off along the well-worn path toward the cathedral, which they could now see looming above them on the horizon. *** Cedric and Osbert gazed around themselves with interest as they walked across the bridge over the Ouse and entered the city. The great monastery, with its cathedral church towering over everything, was built on the highest point for miles around. All the streets scrambled up steep inclines towards it and the marketplace to one side. By the time they had reached the top of the hill and wandered round until they found the right place in the outside walls of the cathedral to knock and ask for sustenance, they were both out of breath and genuinely hungry and thirsty. Osbert knocked on the wooden shutter set into the wall and the two waited for some response. Nothing happened for some time and Cedric pushed his friend to one side and lifted his fist to pound more loudly. Just as he was bringing his arm down the shutter opened. Osbert blocked the arm in time to avoid the fist on the end hitting a startled face, which vanished quickly, then reappeared cautiously round the side of the shutter. “My friend’s sorry,” said Osbert hastily. “Thought you hadn’t heard,” said Cedric, gruffly, feeling his face redden with embarrassment. The monk smiled. “I had quite a way to come,” he said. “Do you seek ale and bread? That is all we can offer at this time of the day—we have more food later.” “Ale and bread will suit us well,” said Osbert. “Our thanks, brother,” said Cedric, meaningfully. “Yes, our thanks!” agreed Osbert, hastily. The monk leant to one side and produced two wooden beakers of ale and two small loaves of barley bread. The two men drank thirstily and ate a small portion of the loaves, stowing the rest into their scrips. The monk nodded at them, took back the proffered beakers and closed the shutter, leaving the two men outside. “That was good ale,” said Osbert. “Anything would’ve tasted good right then,” said Cedric. “Now we need to find where these other soldiers might be—” “There are two right behind you!” said a voice at their backs. “Wanting to know what you might be doing here?” They whirled round and faced the two who stood, knives at the ready. The grass in front of the cathedral had muffled their footsteps so well that they had made no sound at all. Osbert held both his hands away from his sides and palms out to show he held nothing. After a moment, during which the speaker stared at him, Cedric followed suit. 143

“W-we are seeking those who think as we do,” said Osbert, praying that his voice wouldn’t shake too much. “And how would that be?” said the other, suspiciously. “Why—f-for Simon de Montfort and his ideas, blessed be his name!” said Osbert. His words were greeted by another long stare, then the other gestured to his companion and they both sheathed their knives. “Come with us,” he said and walked off without bothering to see if they were following. He led them round the side of the cathedral, along a wall and in through a small gate set in it. Inside the door, he turned to his left and led them across an inner grassy space and into one of the monastery buildings. Inside they found themselves facing a huge bear of a man. He was dressed in a strange assortment of garments, all roughly patched, and had a slouch hat pulled forward over his face. “Well?” he said, in a bass rumble that seemed to come all the way from his shabby boots. “Found these two begging for food off the brothers,” said the man who had spoken to Cedric and Osbert outside. “Brought ’em in for you to look at—” “And why would I be interested?” said the huge man. “They say they want to join us,” said the other. “Fed up with serving the King, they say.” “Hmph!” said the huge man. He looked hard at Osbert and Cedric. The two of them did their best not to lower their eyes. Cedric found himself standing up straight and putting his shoulders back. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see Osbert following his example. The two of them stood as though on parade, stiff-backed, chests thrust out. The huge man suddenly threw back his head and laughed—a great booming laugh that echoed round the room. “What a fine pair of cockerels!” he said, slapping his thigh. “You’ll do, you’ll do!” He turned to the men who had brought them in. “Adam, take them off to see Sir John,” he said. “You, Thomas, stay here and listen to what I was about to say.” “Come on, then,” said Adam, gesturing. He led them out of one building and into a two-storey building, which seemed to be an infirmary of some kind, judging by the beds ranged along each side. Hurrying them through it, he took them out the other side and across a small, paved courtyard, where they went through yet another door and finally arrived in a smaller building built of wattle and daub. “Where are we?” said Osbert, completely bewildered by the speed of their journey and the number of buildings they had passed through. Adam laughed. “This place seems like a warren when you first walk round it,” he agreed. “But you’ll soon get used to it. Just wait here for a moment, while I see if Sir John will see you.” “Sir John who?” said Cedric. Adam looked at him.

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“I thought you would have heard of Sir John d’Eyvill, if you’re so interested in joining us!” he said, suspiciously. “Why should we know any names like that?” returned Cedric. “We know only that the King fought the Barons and that Simon de Montfort was their leader, but now he is slain. The King sits in Westminster and enjoys himself and cares not a whit for those of us who fought for him. We are left to fend for ourselves!” Osbert nodded his head vigorously while this diatribe was being spoken. He was glad that Cedric had agreed to say all these things when Gregory had asked him. Cedric’s memory was much better than his own was, he thought admiringly. “You will not be left to fend for yourselves here, I can promise you,” said a voice suddenly. They whirled round to see that someone had come into the room behind them. Adam immediately stiffened to attention, bowed his head and stood straight again. “Relax, Adam,” said the man. “And tell me who these two are?” “I found them wandering around outside the cathedral, Sir John,” answered Adam. “They claim to be soldiers who have served with the enemy, but wish to join us now.” “So I gathered, from the way this fellow spoke,” said Sir John d’Eyvill. He gazed at Cedric and Osbert thoughtfully. “Where have you come from?” he asked. “We were in Westminster, sir,” said Cedric. “We decided it was time to leave, so we hitched a ride with a carter who was going to Cambridge. We had heard that there we would find others who thought as we did.” “And where did you leave this accommodating carter?” said d’Eyvill. “He took us as far as Cambridge,” said Cedric. “Then said he would go on to Ely today, if we wanted to wait for him. We stayed in the same place as him, then came most of the way with him.” “Why not come all the way to Ely?” said d’Eyvill. Cedric and Osbert both rubbed their backsides in memory of the jolting they had received. “The track became very rough and it was more comfortable to walk, sir,” said Osbert. Adam grinned. “It is a rough track, Sir John,” he said. “I’d rather walk it than sit in the back of a cart any day!” There was a pause as d’Eyvill thought over what he had heard. Finally, he made up his mind and nodded. “Join us, then, but mind—you are still soldiers and must obey orders when you are given them, without question,” he said. “Is that understood?” “Yes sir,” said his latest recruits. “Adam, show them round and tell them where they may and may not go,” said d’Eyvill, briskly. He turned on his heel and went out without another word. “Come with me,” said Adam. “And try to remember which way I take you and where it leads to—if you get lost, ask a monk!”

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He led them through the great infirmary and through a little door. As they stepped through, one after the other, they both gasped in astonishment: Adam had brought them into the great cathedral church itself. They had entered by a side door and Adam led them forward a few steps until they reached the main nave. It was endlessly long, stretching away from them on both sides. Above them, it rose higher than any building they had seen before, the arches of the clerestory seemingly beyond human reach. The vaulted roof rose even above that, and they had to crane their necks back to look up, until they felt dizzy from the sheer scale. Vivid paintings on the walls and columns told the well known Bible stories and Osbert could not help flinching as they walked past a particularly evil-looking devil, which seemed to stare straight at him, with its red and burning eyes. They walked across the nave and turned right to go along the side aisle. Adam beckoned to them and turned left suddenly and they found themselves in the Lady Chapel. “This is not finished yet, as you see,” said Adam. He shifted his feet and looked embarrassed. “There is really no reason for me to show you this,” he said. “I just think it’s—er— beautiful…” He looked up and met two blank stares. “Well—” he said, “perhaps I should show you where you will sleep.” He led them back through the church and out past the infirmary and towards the gatehouse. Behind his back, Osbert nudged Cedric and jerked his head to one side. On their right and in front of them, walking along with another man, they saw Hubert. He looked completely at ease, talking animatedly to the other man, who was nodding his head in agreement. Then something he said made the other man laugh aloud and Adam looked up sharply. “Who are they?” said Cedric, innocently. “It doesn’t matter,” said Adam shortly. The other two watched as Hubert and his companion walked under the arch of the gatehouse and disappeared from view.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN Gregory, Jervis, Aaron and Walter rode their horses carefully over the narrow bridge that crossed the river and into the streets of Ely. They plodded up the hill and past the main gatehouse. Gregory looked around carefully, but could see no sign of Osbert and Cedric. Perhaps they had already managed to get inside the monastery? He hoped so—he was sure he could not trust them to stare blankly at people they knew so well. Once past the front of the cathedral, he led the others down a short street, then turned into another, which ran parallel with the side of the cathedral church. They could see the top of it rearing above the houses built along each side of the street. They were more substantial than many of the buildings they had passed—these were stone, not wood, and some had shutters in front, showing that they were shops, although they were closed tight by now. At the far end from where they had entered stood a fine stone house, set slightly apart from its neighbours. It, too, had shutters in the front, but they were barred with iron and the door had a massive lock on it. Gregory drew to a halt and rapped sharply on the door. It flew open and a very annoyed looking man stood there. “I have told you—” he began, crossly, then stopped and stared at the group before his house. Gregory held out his hand. “I am not the thorn in your side, Salomon,” he said. “Gregory Rokesley!” said Salomon, stepping forward to grasp the proffered hand in both of his. “Enter, all of you, and welcome!” “Er—perhaps I should take the horses somewhere else, Master?” said Walter, grinning. “You know where to take them, Walter,” said Salomon. “Then go to the kitchen immediately and the cook will give you good ale and meat! It’s your friend from before.” He winked at Walter, who blushed scarlet and left them hurriedly. “Now,” said Salomon. “The rest of you come inside and be at your ease!” He stood aside and the three men entered. Aaron lightly touched the mezuzah fixed on the doorpost as he walked past it and saw Salomon nod his approval at the action. In no time, they were all sitting comfortably in Salomon’s parlour, wine cups at their side. In a few sentences, Gregory explained why they were there and how they planned to rescue Hubert. Salomon nodded his head, tutted and sucked his teeth alternately. It was as if he was watching a play unfold, thought Jervis, watching the changing expressions pass across Salomon’s features in fascination. When Gregory had finished speaking, Salomon sat deep in thought. “Your plan is a good one,” he said, at last. “But I don’t think you should approach the monastery yourself, Gregory—” Gregory leant forward, but Salomon held up his hand to stop him speaking. “—immediately,” he finished. “But I want poor Hubert free as soon as possible!” protested Gregory.

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“And he will be,” said Salomon. “If you go riding up to the monastery and try to enter without warning and without anyone expecting you, it will simply cause more trouble and, possibly, delay everything. Sir John d’Eyvill’s men occupy many of the monastery buildings and are suspicious of anyone who is unknown to them. You could find yourself imprisoned with your man, instead of helping to free him.” “So—what would you have us do?” said Aaron. “Let me arrange for a message to be taken to the abbot,” said Salomon. “It will tell him that his friend Gregory Rokesley is in Ely and wishes to see him about his latest order for wine.” “Then Gregory goes and sees the abbot and tells him why he’s really here and what we need of him!” said Aaron. Salomon nodded. “Your plan will be more certain of success if we take a little longer about it,” he said. Gregory looked round at the other two. “What do you think?” he said. “You will be taking a greater risk than me.” “It is a good idea,” said Jervis “We would be foolish to take unnecessary risks, Gregory—Hubert is unaware that we are here, so another day of making sure we have everything planned and that it will work will not be an added burden to him.” Gregory smiled. “This is the first time I have ever heard you declare for the safer way, Jervis!” he said. “And, since even you feel thus, I shall listen to everyone and take Salomon’s advice.” He turned to Salomon. “Who do you have in mind to contact the abbot on my behalf?” he said. “Myself,” said Salomon, simply. “But this will mean you are involved in our plan, Salomon,” protested Gregory. “You may be putting your own life in danger.” “Gregory, you have been a good friend to the Jews for many years,” said Salomon. “Perhaps this will allow us to make some small recompense.” Gregory sighed. “Very well,” he said. “But I shall feel responsible for you all the time we are engaged on this venture. At least let us go together to the abbot—you will know the best way to reach his house in the present circumstances.” “Adventure!” said Salomon with a smile. “How well does the abbot know you, Gregory?” “Well enough to be intrigued at my sudden appearance!” said Gregory. “He knows that usually we meet in the spring, not now, when he has already ordered his wine for the year.” “All the better, then!” said Salomon. “He will understand immediately that something is afoot.” “Presumably, he is already discomfited by the presence of d’Eyvill and his men in his monastery,” said Jervis. “Will he be prepared to take a risk for us?” “Indeed he will,” said Gregory, emphatically. “King Henry never had a more loyal monk—he will be delighted to have an opportunity to strike at his unwelcome guests. No doubt, he is aware that d’Eyvill has a prisoner in the gatehouse. Whether he knows his

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identity is neither here nor there—he will wish to see a wrong put right. Once he learns that it is Hubert held captive, his anger will know no bounds!” “Let us go immediately,” said Salomon, standing up. “This will be a good time of day to catch the abbot in his quarters.” He hurried out of the room, beckoning Gregory to follow him. “Well!” said Jervis. “There is a man longing for excitement!” Aaron laughed wryly. “Or someone who simply wants to help, Jervis,” he said. “You grow cynical as you mature.” “Are you surprised?” said Jervis, sadly. “Do not forget how badly I was misled by Philip.” There was a sympathetic silence, then Jervis sighed. “I must put it behind me,” he said. “Indeed you must,” said Aaron, kindly. “We all make mistakes and place our trust with the wrong person when we are younger—that is how we learn to judge the character of others. But to let it sour you is not good, even though it is too soon to forget the betrayal.” He put his hand on Jervis’s shoulder, consolingly, but the other shrugged it off. “I am not a child!” he said, crossly. “Let me deal with it in my own way!” “Well,” said Aaron, finally. “I am for another cup of this excellent wine, then I shall close my eyes and rest as we have been invited to do.” He poured himself some more wine and passed the jug to Jervis who hesitated for a second or two then followed suit. Aaron raised his cup and said firmly, “To friendship!” “To friendship!” echoed Jervis, with a sheepish smile. They downed the wine in one draught and slammed the cups back on the table in unison. Soon they were both fast asleep stretched out on the comfortable settles on either side of the unlit fireplace. The slamming of the front door awoke them and Gregory and Salomon walked into the room, smiling. Salomon had a large pouch slung across his back. Once inside the room, he swung it off his shoulder and on to the table. Opening it, he took out two of the monks’ habits and two cords, which he laid on the table and stood back, triumphantly. “There!” he said. “The abbot was pleased to help us and sent for these habits immediately.” “Will this d’Eyvill fellow not ask who we are?” said Jervis. Salomon shook his head, but it was Gregory who answered. “D’Eyvill does not mount guard on the whole of the church and monastic buildings,” he said. “He does not fear attack without warning, because of the way Ely is built on the only high point for miles around. In any case, the way through the fenlands is treacherous—no one could move a large army towards us without them being spotted. Nor could they come at any speed, for fear of falling into the marshy land and drowning.” “How did you get in?” said Jervis, with interest. “Just through the church and out of a side door which led us to the abbot’s house,” said Salomon. “We met no one but the local townsfolk and a monk or two.” “And then we knocked on the abbot’s door and the poor man nearly fainted with shock when he saw who stood there!” said Gregory, chuckling at the memory. 149

“Was he afraid, then?” said Aaron. “No, no!” replied Salomon. “But he could not understand why we had come—I fear that for a moment he thought there was some debt owed to one or other of us, which he had not paid.” “Still,” said Gregory. “He recovered his wits in an instant and bade us welcome. Indeed, you would have thought there was none other in the world that he would rather have seen at that moment.” “As soon as we were inside and the door closed, he explained why,” said Salomon. “Apparently, he had just learned that d’Eyvill had returned and thought that we were an unwelcome visit from him. So, when he saw two people who had nothing whatever to do with the rebels who had forced themselves upon the monastery, he was delighted!” “And, since you have returned with the monks’ habits, he is willing to help us release Hubert?” said Jervis, nodding towards the clothing on the table. “Nothing would give him greater pleasure!” said Gregory. “He resents the presence of these rebels deeply, but is powerless to do anything about it. At least they are few in number—a much larger number of the Disinherited has settled round Lincoln, apparently. Here there will be no more than eight or ten men, when d’Eyvill leaves. He has simply come to rest before continuing his journey to Lincoln.” “Do we know when he will move on?” said Jervis. “It may make sense to wait until there are as few of his men as possible still here.” Salomon nodded. “He stays overnight, that’s all,” he said. “We can send Walter into the town tonight to see if he can find Osbert and Cedric in one of the taverns and find out how they are faring. Then we can make our foray tomorrow and, with luck, all of you will be safe and on your way back to London later tomorrow.” “We can stay with Mosseus again, if need be,” said Gregory. *** Walter pushed his way through the throng of yet another crowded tavern and wondered where all these people came from. The noise was tremendous—shouting and bawling and raucous singing in one corner in particular. It seemed that he had found the busiest place in Ely. He looked over to the corner where the loudest noise was and saw a group of men who had clearly been sampling the brewer’s ale for some time. Red-faced and sweating, they roared their songs and waved their wooden cups vigorously. Suddenly, he realised that he was looking straight at Cedric. Cedric stood up abruptly and clutched his crotch, pushing his way out of the group and over towards Walter. As he lurched past, he winked at Walter and staggered outside. Walter followed and found Cedric, cold sober and grinning at him. “Know that hair anywhere!” he said, gruffly. “Osbert and me went into different places, hoping you’d come into one and find us—good idea, hey?” “Yes, it was,” agreed Walter. He was surprised to hear that these two men had the intelligence to think something through like that. Perhaps he had misjudged them, he thought.

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“We’re in with the rest,” said Cedric. “Osbert and me are going to have to take our turn guarding the prisoner—how’s that?” He grinned, hugely pleased with himself. “Good news,” said Walter. “Do you take turns for different times of the day?” “Yes,” said Cedric. “We asked if we could stand guard together, as we’re not sure of ourselves, like, but we were told that it only needs one man at a time. The prisoner’s not able to escape, they say—hur, hur!” He laughed wheezily at the idea. “Right!” said Walter. “Tell me when you are on duty and when it’s Osbert’s turn.” “I’m on tomorrow before noon,” said Cedric. “Osbert’s in the afternoon.” “Do both of you remember what my master has planned?” said Walter. “O’ course!” said Cedric, looking hurt. “Whenever you come, we will see the sign and then we will make our move. Before or after noon, we must be ready.” “Good!” said Walter. “You’d better go back to your new friends before they miss you.” “Huh!” said Cedric and spat. “No friends of mine—nor Osbert’s either!” He nodded to Walter, assumed a vacant expression and reeled back into the tavern. Walter watched him go, then turned and made his way back through the narrow network of streets to Salomon’s house. He entered the house via the stableyard and then into the kitchen, where the cook looked up, her face wreathed in smiles, as he came in. “Walter!” she cooed. “Come—eat some of my fresh baked tart. A young man like you must keep up his strength!” She placed a large slice of apple tart on a wooden platter and handed it to him. He bit into it and smiled his appreciation as the warm apple and spices filled his mouth, along with the melting pastry. “Mmmm…” he mumbled. Just then, the door opened and Salomon appeared. “I thought I heard you come in, Walter,” he said. “Come and tell us what you found out in the streets—if you can spare the time, of course!” Walter blushed crimson, but the cook merely nodded at him and turned back to her work, as he followed Salomon out of the kitchen and into the room where the other men waited for him. He swallowed hastily as he entered behind Salomon and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to remove any crumbs. “You were right, Aaron,” said Salomon. “Walter was in the kitchen, eating some tart kindly provided by my cook!” Gregory looked at his servant reproachfully. “Walter!” he said. “Why did you not come straight in here to us?” Walter hung his head and found his feet very interesting. “Tried to get here,” he mumbled. “But the cook…” Salomon laughed. “Don’t blame Walter for his tardiness,” he said. “My cook is a very determined woman—what she wants, she usually gets!” Walter muttered something about the cook not getting him. It amused Gregory immensely, seeing Walter looking bashful, but other matters were too important to allow teasing of the unfortunate man. “Well,” he said, instead. “Tell us—did you find Osbert or Cedric?” 151

“I found Cedric,” said Walter. “He and Osbert have got inside the monastery and their story has been accepted. It’s considered light duties to guard ‘the prisoner,’ who we know is Hubert. One of them will be with him in the forenoon and the other one in the afternoon tomorrow.” “They have done better than I expected of them!” said Jervis, in surprise. “I think they have realised that it is to their advantage to do as we ask—and, now that we have involved them so closely, they are probably finding it an exciting change from the boredom they endured in Westminster,” said Gregory. “So now we wait until tomorrow morning and then put the rest of our plan into action,” said Aaron. “What shall we do in the meantime?” “I think you should all stay here in the house,” said Salomon. “This is a small place, despite the size of the abbey. Too many strange faces will be noted and gossiped about— and the gossip may reach the ears of d’Eyvill, or one of his henchmen.” “In any case,” said Aaron. “If I have recognised Gilbert le Armourer, there’s always the chance that he may recognise me. So I shall be happy to stay within doors for now.” Gregory stood up. “I think we should all stay here, as Salomon says,” he said. “I am going to check that I have everything prepared and then I shall rest.” He turned to Walter. “Would you like to return to the kitchen, Walter?” he said. Walter shook his head. “I must go and look to the horses, Master Gregory,” he said and left the room hurriedly. He heard the sympathetic chuckles of the others as he cautiously opened the door into the street and closed it as softly as possible after him. He strode quickly and quietly along the side of the house and slipped into the stables, where the friendly whicker of a horse welcomed him.

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CHAPTER TWENTY The door to his prison opened and Hubert glanced up at the soldier who entered, then looked harder. This was not the usual morning guard but someone else—someone who looked vaguely familiar, but not from this place. The guard, seeing recognition flare in his eyes, put his finger to his lips and shut the door. “You!” said Hubert in disgust. “I knew you were not for the King when we found you and your companion in the forest. Come to mock me, I suppose!” Cedric shook his head. “You are mistaken, Master Hubert,” he said. “Though I cannot blame you, seeing me here.” Hubert laughed cynically. “I suppose you’ve come to rescue me, then?” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Yes,” said Cedric. “That is why I am here and why Master Gregory Rokesley and others have come to Ely.” Hubert stared at him, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Cedric smiled and nodded, then came to where Hubert sat in the window. “Keep looking down there,” he said. “You will see someone who you cannot fail to recognise before much longer.” “But—what is happening?” he said. “How have you come here and when did my Master Gregory know what had happened?” Cedric shook his head. “That I can’t tell you,” he said. “All I do know is that Osbert and me were told to come along with Master Rokesley and do as we were told. We saw it as a way of getting out of the boredom of Westminster at first, but now—” “Now what?” said Hubert. “Well, er, your master is a good man,” said Cedric awkwardly. “And we didn’t mean to hurt him that time, so…” Hubert smiled. “Yes, he is indeed—a very good man!” he said, turning to gaze out of the window. “I knew he would come,” he said, half to himself. “What you have to do,” said Cedric, “is get a sudden urge to go into the church and join the monks at their prayers, soon as you see someone you know down there.” He nodded his head in the direction of the yard below them. Impatiently, Hubert stood by the window and stared out. He could see nothing unusual at the moment, just the normal comings and goings of monks and laypeople going about their business. The occasional tradesman came through the arch directly beneath him and each time he stared eagerly, to see if it was someone he knew. The time crawled by then, quite suddenly, someone came through the arch and stood beneath it arguing loudly with someone behind him. Hubert looked down and saw a familiar tangle of wild red hair. “Walter!” he said, with delight. “It’s Walter down there!” “Then it’s time for us to go to church!” said Cedric, grinning.

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He opened the door of the chamber and beckoned Hubert to follow him out and down into the open space below. As they came out of the door, they could see Walter striding across to the infirmary buildings. Hubert and Cedric made to their left, through the warren of buildings behind the abbot’s house and into the church by the side door. Nobody took any notice—Hubert and his guard were a familiar sight by now and there was no reason to wonder why they should be going towards the church. In the little side chapel, two figures in habits stood waiting for them, one of them holding a habit in his hands. This one raised his head and, putting his finger to his lips, winked at Hubert from under his hood. It was Jervis—and here was Aaron, too, thought Hubert in amazement, as the other figure lifted his head to show his face. “Be quick!” hissed Jervis. “We must put this on you!” He raised the habit and Hubert obediently stood and allowed himself to be dressed in it. Then, all three with their hoods in place and their arms folded into the sleeves, they made their way out into the main church and slipped behind the rood screen, which separated the monks from the laypeople. Jervis, who was leading, genuflected as he crossed from one side of the chancel to the other. Aaron and Hubert solemnly followed suit and all three walked quickly and quietly across the chancel and slid into the choir stalls, Aaron and Hubert found space enough for two in one row and Jervis went into the row behind. Following the movements of the monks beside them, they knelt and stood in unison with everyone else. For what seemed eternity to Hubert, the chanting rose and fell around them as the office continued. Finally, it came to an end and the monks turned to file out. Jervis felt a nudge on his right side from the monk who had stood next to him and turned in that direction as he stepped out of the row. He walked slowly and soberly along, hoping that the soft pad of feet behind him included Aaron and Hubert. At the end of the chancel, he turned right again, and saw a door in front of him. The door opened soundlessly and they were all three inside the narrow passage that lay behind it when Hubert, at the end, heard a rustle of cloth behind him. Turning, he saw that there were now four of them in the group. Momentarily, he wondered if their plan had failed, but the strange monk simply said, “It is time to leave your habits behind with me.” They stripped them off hastily and handed them over. “Now,” said the monk. “At the end of the passage is the Lady Chapel and in the corner diagonally on your left, there is a small door. The door will take you out across the grass and there you will find a gate in the wall. Once outside, you will be met.” “Our thanks!” said Jervis, warmly. “Yours is the risk, not mine,” said the monk with a smile. “Now go—and Godspeed to you!” He turned and made his way back along the passage. His hand was on the handle of the door when he stopped suddenly, turned back to them and put his finger to his lips. The three froze, listening intently. Faintly, though the stout wooden door, they could hear voices. “Why should those four have gone this way?” said an elderly voice, sounding querulous.

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“No doubt they had a special task to complete, Brother,” came a second voice, soothingly. “But I tell you, Father, I am sure they were not of our people,” insisted the voice. “They were not familiar with the words of the office and…” “Do not worry about it, Brother,” said the second voice. “We have visitors now and then, as you know. No doubt, they are about their own business and we shall meet them at our next meal. Come now!” There was the sound of muttering, fading as the two monks moved away. Their helper waited until he was satisfied, opened the door, and slipped through it. His head appeared round the lintel and he nodded at them and mouthed Godspeed! again before finally vanishing. Sighing with relief, Aaron, Jervis and Hubert walked a few more steps and then the Lady Chapel burst upon them. It was a huge, bright space, still unfinished, but with stone seats being built all round the edges and niches above them. Some of the niches already had carved statues in them, some were still empty. Above them soared a vaulted roof, seemingly up to an impossible height, and huge windows awaiting glazing allowed the light to flood in. The three gasped involuntarily, but there was no time to stop and admire it. “Here!” said Aaron, walking swiftly across to the door in the corner. Had they not been told it was there, they would have missed it, looking, as it did, like another niche in the wall. Again, the handle turned smoothly and soundlessly and Aaron stuck his head out carefully, to ensure there was no one outside. The other two heard him make a muffled sound, then he was out of the door, leaving it flung wide. Wondering what they would find, Jervis and Hubert followed more cautiously, but there was no need. There, grinning hugely, stood Walter, waiting to lead them across the short turf to another door in the wall that surrounded the monastery grounds on this side. They were out and into the street, to find Salomon waiting for them anxiously. “Quickly!” he said. “No time for greetings now—we must get to my house without anyone seeing us!” He walked off, twisting and turning through the narrow streets, with the others in tow. It was eerily still and Hubert wondered what was happening, when they turned a corner and a burst of noise reached him. He looked to his left and caught a glimpse of market stalls. Of course! The market was in full flow and no one would be in the side streets at such a time. The noise faded behind them again and then Salomon was opening the door to his house and ushering them swiftly inside. They crowded into the parlour and Jervis, Aaron and Walter stood to one side. There was Gregory, an anxious look on his face, which soon changed to a broad smile of relief. “Hubert!” he cried, as his eyes fell on his servant. “Master!” said Hubert and stopped, too choked with emotion to say anything more. There was a brief, awkward pause, then everyone began talking at once, slapping each other on the back, laughing and trying to tell Gregory what had happened at the same time. Even Walter, who was normally so taciturn, laughed and shouted with the rest. In the middle of it all, Gregory held up his hand for silence.

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“We must not rejoice too soon,” he said. “We thank God for the safe return of Walter—but what has happened to Osbert and Cedric?” “They should be here by now,” said Salomon. “Perhaps they have lost their way—” “—or been captured?” said Aaron, concerned. “Should Jervis and I go and seek them out?” Gregory nodded. “I doubt they have been captured for any reason,” he said. “D’Eyvill’s arrogance is such that he will not suspect two soldiers, especially as they have told him that they wish to fight for the cause so dear to his own heart! I suggest you start with the taverns…” His voice trailed off, as there came a series of raps at the street door. Salomon put his fingers to his lips and went out to see who was there. There was a short silence, then he was back with them, followed by Osbert and Cedric, both grinning broadly. “They got lost,” said Salomon. “Or so they tell me!” Walter, who was the nearest to them, sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Lost in their ale mugs, Masters!” he said, in a voice so comically disgusted that the rest could not help laughing. “No matter,” said Gregory, above the noise. “We are all safely in Salomon’s house— but we must leave ere long, or he will be in grave danger himself!” “So will we,” said Osbert. “We have slipped away easily enough, but soon someone will begin to wonder where we are. As soon as they realise that we have gone, there will be a hue and cry for us.” “True,” said Salomon. “Sorry though I shall be to see my friends leave, it is sensible to do so as soon as possible.” He turned to Walter. “Come with me, good Walter, and let us make sure that everything is ready for your departure.” Then, over his shoulder as they left the room, he said, “Come along, my fine soldiers, we shall need you as well. And there is bound to be food in the kitchen.” Cedric and Osbert shuffled out behind him and the other four watched them go. “They need something to sop up the ale they have had,” said Gregory, seriously. “We cannot have them falling asleep in the middle of the journey!” Hubert heaved a great sigh of pleasure and Gregory beckoned to a seat. “Come, my good friend Hubert, sit down and tell us what has been happening. Were you hurt at all?” Hubert shrugged. “Only to knock me out and get me into the cart to bring me here,” he said, ruefully. “I was in Boston and I was at the inn where we always stay.” “So who dealt you the blow that knocked you out?” said Gregory. “None other than Ralph the innkeeper!” said Hubert. “Ralph?” echoed Gregory. “But Ralph has always looked after us when we are at the Fair in Boston.” He shook his head. “Perhaps he was forced against his will,” he said. “No, Master Gregory, he was not,” said Hubert. “When I came round, I was in the back of a cart with Ralph. He ranted at me for minutes at a time about how he hated the 156

King and all his works and how de Montfort’s men were better friends to men such as he than you had ever been!” He reddened, realising what he was saying. “I am sorry, sir, but that was what he said—I disagreed with every word!” “Never mind, Hubert,” said Gregory. “You are but telling me what another man has said—I know you would not agree with such sentiments.” “What happened to you after that?” said Jervis. “We came here to Ely and I was taken to the gatehouse, where I have been ever since,” said Hubert. “I was not ill-treated and food and drink were given to me. Every day, if the weather permitted, I was taken down into the area just inside the walls and allowed to roam with my guard in attendance. I think he was as glad to get the chance to leave the chamber as I was myself. We walked about and talked sometimes, if it was the guard who was talkative.” “How many guards did you have?” said Gregory. “Two in the daytime, once in the morning and one in the afternoon,” said Hubert. “At night, they left me alone—there was someone downstairs on a nightwatch and no way I could leave without being seen anyway. Maybe I should have made a greater effort…” His voice tailed away and he looked at Gregory for his reaction. Gregory shook his head. “No, Hubert,” he said. “What purpose would that have served? Then you would have been lost and alone somewhere in the fenlands and we would have come here in vain.” “I knew you would come, Master Gregory,” said Hubert. “All I had to do was to be patient—and I am glad that you think I did the right thing, rather than thinking me a coward!” “I have never thought you a coward, Hubert,” said Gregory. They all fell silent and Hubert looked around at the group who had come to rescue him. He was pleased and flattered to see that Jervis and Aaron had come with Gregory. Walter he knew would go where Gregory went, without any bidding, but these two young men must also have a good opinion of him, he thought. How lucky he was to have such men in his life! Salomon came back in at that moment. “All is ready, if you are prepared to leave,” he said. “Walter will bring round the horses and then go back for the small cart. Hubert, you will go with him. Jervis, if you or Aaron will take the reins of Walter’s horse, then he can drive the cart. Everything else is arranged.” He vanished and the others stood and made ready to leave. “I’ll lead Walter’s horse,” said Jervis, as they went out of the house to where Walter stood beside the horses. He mounted his own horse and then leant down and took the rein that Walter handed to him. The others also got up and they started on their journey back, much more cheerful than when they had set out a few days previously. Faintly, behind them, they could hear the sound of the cart on the street as Walter came out of the yard followed them. It was difficult not to hurry, but they had no wish to attract attention, so they walked the horses along the streets and started down the hill towards the open fens that lay 157

spread out before them. It was still only halfway through the long summer day and there were few others on the road. Jervis could feel the skin between his shoulders prickling and he waited for the sudden shout that would mean that the disappearance of Hubert had been discovered. Nothing happened and slowly he began to relax and enjoy the ride. It was a beautiful day, with a light breeze and a deep blue sky. They ambled along steadily and he looked around at the vast empty space stretching before them and on either side. They rode along the causeway made centuries before by the first monks to settle in this place and kept in good repair by the monastery ever since. They made their way along, past the hut that had sheltered them earlier, and came once more to the stone house beside the pool. In the late afternoon, the small cluster of huts and the stone house seemed abandoned. The silence was absolute and Gregory was puzzled by the lack of barking dogs or any people. Anxiously, he approached the front of the house and knocked on the door. There was no response. The others stayed in a small group, silent themselves as they waited for Mosseus to appear. Still nothing moved. Walter clambered down from the cart and went to Gregory. “Shall we look round the back, Master,” he said, in a low voice, as if afraid to disturb the heavy silence. “I think you should,” said Gregory. “Take Osbert and Cedric with you—move carefully and keep yourselves ready for the unexpected. Quietly, Walter!” Walter nodded, then went back to the cart and spoke softly to the two soldiers. They came down on to the ground swiftly and quietly, their training suddenly apparent to the others. Walter led, since his face was already familiar to any of the household who might be round the back, and Osbert and Cedric followed, their daggers in their hands. They disappeared round the back of the house. Suddenly, Walter reappeared, his face white and shocked. “There are some here, Master Gregory,” he said. “They have been massacred—lying in the stables with their throats cut…” His voice trailed away. Behind him, Osbert and Cedric appeared, both looking shaken and green in the face. “Never seen the like,” said Osbert. “Seen plenty of dead’uns on the battlefield, but not like that, not people who were just going about their day’s work.” Cedric nodded in agreement, swallowing hard. Gregory looked round at the huts behind him. “Perhaps all the poor souls who lived here have been treated in the same shameful way,” he said. “We’d better look,” said Osbert. “Might still be someone alive—” “—who needs help,” finished Cedric. The two looked at each other, then nodded. “We’ll do it, Master Gregory,” said Osbert. “We’re more used to seeing bodies than any of you, I expect.” Jervis gave a short, bitter laugh. “Oh no, Osbert, we’ve all seen our share!” he said.

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“Indeed,” said Gregory, looking across at Aaron and remembering the massacre in London’s Jewry just three short years ago, when de Montfort and his men were lording it in the Tower. “It will be quicker if we all look into a single hut each—but be on your guards, I beg you,” he went on. The others responded to his air of authority without question. It took only a minute or two to realise that the hamlet was deserted, its inhabitants gone somewhere safer, it was to be hoped, along with their dogs. There was evidence of a hasty departure in most of the huts, with stools knocked over and chests gaping wide. There was no food or drink and some pots had been taken, hastily snatched from the shelves. Some huts still had small fires smouldering and the men stamped these out wherever they could, so as to prevent the huts being burned down. Whatever had happened, it had been recent. “We must press on,” said Gregory, at last. “There is nothing more we can do.” “I agree,” said Aaron. “We must look to our own safety now.” Behind him, Walter spoke in an urgent whisper. “Someone’s over there, in the bushes behind the stables,” he said. They all looked in the same direction and the bushes were certainly shaking as if they concealed someone. They waited, daggers at the ready, and then a faint call reached their ears and a hand appeared, waving weakly. At once, Jervis and Aaron ran towards it and vanished round the back of the bush, Aaron reappearing almost immediately. “Over here!” he said. “It’s the cook. She has Mosseus with her, but he is wounded.” Gregory was there before he had finished speaking and looked down at the two huddled figures on the ground. The cook, her face scratched and bloodied and her clothes torn, raised a tear-streaked face. “Thank God you have found us!” she said. “Here is my master, badly wounded, poor man. Help him!” “We shall, we shall,” murmured Gregory, putting his hand soothingly on her shoulder. He looked closely at Mosseus, who was unconscious, but still breathing. He beckoned to Aaron and, gently, they moved Mosseus on to his side. A bloody wound gaped in his back. “What caused this?” asked Aaron, looking at the cook. “It was a lance,” she said.” One of the raiders swept past on his horse and jabbed my poor master as he passed. He pulled the lance out again and Master Mosseus was whirled round and thrown to one side. He has been like this ever since…” Her voice trailed away and she began to sob. Gregory patted her arm again. “One moment and I shall return,” he said to Aaron, softly. He strode back round to where the others stood waiting. “We have a badly wounded man here,” he said. “It appears that there has been a raid and that those responsible have now left the village, but we have no means of knowing where they have gone, or if they will return. If you three will keep watch, Aaron, Jervis and I will see what we can do for Mosseus.”

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The other three nodded and Walter stood where he was, looking after the horses and staring back the way they had come, while Osbert and Cedric took up posts on the other side of the huts, one looking to the west and one to the north. Beside Mosseus, Jervis and Aaron had persuaded the sobbing woman to calm down and remove one of her capacious underskirts, which they were busy tearing into strips. The cook suddenly gathered herself and put out her hand to help them. Mercifully, Mosseus remained unaware of what was being done and they were able to clean the wound as best as they could, before placing a pad of material on it and then wrapping the remaining strips of cloth round the inert body to keep the pad in place. Between them, they managed to get Mosseus out of his hiding place and into the back of the cart, where they laid him down gently and made him as safe from rolling as they could. The cook got in beside him, her hand protectively on her master’s head, to shield him from the sun. Sadly, the other four remounted and the two soldiers perched themselves on the end of the cart, with Walter once more driving. They moved off, trying not to jerk the body of Mosseus but going as fast as they dared. The cart bounced occasionally along over the rutted track, but Cedric and Osbert said not a word of complaint.

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PART FIVE

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Hubert opened his eyes and lay for a few moments luxuriating in the feeling of being in his own bed. They had been back in London for several months now, but still it was a relief to realise that he was not in the gatehouse chamber and that he was free to come and go as he pleased. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his tunic as he did so. Pulling it over his head, he stood, walked across to where the ewer and bowl stood and poured the water into the bowl. He plunged his hands in and splashed his face to wake himself up properly, then rubbed himself dry on the cloth beside the bowl. Blinking the last of the water from his eyes, he smoothed back his damp hair and left the room, humming cheerfully to himself as he went in search of breakfast. He found Gregory in the parlour and with him sat Mosseus. “Good morning to you, Hubert!” said Mosseus, raising his glass of wine in Hubert’s direction. “Mosseus!” said Hubert. “You are looking well—your wound has healed completely, I gather?” “It has,” said Mosseus. “And I owe my life to all of you—and to the devoted nursing I have received from Dorcas.” He stretched his back and flinched slightly, with a rueful smile. “I am still aware of the damage done to my body, though,” he said. “But Dorcas says it must heal in its own time now.” “You were fortunate to have Dorcas as your nurse,” said Gregory. “I know,” said Mosseus, fervently. “But I have imposed upon the Yechiels for long enough and it is time I returned to my home.” “I was trying to persuade Mosseus to stay here with us for a while longer,” said Gregory. “We have room for him here and I fear he will not be safe back in his house—it is isolated and the area is clearly a target for the Disinherited.” Mosseus made a face. “I doubt there is anything left for them to steal,” he said. “It was a poor place, anyway, and now they must have stripped every hut of food. As for my house, I am sure that is also empty.” “It may be,” said Gregory, leaning across the table in his earnestness. “But it is a fine, stone house—I think they might have decided it will provide useful shelter for some of their followers by now.” “Nevertheless, I need to be back in that area,” said Mosseus. “Much of my business is there and I have been away so long. I have thought of asking Salomon to help me, perhaps by allowing me to stay with him in Ely.” “Should you not wait for a while?” said Gregory. “I should be happy to have you stay with me until you are completely healed and strong again.” “I do not like to impose on you,” said Mosseus, stubbornly. “Besides—should I not stay in the Jewry?” Gregory smiled.

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“You see, Hubert,” he said. “Here is a man who has helped us so much, but whose foolish pride will not let us repay him!” Hubert nodded. “My master is right, Master Mosseus,” he said. “You helped to give me back my freedom by your actions—now we are in your debt. How can we repay you properly, if you refuse to let us?” Mosseus laughed. “Well said, Hubert,” he said. “Now that you have pointed out the error of my ways, how can I refuse you?” “As for your concern about remaining in the Jewry,” said Gregory. “This house is on the very boundary and that is why Aaron comes and goes so freely. It is a simple matter, should it be necessary, for him to leave by another exit and return to the Jewry, there to sit in innocence!” There was a sudden rapping at the street door as he spoke and Mosseus started up in alarm, but Gregory waved him back into his seat. “It is Aaron,” he said. “Confirming my words, as you hear! Hubert—go and bid our friend enter and join us!” Hubert left and returned in no time with Jervis, who entered at top speed. “My friends,” he said, clearly excited. “Have you heard the news?” “What news?” said Gregory. “Tell us all!” Jervis at down and helped himself to some of the wine. “Well…” he said, but another loud rap at the street door made him stop. Hubert went to answer the door and this time came back with Aaron behind him. “Have you heard…?” he began, then stopped as he caught sight of Jervis sitting at table. “Oh,” he said, his face falling. “He’s told you already!” “No, he hasn’t,” answered Gregory. “If someone doesn’t tell me soon, I shall burst with frustration!” “Some of my friends who had been fighting our enemies in the fenlands returned last night,” said Jervis. “The Lord Edward has subdued many of those who would continue to fight against the King and his followers—” “—But Sir John d’Eyvill has escaped somehow and is on his way to London!” interrupted Aaron, unable to contain himself. Jervis scowled at his friend, but carried on speaking. “It was not so simple,” he said. “I have heard the whole story in Westminster. There was a parliament called in Bury to try and resolve the situation. The Lord Edward himself spent many days treating with the rebels in Ely, but to no avail. Now d’Eyvill is rumoured to be joining forces with Earl Gilbert to try and take London and hold it against the King.” Gregory shook his head in amazement. “How can he hope to do that?” he said. “The King himself has sent men here into London to take it into his own hands, thinking that too many citizens will support the Disinherited against him. Besides—did the rebels not reach an agreement with Henry, brokered by Cardinal Fieschi, the papal legate?” Jervis nodded. 163

“So they say at court,” he said. “But Gilbert and d’Eyvill are still virulently against Henry and will do anything in their power to continue with de Montfort’s cause!” “They have taken leave of their senses,” said Gregory. “Kenilworth and the remaining de Montforts held out against the Lord Edward until just before last Christmas-tide, did they not, but then surrendered?” “Indeed they did,” said Jervis. “But d’Eyvill never has and, it is said, there are those among us at court who secretly support his cause and Earl Gilbert and would like nothing more than to see him open old wounds and start the whole chaotic warmongering again!” Everyone round the table fell silent, as they pondered the possible outcome of such an action. Gregory felt his heart sink at the thought of yet more upheaval, just as it seemed agreement had been reached between the King and his enemies. Aaron feared for the safety of his family and Jervis had his own reasons for wishing the fragile peace to continue. “Well,” said Gregory at last. “Let us hope these foolish men and their obstinacy can be stopped, before they go too far. The King has been very patient with them so far—thanks, in large part to the skills of Cardinal Fieschi, but he cannot be expected to sit and do nothing if London is threatened again.” “Where is he now?” said Mosseus. “He is back lodging in the Tower,” said Gregory. “There are rumours that it is he who has invited Earl Gilbert to a conference there, but the earl has decided to make a show and march on London with his own force of knights and men-at-arms.” “Hmph!” said Aaron, with a frown. “What do we do? Make ready for more fighting or welcome them as our honoured guests? It is an impossible situation!” “We wait and see,” said Jervis. “Gilbert is rumoured to be heading for Southwark, with d’Eyvill coming from Ely. If the cardinal wishes to treat with Gilbert, then he must be welcomed peacefully.” “There will be hidden eyes watching the progress of both parties,” said Gregory. “London offers many useful hiding places in these situations—we shall be prepared for whatever may happen, never fear!” “Meanwhile,” said Jervis, “I must return to court and see if my lord has need of me.” “Or the Lady de Tourney, of course!” said Aaron, standing in his turn. “Ha!” said Jervis and, scuffling like two undisciplined boys, the young men left the chamber. “Now,” said Gregory. “Mosseus, if there is an army approaching us, as Jervis and Aaron have both heard, it may be that your desire to return home will be the safest course for you to take. Although we shall be sorry to see you go.” Mosseus nodded. “I agree,” he said. “And, though you are too courteous to say so, the fewer people there are here for you to worry about, the better. I shall take my leave now and go and prepare to return to the fenlands.” He put out his hand to Gregory, who stood and took it in both of his. “Farewell, Mosseus,” he said. “I wish you a safe and speedy return to your home. Let us pray that the next time we meet it will be in happier and more peaceful times!” *** 164

Jervis hurried into the maze of passages, which made up this part of the Palace of Westminster and headed for the chambers that had been allotted to de Warenne. Knocking on the heavy oak door, he waited for the command to enter before turning the handle and going in. De Warenne sat at table, the remains of his meal in front of him. He glanced up at Jervis. “Did you gain access to Rokesley?” he asked. “Indeed, My Lord,” said Jervis. “I told him what we had heard concerning the movements of Earl Gilbert and Sir John d’Eyvill. Some of our news had already reached the Jewry—I found Aaron Yechiel already with Gregory.” De Warenne laughed. “Trust the Jews to have the latest news before we have it ourselves!” he said. “They have the best means of passing news that I have ever known.” “I expect they have learned what to do for their own protection, sir,” said Jervis, carefully keeping his face and voice as neutral as possible. Much as he liked de Warenne, and was conscious of the man’s kindness toward him, he preferred that the level of his involvement with Aaron and Judith should be kept a secret from all but Gregory and his London friends. Too much love for the Jews could cause them all harm. “Mmm,” said de Warenne, his mind already on other things. “Jervis, since we may move at short notice, I suggest you spend some time with your lady, while you can. At least I shall know where to find you!” He nodded pleasantly at Jervis in dismissal. “Perhaps you can find one of my clerks and send him to me, on your way to Madeleine,” he said. “My Lord,” answered Jervis and bowed as he left. He walked back, through the great hall and beckoned to one of the clerks he found sitting there playing chess. “My Lord de Warenne has need of you,” he said. “You will find him in his chambers, waiting for you.” The clerk nodded and went off. Jervis continued on his way, humming to himself and looking forward to spending time with Madeleine. He walked rapidly across a courtyard and then turned into a tower, ran lightly up the stairs and tapped lightly on a door before entering. To his surprise, he found only Joan, sitting and sewing by the window. “Good day, Joan,” said Jervis. “Where is your mistress?” “Well, Master FitzHugh, she is on her way to find you,” said Joan, resting her sewing in her lap and gazing back at him. He could see a distinct gleam of amusement in her eyes, but was in no mood for joking. Seeing his serious expression, her face became sober. “Perhaps if you would like to wait?” she said. “She will not be long if she does not find you with Earl John. You look very serious—is there bad news?” Jervis shrugged and perched himself on the corner of the chest which stood by the wall near to where Joan sat. “It may be bad, or it may not,” he said. “Thank you, Joan, I shall wait and tell Madeleine when she returns—then you shall hear all, too!” Without comment, Joan bent her head to her work once more and they sat in a comfortable silence. At last, there was the sound of swift footsteps and the door opened. 165

Madeleine appeared, her face anxious and panting slightly. As soon as she saw Jervis, her expression changed to one of relief. “Jervis!” she said. “What on earth is happening? There is a flurry of activity outside and then, when I could not find you, John told me that he had sent you to see me.” “Indeed he did,” said Jervis, taking her hands in his and pulling her towards him. He hugged her briefly, then let her go, looking at her solemnly. “Madeleine, I have to go to London with de Warenne and others,” he said. “There is an army led by Earl Gilbert heading toward Southwark and John d’Eyvill is rumoured to be marching from Ely to meet him.” “So—there will be fighting?” said Madeleine, her eyes growing large with fear. “Jervis—will you be in danger?” “We cannot tell at the moment,” said Jervis. “Let us hope not. It depends on how aggressive Gilbert and d’Eyvill may be. If they are spoiling for a fight, then, yes, there will be one. But, as Gregory says, there are many ways of preparing for an attack on London— sometimes, other skills can avert the danger entirely.” Madeleine sat down, still looking fearful. “But—I thought all the fighting was over and that we were at peace,” she said, her voice trembling. “Why must it all start up again?” She stared at Jervis, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Fieschi and the King himself are trying their best to avoid more fighting, my love,” he answered. “It is not a question of riding into the City in full armour, weapons at the ready—but we must be prepared for whatever may happen.” She stood and leaned against him and he put his arms round her. Silently, Joan rose behind them and went into Madeleine’s bedchamber. Let them be together and alone for a while, she thought, wisely. The two people she had left behind were too deeply absorbed in each other to be aware of her leaving. Jervis sought desperately for something to say which would assuage Madeleine’s fears—but how could he tell her all would be well, if he could not be sure himself what would happen next? He heaved a sigh and she stepped out of his arms and smiled bravely up at him. “I am being a foolish and selfish woman,” she said, blinking away her tears. “You need support from me at this time, not the whining and complaining that I have been doing.” “Ah no, Madeleine,” said Jervis, tenderly. “You are neither foolish nor selfish—and to feel you in my arms is support enough for now.” “When must you leave?” she asked, leading him to a settle that would take the two of them side by side. He raised his shoulders and shook his head. “When I am summoned,” he said. “No one knows when that might be—perhaps later today, perhaps not until tomorrow. It depends on what the King and the papal legate decide between them. The cardinal is a master of persuasion—if anyone can get both sides to agree on a compromise, it will be he.” “But can you see our King agreeing to a compromise?” she said. “That does not sound like Henry!” “Mmmm,” agreed Jervis. “Still, he really wishes to see an end to all this dissatisfaction and the actions of the Disinherited. The cardinal is here to resolve matters in a way that 166

will enable both parties to come out of this situation with some dignity. No one wants more bloodshed, yet both sides are too stubborn to be able to resolve matters face to face. I have great faith in Fieschi’s skills—no one survives in his position for so long as he has managed without possessing some extraordinary skill at negotiating!” He stood and then bent down and kissed her hard on the lips. She responded eagerly and he raised her up and held her against his body, until they drew apart, panting. “Remember that,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I shall come to claim the promise I felt in your kiss as soon as I am able!” He left her standing there, flushed and breathing heavily, as he left the chamber and went back to de Warenne and whatever might be required of him. Madeleine gazed at the closed door, as though willing him to return, then smoothed her skirts. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids, sniffed once and turned as Joan came back into the chamber. “Well, Joan,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Let us sit and sew together for a while!” Jervis found a distracted de Warenne when he re-entered his chamber. His lord stood in the middle trying to give orders to one man and dictate a letter to another. As Jervis came in, he looked round in annoyance, then gave a sigh of relief. “Ah, Jervis!” he said. “Just in time—please find Robert and tell him that I require you both to ride with me into the City. You must ready yourselves for possible trouble, but do not ride fully armed. We do not wish to give the impression that we are riding into London ready to fight.” “I understand, My Lord,” said Jervis. “We shall take only daggers and short swords, which we can conceal easily. Where in the City do we go to?” “You will ride with a message to Gregory de Rokesley, then join the rest of us at the Tower,” said de Warenne. “There we shall meet with Cardinal Fieschi and get his news of the latest meetings he has had with the Disinherited representatives. Then we must take back whatever he wishes us to say to King Henry.” Jervis blinked. “Are we a small party, then, sir?” he said. “Messengers only?” De Warenne could not help smiling at Jervis’s obvious disappointment. “I think ‘only messengers’ might be too dismissive, Jervis,” he said. “Yes, we are a small party—just we three and two soldiers as escorts. You will know who they are, I believe!” “Osbert and Cedric?” said Jervis. De Warenne nodded. “They have shown themselves to be trustworthy and reliable,” he said. “The King wishes us to have them as our escorts because of that—and because such a small party should not attract any unwelcome attention, but, if it should…” His voice tailed away, but his meaning was clear. He paused, then continued in a brisker tone. “We may find that we are returning with more than mere words on parchment,” he said. “But of what it may be, I am truly in ignorance.” “Money, I expect,” said Jervis, at once. The King was always notoriously short of money and the citizens of London were frequently expected to raise large sums for his coffers. 167

“Perhaps,” said de Warenne. “This whole problem with de Montfort’s followers has dragged on for too long. We may be at peace according to agreements already signed by some, but others seem to be prepared to carry the fight on to the bitter end. It is a costly business!” “As you say, sir,” said Jervis, his mind busy wondering what else they might be expected to bring back with them. He hoped it would not prove too obvious, or too heavy. Bowing, he turned and left the room, going in search of Robert. He found the youth standing in the stables, his hand on the hind leg of his horse and a worried look on his face. The stable boy who stood with him was looking at the same leg and shaking his head. “What’s the matter?” said Jervis as he came into the stall. “This leg is far too hot,” said Robert. “And the poor beast is obviously in pain.” “I cannot find anything wrong, apart from the heat,” said the stable boy. Robert stood back and the other ran his hand gently down the leg. The horse shifted uncomfortably and raised its hoof off the ground. “Wait!” said Jervis, catching expertly at the hoof as it descended. He straddled the horse’s leg and held it firmly, then reached for his knife and quickly stabbed at a small lump just below the fetlock. It burst and a jet of pus spurted out. “Get some warm water,” said Jervis, still holding on to the hoof, despite the horse’s efforts to put it down. By now, the small wound had begun to bleed, which Jervis encouraged by smoothing down towards the fetlock. Robert gentled the horse, stroking its neck and making soothing, crooning sounds, as the boy brought some warm water and a clean piece of rag across to Jervis. He dipped the rag into the water and parted the hair just over the incision he had made, then wiped the blood away. He pinched something between thumb and forefinger and drew out a long needle of glass a good two inches long. “Have you ridden him round by the abbey recently, Robert?” he said. “Why, yes,” said Robert. “I was watching the stone masons at their work but yesterday.” “There are splinters of all kinds, including some of our King’s beloved glass, all over the place round there,” said Jervis. “Your horse must have picked this up there—had the light not caught it just now, I would not have seen it either.” He let go of the hoof and stepped quickly away from the horse, as it stood on all four hooves again. It snorted and tossed its head, but did not kick out. After moving restlessly about, it stood quietly, and looked over its shoulder at Jervis as if to show its gratitude. “Thank you, Jervis,” said Robert, greatly relieved. “I thought I was going to lose him.” “Just as well you have not,” said Jervis. “He will be wanted very shortly—we are to ride into London with our lord this day—he bid me find you and tell you to get ready. Come—I will tell you all on the way to our chambers.” Robert nodded to the stable boy who stood beside the horse. “Make sure that he is comfortable and make him ready for me to ride,” he said. The boy knuckled his forehead and turned away. “Now,” said Robert, slinging an arm affectionately round Jervis’s shoulders. “Tell me all!” 168

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Judith sat downstairs, her baby held on her lap. Miriam was fast asleep, her little mouth blowing frothy bubbles as she breathed in and out. She was rosy and contented, and Judith gazed down at her in wonder. How could she and Aaron have produced this perfect child? How could she feel such overwhelming love for a scrap of a human that had not existed a few short months ago—especially as she had always denied any wish to have children? The baby stirred and she bent over her, waiting to see if those black eyes would open and stare at her mother, before smiling. Miriam’s smiles were always worth waiting for, thought Judith, they were so guileless and trusting, and yet—she was beginning to tire of this complete concentration on a baby to the exclusion of any other activity. She sighed and shifted carefully and the baby settled back into sleep, snuggling towards her mother’s breasts. There was the sound of footsteps outside and the door opened carefully. Aaron came into the room, smiling at the picture that greeted him. He sat down carefully beside Judith and peered at the baby lying so peacefully in her arms. “She’s so beautiful!” he whispered. “Especially when she’s asleep!” said Judith, with another sigh. Aaron looked at her, concerned. “Is she such a burden, then?” he said. “Are you feeling exhausted?” Judith shook her head. “It is not that,” she said. “I love her dearly—but I feel restricted and squeezed into a small box marked ‘Mother.’ I am more than simply a mother, Aaron!” He smiled. “Indeed you are,” he said, putting his arm round her comfortingly. “But Miriam needs you so much at the moment.” “She will need us both for the rest of our lives,” said Judith, pointedly. “It does not mean that I must be forever hovering over her and never leave the house again!” “Let us speak to our mother,” he said. “She is wise and will give us some clever way of satisfying your need to see outside the house, while seeing that Miriam does not miss you—let me call her!” Carefully, Judith stood and went to the cradle that had been placed on its stand in the corner. No draught would reach the baby here, whichever way the wind blew. Leaning down, she placed the child in the cradle and pulled the covers over her. Miriam stayed fast asleep and, with luck, would remain asleep for some while. Aaron had gone out of the room and she could hear him calling for Dorcas, who answered immediately. She came bustling into the room with Aaron and went straight to the cradle, where she looked at the sleeping baby dotingly before turning to Aaron and Judith. “So—it has come then!” she said, keeping her voice low, so as not to disturb the child. Aaron and Judith looked at her in such surprise that she could not help chuckling. “I know my two children,” she said fondly. “Judith has behaved so well—but motherhood is not the consuming passion for her that it can be—is that not so?”

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Judith blushed and looked at the floor. “It is not a cause for shame, Judith,” said Dorcas. “You have always been a strong and independent woman—why should you be content to be tied to hearth and home?” “You are truly understanding, Mother Dorcas,” said Judith, gratefully, looking up and meeting Dorcas’s gaze. “That is exactly how I feel—I love Miriam dearly, but I cannot stay here within the walls of the house much longer without losing my sanity. I long to walk outside with Aaron beside me and to feel the air in my face!” “And so you shall,” said Dorcas, briskly. “I shall sit here with Miriam and do some sewing, while you and Aaron go outside. Away with you now!” She went to one of the cupboards that stood against the walls and, opening it, took out a piece of embroidered cloth with the pattern on it half-finished. The silks and needles for working it stood in a bowl beside the cloth and she took this down and settled herself at the table. Aaron and Judith kissed her on each cheek and she waved them away, already concentrating on the tiny stitches needed. Hand in hand, like two children, they ran upstairs to their chamber, where they picked up their cloaks and flung them round their shoulders. They were back down the stairs and out into the street at top speed. The door banged behind them and they set off up the street towards Gregory’s house without either suggesting it. To their surprise, a familiar figure was coming towards them from the opposite direction as they turned into Milk Street. Jervis came striding swiftly along, panting slightly. He suddenly caught sight of them as they all three neared Gregory’s house and his face lit up. “My dear friends!” he exclaimed. “What good fortune, meeting like this—are you also calling on Gregory?” “Indeed we are,” said Judith, beaming at him. “Let us all descend upon him at once— it will be quite like old times!” Aaron banged loudly on the door and waited. It opened suddenly and Hubert looked out. As he saw the three friends, he stood back and ushered them in immediately. They followed him into Gregory’s special chamber and there he sat, surrounded by documents, a welcoming smile on his face. As Judith entered the room, his smile grew even broader and he stood up and came round to them all. “Judith—what a delight it is to see you!” he cried, his arms outstretched, ready to enfold her. She went into his arms willingly and hugged him with pleasure. “All three of you?” said Gregory, releasing her at last, but keeping one arm round her. “It is good to see you all together again—but why have you come as a group?” “By coincidence, Gregory!” said Jervis, laughing. “I saw these two coming towards me just as I entered Milk Street from the Chepe. I am as surprised to see them as you—and as pleased!” “Sit and be at your ease,” said Gregory. “Hubert—” Hubert was not there, having anticipated his master’s wish. As the others arrayed themselves round the little room, he reappeared, carrying wine and followed by one of the other servants with sweetmeats on a platter. The sweetmeats were placed on the desk at which Gregory worked and the maid disappeared. Hubert poured wine for everyone. “And for yourself,” said Gregory. 170

Jervis cleared his throat and looked serious. “I have come here on the King’s business,” he said. “As you will know, Cardinal Fieschi is here in the Tower, wishing to treat more with Earl Gilbert and other followers of the de Montfort cause—now almost lost.” “Yet still they fight,” said Gregory. “Now more for the return of their lands than for any cause which de Montfort espoused.” Jervis nodded. “So it would appear,” he said. “What has happened now is that My Lord de Warenne has been sent to assess the danger to the cardinal, should he stay here in London, or whether he should come to Westminster under our escort. More, the King wishes to know if you have got wind of any moves from those citizens in London who favoured de Montfort, Gregory.” Gregory looked thoughtful. “Do you think that Gilbert and d’Eyvill will be made welcome here, then?” he said. “Just so,” said Jervis and waited. “I am not aware of any such mood—but I have not been looking for signs,” said Gregory. “Perhaps it is time for me to be more vigilant. As you know, we were caught up with our own problems recently.” “As were we all in our different ways,” said Jervis. “Well,” said Gregory, rubbing both hands down his thighs. “We must look outside of our own lives again, it seems. We must get impressions from the eyes that look round London on our behalf. Tell your lord that I shall be in possession of whatever information there may be available by this time tomorrow.” “Thank you, Gregory,” said Jervis. “I knew we had but to ask…” He raised his wine cup to Gregory and took a great swallow of the contents. *** On the other side of the Thames, John Albyn, Gilbert le Armourer and Joseph sat in the Southwark house and planned the welcome they would give to Earl Gilbert. “Surely he will arrive at any moment,” said the armourer, sounding stubborn. Joseph raised his shoulders and spread his hands. “I have no idea,” he said. “My contacts say perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. No one is sure. Likewise, no one is sure of the whereabouts of Sir John d’Eyvill and his band of followers.” “What do you know, then?” said Albyn. The conversation had been in progress for some time now and Albyn was almost certain that Joseph was holding back something that he knew about the movements of d’Eyvill, at least. Why he should choose to do that, Albyn could not fathom. Joseph was frowning and clearly feeling uncomfortable. “I have told you all I can,” he said. “That is not what I asked,” said Albyn, sharply. “I asked you what you know!” He stood up suddenly. “What is it you are not telling us, Joseph?” he said. “There is nothing more,” said Joseph, firmly. “I have told you everything.”

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Albyn, who had been standing staring at Joseph with his hands on his hips, took a sudden step towards him and saw him flinch. “Joseph,” he said, quietly. “How is your family?” Joseph looked up, startled. “How do you know?” he said. “If you know where they are, Master Albyn, have pity and tell me!” Albyn said nothing. He folded his arms and waited. “I left the house yesterday morning,” Joseph went on. “When I returned, there was no sign of them, but a stranger was waiting for me, his face hidden from me. He said only that Ruth and Esther have been taken away ‘for their own safety’ and that they would be returned as soon as we were in possession of London. I have no idea who it was who decided to do such a cruel thing!” Gilbert had been sitting listening to Joseph too, but now he glanced across at Albyn and smiled. “This sounds like an idea of d’Eyvill’s,” he said. “He believes that all Jews side with the King for their own safety. He has probably arranged for your wife and daughter to be kept somewhere in another house belonging to one of his followers until, as he says, we control the City.” “Kidnapping does seem to be a habit of his,” said Albyn. “You are referring to his taking of Gregory Rokesley’s man?” said Gilbert. Albyn nodded. “I was told that it was not a success,” he said, with a wry smile. Gilbert laughed outright. “No,” he said. “He was bested in that by Rokesley himself, who came in search of his man.” “What happened?” said Joseph. “Why, Rokesley used his friendship with none other than the Abbot of Ely to release him,” answered Gilbert. “Then those who travelled with him went into the abbey and brought out the captive, pretending to be monks.” He laughed and slapped his thigh. “I thought d’Eyvill would burst with rage, when he heard,” he said. “I have no liking for the fellow and his underhand ways, even though we are on the same side. To make the whole story sweeter, I heard that one of those involved was a Jew like yourself, Joseph!” “Really?” said Joseph. “Who might that be—do you know his name?” Gilbert shrugged. “Why should I?” he said. “A Jew is a Jew!” Joseph said nothing more but he grew thoughtful and barely contributed to the rest of the conversation, as the other two talked over what was likely to happen in the days to come. He nodded when expected, but clearly his mind was on other things and, in the end, the other two left him alone. Finally, he stood up. “I must go back to my home and see if any messages have been left for me,” he said. The other two barely glanced up and he left the house quickly, making his way along the streets. As soon as he had gone, Gilbert and Albyn grinned at each other.

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“There goes a very worried man,” said Albyn. “It should not take long to find out if he is really for us or not!” “Are the two women here?” asked Gilbert. Albyn nodded. “Safe in another room and out of earshot,” he said. “I shall keep them for a while, then send them home with Trubodi later today.” Had they followed Joseph, they would have seen him head across the bridge and into the City, but not in the direction of his own house at all. He did make for the Jewry, there stopping someone in the street to ask if he knew where Reb Yechiel might be found. The man willingly pointed out the house, nodded to Joseph, and went on his way. Nervously, Joseph approached the door of the house and knocked. He waited, but there was no answer, so he raised his hand to knock again, but the door swung open before he could do so. “I seek one Aaron Yechiel,” he said to the woman who stood there. “You have found where he lives,” answered Dorcas. “But he is not at home at the moment. Will you leave a message?” Joseph hesitated, then made up his mind. “Ask him if he has been in Ely lately,” he said. “Oh, I can answer that myself,” said Dorcas. “Indeed, he was there a few months ago. But why do you wish to know?” Joseph shook his head. “I should prefer to say no more, until I can speak to him in person,” he said. “Please tell him that I shall return later.” “Very well,” said Dorcas and closed the door again. Joseph stood and looked at it for a while, trying to decide what to do next. He was disappointed not to find Aaron there, but there was nothing for it but to try again on the morrow. He turned and retraced his steps toward the Chepe. As he walked along staring at the ground, he almost bumped into two people walking toward him. “Careful, man!” said a voice and he looked up straight into Aaron’s face. “Why!” said Aaron. “I know you—” “Joseph!” said Judith, in surprise. “Aaron this is Joseph, with whom we returned from Winchester!” She smiled warmly at Joseph. “How is your family?” she said, politely. To his shame, Joseph felt his eyes filling with tears. Judith’s smile turned to concern as she saw it and she caught Aaron’s arm. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Aaron, the poor man is distressed.” “You must come back to the house with us,” said Aaron, in a voice which brooked no argument. “Then you must tell us what has happened to bring you here.” Without a word, Joseph turned and walked with them, back to the house that he had just left. Aaron opened the door and ushered him in, with Judith close behind. Dorcas looked out of the kitchen at the back, but Aaron shook his head and she vanished immediately. She was used to her son having business that was no concern of hers— although for him to bring a stranger back to his home was unusual, she thought, as she went back to her task. 173

Judith and Aaron ushered Joseph into the parlour and sat down with him. “Now,” said Aaron. “What has caused you to come here?” Joseph looked at them both, then seemed to make up his mind. “I believe we have a mutual friend—someone I stand in sore need of now, but cannot get to by my usual route,” he said, carefully. “His name?” prompted Judith. Joseph looked at Aaron and he nodded and smiled. “There are no secrets between my wife and myself,” he said. “Say what you need to say—it will go no further, unless you wish it!” “His name is Gregory Rokesley,” said Joseph. Judith’s eyes widened and Aaron laughed. “Oh yes, Joseph,” he said. “We know Gregory!” “I need to speak with him, but I dare not go to his house,” said Joseph. “I may have been followed here, and my wife and daughter are in danger.” “You have come to the right people, Joseph!” said Aaron. “And to the right house.” “Will you bring him to me here?” said Joseph, amazed. Aaron stood up. “No,” he said. “I shall take you to him—follow me!” He turned to Judith. “Perhaps Joseph and I should do this on our own,” he said. To his relief, Judith nodded her agreement. “I shall wait for you to return, my gold,” she said. “And then you must tell me everything!” “Every word and every action, sweetheart!” promised Aaron. Beckoning to Joseph, he left the room and Judith sighed as the door closed behind the two men. The underground way between the two houses was as noisome as ever. Once again, the trapdoor in the kitchen floor was lifted, while Dorcas stood ready to lower it back in place. Again, as in the months before the Battle of Lewes, Aaron led the way and his companion followed, as they went through the ancient sewer built by the Romans and emerged up through the floor and into the room where Gregory sat. Aaron had knocked on the trapdoor just once, when it was opened and Hubert’s face looked down, cudgel at the ready. When he saw Aaron looking back at him, he stood aside and Aaron clambered through, followed by Joseph. Gregory’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline, but he said nothing until both men were in the room and the trapdoor back in place. “I suppose this was bound to happen one day!” he said. Aaron smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Joseph has come for help,” he said. “He came to me because we were travelling companions between Winchester and London when Judith first told me she was expecting our child.” “I thought I was merely going to my own people for help,” said Joseph. “But, thank God, he knows you, too!” At once Gregory’s expression changed to one of concern. “What is it, Joseph, old friend?” he said. 174

“Someone has taken Esther and Ruth,” said Joseph, literally wringing his hands with anxiety. “My loyalty to the cause is suspect and I am mortally afraid for their lives—” His face crumpled and he put his head in his hands. The others sat helplessly watching as his weeping overwhelmed him. Aaron, his face full of sympathy, put his arm round the older man’s shoulders and looked at Gregory, unsure what to do next. Gregory shook his head and, silently, they waited for the storm of pent-up emotion to pass. It took only a short while and then Joseph sniffed loudly, and fumbled in his pouch for a piece of cloth on which he wiped his eyes and blew his nose. He sat up straight and managed a watery smile. “My apologies,” he said, unsteadily. “I have been under some strain for the past day or so…” Gregory smiled kindly at him. “You need not apologise for natural feelings, Joseph!” he said. “Who would not feel as you, knowing that their family is being held hostage? Come, we must find a way to free them—have you some idea of where they may be kept?” Joseph looked thoughtful. “Something has just occurred to me,” he said. “There seemed to be little of the surprise I would have expected, had Albyn not known of it.” “Might they be somewhere in Albyn’s house, then?” said Gregory. Joseph nodded. “I have only ever been inside one room,” he said. “It seems to be very big—bigger than anything Albyn might have on this side of the river.” “Well,” said Gregory, nodding. “They might be there, but Albyn and his son own more than one house.” Joseph’s face fell again. “I didn’t know that,” he admitted. “How can we find out where they are, then?” “I don’t know at the moment,” said Gregory. “But we will think of something, fear not Joseph!” He stood up and the other two stood with him. “Aaron,” said Gregory. “Take Joseph back to your house and make him as comfortable as possible. Then go and see if here is anyone lurking round his own house. Meantime, I shall see if I can come up with a plan to free your family, Joseph.” “Thank you, Gregory!” said Joseph, gratefully. “I am sorry to bring more problems to you—” “Tush, man!” said Gregory, with a wave of his hand. “You have taken many risks for me and behaved with great courage. What else would you do in trouble, but come to your friends?” He opened the trapdoor again and stood to one side. “Come, Joseph,” said Aaron, disappearing back down into the passage below. “Dorcas loves to feed and fuss over someone—she will make you feel better, I give you my word!” Joseph clasped Gregory’s hand and followed Aaron down the iron rungs set into the side of the wall. He looked up just once and Gregory nodded encouragingly as he closed the trapdoor with a soft thud. Back in the Yechiel’s house, he shook his head at Dorcas’s offer of food.

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“I am grateful,” he said. “But I feel I must return to my own home, in case someone comes with a further message.” “Then I am coming with you,” said Aaron, firmly. “We shall go immediately!” Ignoring the other man’s protests, he took his arm and walked him to the door and out into the street. “Now,” he said, briskly. “Lead on—we are two Jews walking along in the Jewry. There can be nothing suspicious about that!” Joseph gave in and walked beside Aaron along the length of Wood Street and round the corner, so that they came out behind the synagogue. His house was down a little alley that opened out into a courtyard, surrounded by similar small houses built of stone, as was the whole of the Jewry. He fitted the key into the lock of the street door and turned it. As he did so, the door was opened from the inside and there stood Ruth, with Esther behind her. “Joseph!” she said. “Thank God!” Forgetting Aaron, Joseph stepped forward and took his wife in his arms, hugging her, then turning to Esther to hug her, too. Then, wordlessly, he turned to Aaron, waiting in the street. “Well!” said Aaron, his face alight with pleasure. “We have no need to make plans, I see—I shall return to Gregory immediately and tell him the good news!” “But you must come in,” said Joseph. “We cannot let you go without showing our gratitude.” Aaron shook his head. “You must be just family, Joseph,” he said. “And I must needs tell Gregory and my own family that everyone is safe. My mother would never forgive me if I left her to worry a moment longer than it takes to return home.” He smiled at Ruth and Esther and gripped Joseph’s proffered hand, then turned away and vanished from sight. Joseph followed his wife and daughter into the parlour. “How did you get back here?” he said. “What happened?” “We were sitting here and there was a thundering on the door,” said Ruth. “Esther went and opened it and two men came in, overwhelmed us and took us out to a covered cart, where they put us in it. There were two other men waiting for us and they held us with hands over our mouths as the cart started off. I felt very ill—” “Mother fainted,” said Esther. “But I did not, although the man’s hand over my mouth made it difficult to breathe. I know we went across the river then into someone’s house on the other side. They kept us in a locked chamber, but gave us food and water. We could hear nothing, nor could we see where we were, as the shutters were across the window.” “They kept us there for some hours,” said Ruth. “Then, quite suddenly, they came back into the room. I was afraid that they would harm Esther, but they simply took us out of there and brought us back here to our own home.” She gazed at Joseph, her fear evident. “Why were we taken, Joseph?” she said. “What have you been doing to put us in such danger?” Joseph stared at her, then made up his mind. 176

“I have not been honest with you, wife,” he said. “Now I see that I must tell you more—but you must not talk of it outside this house!” “Very well,” said Ruth. “We will keep your secret, Joseph. I knew that there was something, but you would never talk to me as a husband should.” He gazed at her, his face softening. “I did not realise how much my family meant to me, until you were taken,” he said, with a note in his voice that neither of the two women had ever heard before. “Now that I do, things will be very different and I shall make sure that you are never put into danger again!” He reached for his wife’s hand and smiled across at Esther. “I should have no secrets from my family,” he began. “Here is what I have been doing for the last two years or more…”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Cardinal Ottobuono Fieschi leant back in his chair and shook his head. “No, de Warenne, I will not leave this Tower and go to Westminster,” he said. “The King must come to me if he wishes to discuss matters. My own discussions with Gloucester and others have gone on apace. Matters are nearly resolved.” He folded his hands in his lap and stared benignly at the man seated opposite him. “Your Excellency,” began de Warenne, patiently. “You are in England by invitation of our King. We are all conscious of the honour that you do us, but surely, in the circumstances, it is more courteous of you to go to him, rather than expecting him to come to you?” The cardinal shook his head again. “It is the duty of your King to ensure my safety, while I am in his land,” he said. “My safety is greater here than outside in the streets of London. Have you not seen the crowds out there?” He shuddered delicately. De Warenne leant forward. “I am here with an escort,” he said. “Your safety is our first concern, believe me.” The cardinal sniffed. “Four men, and two of those but foot soldiers?” he said, disdainfully. “Hardly a proper escort for a cardinal, I think!” The other man sat back, his frustration barely masked. It was bad enough to be wasting time negotiating with this lump of lard, he thought crossly. Now it was clear that he is concerned more with appearances than with his safety. He unclenched his fists and breathed slowly, in an effort to contain his annoyance. “I am sorry if you feel that we are not treating you with sufficient respect,” he said. “We were thinking more of your safety and a smaller group of men would attract less attention than a full escort. London is in the hands of Earl Gilbert and its own commune. Sir John d’Eyvill has arrived in Southwark with more men. It would not take much for the mob to riot and we would wish to avoid that at all costs.” “Indeed?” said Fieschi, disdainfully. “The rabble is no concern of mine—you have my answer, Sir John, and I will not change it to suit anyone. If Henry wishes to talk to me, he must come to the Tower. He seems to have forgotten that, though he may be a petty princeling, the Holy Father is his spiritual lord. I am not accustomed to being dragged hither and thither against my will. If I sustain any injury, either to my person or my dignity, the Pope shall hear of it…” His voice trailed away and he stood up and waddled to the window, where he stood staring out. Gritting his teeth, de Warenne stood and bowed politely, then turned on his heel and left the chamber. He closed the door behind him with infinite care, although his every sinew cried out to slam it with all his strength. Robert, waiting outside with the two soldiers, shook his head at Osbert and Cedric, warning them to say nothing. He had seldom seen John de Warenne so angry.

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The earl strode off, beckoning to them to follow him along a short passage. He ignored the men who had been standing just outside the cardinal’s chamber, walked swiftly through two more chamber s and down stone stairs that spiralled round and round until they reached a door at ground level. He flung it open and surged across the lawn, still walking so quickly that the other three were forced into an undignified half-trot to keep up. On the other side of the grass, he stopped in front of an arched gateway and turned to Osbert. “Fetch the horses!” he rapped out. Osbert hesitated. “Well?” said de Warenne. “My Lord,” said Robert. “Osbert has no idea where they are—perhaps I should go with him?” The young man’s quiet voice brought de Warenne out of his cloud of anger. “Yes, do that, Robert,” he said, in a calmer voice. “But listen first to what I have to say.” He took a deep breath. “The legate is refusing to come with us,” he said. “We must go and take his refusal back to the King. He will no doubt express his displeasure in his usual manner. I advise you all to keep away from his chambers until you see me again.” He smiled slightly. “Cedric and Osbert, you will escort me back to Westminster. Robert—go and find Jervis, who is no doubt still with Master Rokesley. Tell them both what has occurred and then you and Jervis come back to Westminster, too.” Robert nodded his understanding, bowed swiftly and set off with Osbert beside him. Cedric stood looking awkward beside de Warenne, looking relieved when Robert and Osbert returned in no time with the three horses. “Come then,” said de Warenne, mounting up. Without another word, or a glance behind him, he led the little party through the gateway and out into the City. The little party made its way through the narrow streets and along the Chepe until they reached Milk Street. Here Robert turned off, leading Jervis’s horse, and de Warenne, with Osbert and Cedric walking one on each side of the horse, continued on his way past the looming bulk of St Paul’s Cathedral and out of the City. The cardinal heard the door close behind his back and smile secretly. His plan would work he was convinced. He waited a few minutes, then went to the door of his chamber and beckoned to the man who stood waiting outside. “Did you hear anything said?” he asked. The man shook his head. “No, Your Excellency,” he said. “Earl de Warenne was grim and silent and the young man and soldiers with him simply followed after him. I doubt if de Warenne even noticed I was there.” “Anger makes fools of us all,” said the cardinal. “We notice nothing through the red mist—you have your orders, my man. Now is the time to carry them out.”

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The man bowed and left quickly. The cardinal watched him out of sight, then turned back into the chamber and sat in a comfortable chair. He drummed his fingers softly on the arm, pursed his lips, then folded his hands in his ample lap and prepared to wait. For de Warenne, entering the King’s chambers brought an increasing feeling of an approaching storm. He was admitted as soon as he had appeared in the outer chamber and now he walked towards Henry with a sinking heart. “You are returned from your meeting with Cardinal Fieschi, then?” said Henry. “What is his response?” De Warenne bowed. “I regret to say he would not budge from the Tower, Sire,” he said and stood, eyes down, waiting for Henry to lose his temper in his usual spectacular fashion. There was a long silence. Then, to his amazement, de Warenne heard a chuckle. He looked up and met the King’s eyes, which were positively twinkling. “Just as I thought!” said Henry. “The Pope’s representative in London is afraid and using his dignity to hide behind. He wishes us to go to him, I suppose?” “Exactly, Sire,” said de Warenne. “Very well,” said Henry. “We shall make a grand progress along the Thames and visit the cardinal safely hidden in our Tower. As we do so, we shall let it be known to the citizens who will come and gawk at our passing, that we are in full control of our country and will be of them. It will be a triumphal progress!” De Warenne grinned back at his King, full of admiration. Henry had turned the whole situation upside-down, he realised, and would use it for his own purposes. It was not a meek response to a summons from the papal legate, but a royal progress following a victory. “Send a messenger back to the cardinal,” continued Henry. “Tell him that we shall be pleased to meet with him in two days’ time, in my chamber in Wakefield Tower, which he has been allowed to use during his visit to us.” “Your Majesty,” said de Warenne and was offered Henry’s hand, which he duly kissed. He bowed low and left the King’s presence in the accepted manner, walking backwards for a few paces, then turning and leaving the chamber. Outside, he went in search of Robert and sent him to find a clerk to prepare the message. He returned to his own chambers and waited for the man to come. The message was written and Robert took it with him. In a short time, he was back in the Tower and delivering the message that the King of England would be pleased to meet with Cardinal Ottobuono Fieschi at the end of his royal procession into the City of London. He looked forward to hearing good news from the papal legate and to the end of the recent skirmishes and petty rebellion among his people, including the agreement of his barons to the dictum that the cardinal had been kind enough to draft for his, the King of England’s, approval. The cardinal read it with a dull red rising in his cheeks as he realised the King had once again turned the situation to his own advantage. Nevertheless, he could not but admire the man’s sharp brain and wiliness. He nodded his agreement. “Tell the King it shall be as he requests,” he said to Robert and dismissed him. Gratefully, Robert left the Tower and made his way back to Westminster for the second time that day. He made his way to de Warenne’s chambers, to find Jervis also 180

returned from his visit to Gregory. De Warenne looked up from the document he was reading and raised an eyebrow. “He has accepted the King’s suggestion,” said Robert. “What—no tantrums, no arguments?” said de Warenne. This was a day of surprises, he thought. Two men known for their self-centred pride and used to getting their own way had been crossed by each other and they had both, it appeared, stayed calm. If only they were always in such a good mood! Robert was shaking his head. “Not this time, My Lord,” he said. “Although the cardinal’s face turned an interesting colour and I wondered if I would have to protect myself from an onslaught at one point!” “Well, well…” murmured de Warenne, returning to the document he held. Robert and Jervis remained silent for a while, then Jervis cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, you need not stay,” said de Warenne, glancing up. His eyes were back on the document again before the two young men had reached the door. Outside, Robert turned to Jervis. “What did Gregory have to say?” he said. “Nothing at all that we do not already know,” said Jervis. “I asked him about the mood in London, but he was not aware of any feeling for the barons’ cause—nor for the King’s, for that matter.” “Just their own, as usual?” said Robert. Jervis simply shrugged. “Robert—” he began. “I know,” said Robert. “You want to get back to your beloved—go then, and I shall see you when you can tear yourself away!” He clapped Jervis on the shoulder and left him. Jervis turned in the other direction and made for Madeleine’s chamber, whistling softly to himself. Reaching the chamber, he rapped once and opened the door. There was no one to be seen. He stood for a moment, hands on hips, then shut the door again and wheeled round, retracing his steps and making his way out of the building. He walked along one side and then turned through a small arch into a secluded garden. He could see Madeleine as soon as he was through the arch. She sat on a bench under a magnificent elm tree, her head bent over her embroidery. On her other side sat Joan, occupied with her own sewing. Jervis walked over the grass, his feet making no sound. “My Lady,” he said. Madeleine jumped and stuck the needle in her hand. Before she had time to do anything more, Jervis had caught the finger where a drop of blood was forming and kissed it. “Really, Jervis!” said Madeleine, trying to look scandalised and failing utterly. “Joan is not shocked, are you, Joan?” said Jervis. Joan shook her head, her lips twitching. “And see—” went on Jervis, “you will not bleed to death after all!” “I didn’t think I would,” said Madeleine. “Still, as you caused the wound, it is only right that you should heal it.” She folded the embroidery and placed it on the seat.

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“I think a short stroll would suit me,” she said as she stood. “Joan, you may stay here and continue with your sewing.” “Thank you,” said Joan, meekly. She was content to let her mistress and Jervis stroll together without her acting as a chaperone, she thought. It would surely not be long now before Jervis asked Madeleine to be his wife. Any fool could see that they loved each other dearly and the whole court was waiting for the news of their betrothal. Placidly, she stitched on, as Jervis and Madeleine disappeared from view. “What is happening, Jervis?” said Madeleine, as they walked. Jervis took her hand in his. “There is an advance on London from the Disinherited,” he said. “Earl Gilbert and Sir John d’Eyvill have both come with their men.” “Will there be fighting?” said Madeleine, anxiously. Jervis shook his head. “I think not—not now,” he said. “When the time is right, the King plans a procession along the Thames and a meeting with Cardinal Fieschi.” “Why does he think it is safe to do so, with armed men camped around the City walls?” asked Madeleine. “The mood of those two and the men they have with them is one of weariness and fear that they will lose all their lands forever,” said Jervis. “This has all dragged on for much longer than anyone thought it would. But the main figureheads are gone, including all of the de Montforts, since Kenilworth was surrendered.” “So—there will be talking, not bloodshed,” said Madeleine. “Let us hope so,” agreed Jervis. They walked along silently for some minutes, then Jervis stopped and turned to Madeleine. “I shall be of age in a few days,” he said. “And no longer de Warenne’s squire, but my own man and a knight.” “Yes, I know,” said Madeleine, smiling up at him. “My Lady,” he said, suddenly awkward. “We have become close these past few years, have we not—even closer than we were?” “Oh yes, my love,” she said tenderly. He felt his heart lift with sudden hope. “Madeleine—will you marry me?” he said. Time seemed to stop as he waited for her reply. “Yes, Jervis,” she said and raised her mouth to his. The kiss sealed their betrothal and any doubts that Madeleine had ever felt fell away. This Jervis was not the silly boy who had first come bounding into her life before the Battle of Lewes. She knew she was being kissed by a man who loved her dearly and on whom she could always rely. This Jervis would still make her laugh, she knew, but he would take care of her as well. She relaxed as he pressed her closer and returned the passion in his kiss gladly. When they finally separated, they were both trembling. “Not now, Jervis,” said Madeleine, shakily. “We must wait!” Jervis breathed deeply and softly stroked her arms. “As you will,” he said, regretfully. 182

She laughed gently at him, smoothing her dress and tucking her hair away under her cap again. “I will speak to my lord of our marriage,” said Jervis. “He has asked me to go to him later today—we have much to do!” He grasped her hand again and began to walk briskly back to where Joan sat. “There is someone who will not need to be told!” he said. “Joan reads minds, I am convinced!” Certainly Joan read their faces, as the two approached. In no time, her sewing was on the bench beside her and she stood up and came towards them with her face alight. “So—at last!” she said, and laughed aloud as Madeleine and Jervis both tried to hug her at once. She put her arms round both of them in turn, first Madeleine, then Jervis, and tears began to run down her face. “Oh, what a foolish old woman I am,” she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “But I have had such hopes for months past now!” “Your hopes are fulfilled,” said Jervis. “Madeleine has agreed to marry me as soon as possible.” “Well, goodness me!” said Joan, her tears drying magically as she thought of all the preparations to be made. “Then there is no time to stand here gossiping—we must start to make arrangements!” She bustled off and they could hear her muttering a list of things that she would have to do. Hand in hand, the two lovers wandered slowly along behind her. She had disappeared into Madeleine’s chambers before they were even inside the palace. “I think I should go to my lord immediately,” said Jervis, stopping in the doorway. “Then I shall come with you,” said Madeleine. “The earl and his family have treated me as one of them since Roger died. It would be discourteous of me not to speak to him first.” “Yes, you are right,” agreed Jervis. “I had not thought of it.” “Why should you?” said Madeleine, with a little sigh. “It was three years ago—and he was a traitor…” “Nobody thinks that you were of the same mind, Madeleine!” said Jervis. “You were not to blame for your husband’s opinions!” Madeleine gazed at him tenderly. “My first husband,” she said. “No longer just my husband—I am about to have another and far more worthy. How fortunate I am to have found such a one!” They made their way swiftly to de Warenne’s chambers and knocked on the door. Hearing his call to enter, they went in, hand in hand. De Warenne took one look, his face lit up, and he came to them with his hands outstretched. “My dear Madeleine, my good Jervis!” he exclaimed. “You have plighted your troth at last, I see!” Bending forward, he took Madeleine’s face in his hands and kissed each cheek. Then, turning to Jervis, he hugged him. “My blessing on you both!” he exclaimed. “Sir,” said Jervis. “We wish to marry as soon as possible—as you know, I reach my majority next week?”

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“Next week!” said de Warenne, pretending astonishment. “Are you really of age so soon, Master FitzHugh?” “As you well know, sir,” returned Jervis, laughing. “Will the King agree, John?” asked Madeleine. “Or will he think it unseemly to marry so soon?” “He has a high opinion of young Jervis, I know,” said de Warenne. “I cannot think that he will object to such a plan—and what he, or anyone else, may think does not matter. He will no doubt envy Jervis’s good fortune! Do not concern yourselves—I shall approach the King on your behalf.” “Thank you, John,” said Madeleine. “You will have to wait for the banns to be put up over the next three or four weeks,” said de Warenne, with a smile. Jervis groaned. “I had forgot,” he confessed. “Meanwhile,” went on de Warenne, “You have to prepare yourself to become a knight, Jervis. Do you understand what you will have to undertake?” “Indeed,” said Jervis. “There will be a ceremony and before that I know that I must spend the night in vigil.” “This is men’s talk,” said Madeleine. “And no place for me. I have plenty to do preparing for our wedding day. Jervis—listen well to my dear friend and your lord. Think only of your coming knighting until it is fulfilled—then you may turn your thoughts to us!” She left the two men with a light step and went to find Joan.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR The royal barge, pennants streaming and cloth of gold glittering in the June sun, made its stately way along the Thames. In it sat Henry and his sons, the Lord Edward and Prince Edmund. Around it were other barges, almost as gorgeously decorated, carrying members of the court, including John de Warenne, Henry of Almain, Philip Basset and a frowning Roger Leyburn, all with their attendants. Those working on the quays stopped to watch as they passed. Some just stood and gaped, a few pulled off their hats, some simply ignored them after a glance. Other boatmen on the river hurriedly pulled on their oars to move out of the way, one or two spitting contemptuously as they did so. The oarsmen pulled in unison and the barges moved smoothly on the placid water, making good progress toward the Tower of London. In less than an hour, they were pulling towards the bank and the water gate, which would give entrance to the Tower without the need to travel along the noisome, crowded London streets. The royal barge moored first and the King stepped out, graciously offering his hand to his wife as she followed him. One by one, the other barges tied up and waited while the occupants stepped ashore, then went off to moor in a more suitable place along the riverbank. The King and his courtiers made their way into Wakefield Tower and up the stone stairs into the upper storey, where they entered the King’s chambers. Here the cardinal awaited him, wreathed in smiles and puffed almost to bursting point with selfimportance. The King paused for a moment and inclined his head to him, receiving a similar courtesy from Cardinal Fieschi. Then he made his way to where a throne had been set for him on a slightly raised dais, where he seated himself and waited while the rest of his courtiers found their own places. The cardinal had seated himself almost at the same time as the King, but Henry had decided to be gracious and took no notice. “Well, Your Excellency,” said the King. “You have good news for me, I believe?” “Indeed, indeed, Sire,” said the cardinal, his podgy hands fluttering with excitement. “And—?” prompted Henry. “After negotiations lasting some days,” began the cardinal, pompously, “I have managed to persuade even Gloucester and d’Eyvill that it is in their best interests to accept the conditions which have been offered to them and to end all contentious activities against yourself.” There was a surprised pause and Henry’s eyebrows shot up, leaving his drooping eyelid even more noticeable than usual. He sat back in his throne and placed his arms along the sides as he stared at the cardinal. “So, then,” he said. “It is over at last!” There was a snort from his son. “So easily?” said Edward, his disbelief evident. “Thanks in great part to your own efforts, My Lord Prince,” said Fieschi smoothly. De Warenne suppressed a grin and looked down hurriedly, hoping that no one had seen him. Raising his eyes again, he caught an answering twinkle from Philip Basset, long

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a friend of the Lord Edward and a practiced courtier. The cardinal’s skills had been evident to others, apparently. Edward grunted, but was clearly mollified and said no more as the cardinal explained that the rebel leaders had told him that they wished only for the speedy return of their lands as promised. He, Cardinal Fieschi, Papal Legate, had assured them that this would be done and that they need no longer hide away in the damp fenlands while others lorded it over their demesnes. It was their fear of interminable delays that were making them so intransigent, he said. Was that not a sufficient reason for the King to carry out his promised return of land to the original owners, in exchange for Gloucester, d’Eyvill and the others coming to the king’s peace? Everyone in the chamber held their breath as Henry drummed his fingers and hummed and hawed. Finally, he nodded, and stood up, causing the rest of the company to rise too, apart from the cardinal who remained where he was. “So shall it be!” said Henry and swept out. As the chamber emptied, the cardinal mentally patted himself on the back. It was done! He could send a message to the Pope, assuring him that England was once again at peace and the barons satisfied with the conditions that would now govern the return to normality. The de Montfort threat to Henry as King was over. True, there would be one or two pockets of resistance, he had no doubt, but as the news spread, that would cease also. He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the window where he had spent so many hours gazing thoughtfully at the river below. This time, as he looked out, he was in time to see the company of barges form up again and move back upriver towards Westminster. He heaved a sigh and wondered how soon he could leave this benighted country with its petty squabbles and return to Rome and his comfortable home. He missed the sound of his native tongue and the long, hot days. True, he thought grudgingly, there were occasionally hot summer days here in London, but somehow it did not feel like the same sun. Well, well, he could not stand here gazing out at the river, he thought. He must get a message to the erstwhile rebel leaders and tell them that they had but to bend the knee to Henry and swear fealty to him and then there would be no more need of fighting and hiding. He turned from the window, patted the side of the throne as he passed it, then opened the door to call for it to be removed at once and for a clerk to be sent to him. He began composing what he would tell the Earl of Gloucester and Sir John d’Eyvill as he waited for the clerk to come with his writing materials and take his dictation. Two days later, the King was back in the City, this time entering it on horseback, with both the princes. Senior members of his court rode behind him, all clothed in their finest robes. As the procession made its way through the City and into the Tower, he was gratified to see that curious onlookers doffed their caps on realising who was passing along the street. He inclined his head graciously to acknowledge the obeisances. The news of his appearance spread rapidly and faces began to appear at windows in the upper storeys and in the doorways of the shops beneath them. Finally, a crowd of onlookers gathered close by the gateway to the Tower raised a ragged cheer as the King and his party clattered across the drawbridge over the moat and entered the Tower precincts. 186

They dismounted and made their way into Henry’s new great hall. Inside, on the dais at the far end, stood an imposing throne, with smaller richly padded and covered chairs on each side for the two princes. Gorgeous tapestries covered the walls and their colours glowed between windows in which the glass glittered in the sunshine. Henry and his sons seated themselves and the guards who had appeared from elsewhere in the Tower grounds stood on each side of the door and lined the walls. The King beckoned to de Warenne and Sir Roger Leyburn and they came and stood just in front of the dais. “Come up here and stand behind us,” said Henry. “You are entitled to see these men humble themselves before us, as much as any in this hall.” They did as they were bidden, de Warenne standing behind Prince Edmund, while Leyburn stood, as he had so often before, behind the Lord Edward. The King clapped his hands and the low buzz of conversation among the others who had accompanied him died away. The door at the end of the hall swung open again and there stood the Earl of Gloucester and Sir John d’Eyvill, both accompanied by a group of their followers. “Enter in humility and show your obedience to your King!” said Henry, sternly. He watched, expressionless, as the party of men came forward. Earl Gilbert strode in, his head high, looking neither to right or left. D’Eyvill tried to ape his confident air, but failed utterly, unable to stop his eyes darting nervously to right and left as he walked forward. Over to one side of the hall, Jervis watched as one after the other, the two men who had caused such bloodshed and misery knelt to their King and swore to be his loyal subjects and to beg for his forgiveness. Henry, all graciousness and kindness as the ceremony required, granted them his peace and protection. As the two men rose from their knees a collective and unconscious sigh echoed through the hall, as though all there felt relief that this troubled period was over. *** Jervis lay dreaming of what was to come, then woke with a smile on his face. He stretched and yawned, provoking a response from Robert, who lay propped on one elbow, studying him from across the room. “I wondered how long you would go on sleeping,” he remarked. “Why should I not?” said Jervis. “I need to be as strong as possible.” He sat up and hugged his knees. “You have this chamber to yourself tonight, then Robert,” he said. “I shall be in the chapel keeping vigil all night.” “Would you not rather have been in the abbey than down in the king’s chapel?” asked Robert. Jervis shook his head. “No,” he said. “The chapel is smaller and there will be fewer sounds to unnerve me. The abbey has too vast a space around the altar—besides, the monks come and go to their devotions at all times.” “It might have saved you from falling asleep!” said Robert, mischievously.

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“I shall not fall asleep,” said Jervis, firmly. “I shall have my own devotions to occupy me.” “Well,” said Robert, getting up and scratching his scalp vigorously. “I shall miss you, friend.” He held out a hand and pulled Jervis upright. “God be with you, Jervis,” he said, suddenly very solemn. “And with you,” said Jervis. “And remember—you are my friend as much after today as you are now.” They shook hands and then suddenly hugged each other. “Let us put our heads under the pump to clear them,” said Robert, stepping back. A trip to the pump in the courtyard was all that was needed, then Robert went in search of food, while Jervis went straight to de Warenne’s quarters. There he found his lord seated and breaking his fast with some bread and cheese. A jug of wine with two glasses beside it, and another trencher, were on the table. “Be seated, Jervis,” said de Warenne. “We have a long day before us, so let us begin.” As they ate, he began to explain what was expected of his squire, in order that he could be welcomed as a knight. Jervis listened carefully and his heart beat faster as he realised that this was indeed the end of his time as a carefree youth, who had only to do as his lord asked and had no further responsibilities. Once dubbed a knight, that was the end of his present life, he thought. Still, he craved to be a man and to wed Madeleine. He squared his shoulders and concentrated on what de Warenne was telling him. “First you will bathe to purify your body,” said de Warenne. “The priest will come this afternoon, and he will hear your confession. The vigil will begin afterward. Once in the chapel, you will fast and pray all night. Some of the monks will keep the vigil with you, to ensure that you do not fall asleep.” He held up his hand as Jervis started to speak. “There is always a religious in the chapel keeping watch, Jervis,” he said. “It is normal for someone to stay with one preparing for knighthood—there is no shame in it, nor implication that you need someone to keep you awake!” The day went on and Jervis spent hours listening to advice and discussion, not only from de Warenne, but also from those who were already knights and from the chaplain to the royal household. Finally, he made his way to the chapel where, before the chaplain, he made his confession and was absolved. “Stay here my son,” said the priest in a soft voice. He placed his hand on Jervis’s shoulder. “Now does your vigil begin,” he went on. “Pray God for guidance in your future life and for His strength, that you may ever uphold the oath you will swear in the morning.” He made the sign of the cross over Jervis and left the chapel. Jervis rose from his knees and walked round the chapel, before going to the altar, where he knelt again, composing himself for prayer. There was a soft rustle beside him and he turned his head. As he had been told, there was a monk kneeling beside him. The man raised his head for a moment and looked at Jervis. He was about the same age, Jervis saw with surprise. Then the monk closed his eyes and folded his hands.

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As the long night passed, Jervis found himself almost in a trance. He was aware of that the figure beside him changed at intervals, but always it was someone in a monk’s habit, and always they simply knelt beside him in silence. The silence, far from being oppressive, as he had imagined, soothed and comforted him. He thought about the things he had been told, about his duties and responsibilities. Madeleine came into his mind now and then, and he knew that his love for her was strong and would grow stronger. Turning his thoughts from her for the time being, he returned to his contemplation of what was required of him and prayed for courage and faith. At last, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. The priest had returned and beckoned to him to rise. Stiffly, he got to his feet and followed the man out of the chapel, blinking in the sudden burst of sunshine that greeted him as the door was opened. He was led to a chamber beside the chapel where a bath full of fragrant hot water had been prepared for him. Gratefully, he sank into it, feeling the heat easing the stiffness of his joints from kneeling in the chapel. He washed himself thoroughly and stepped out and took the drying cloth, which was offered him by a servant waiting on him. Once dry, the man handed him a clean white robe, which he slipped over his head. Next, his sword was placed round his neck on a piece of rope and rough sandals were placed on his feet. He followed the servant out of the chamber to where the priest still waited and, with a sudden shock of pleasure, he saw John de Warenne waiting for him, dressed in rich robes and with a smile on his face. Beside him, a pleased expression on his face for once, stood Sir Roger Leyburn. “Come, Jervis!” said de Warenne. “Let us welcome you to knighthood!” Together they walked up a short flight of steps and through a door. To Jervis’s surprise, the hall beyond was crowded with well-wishers. He recognised many of his friends and members of the court. Suddenly, he saw Robert standing on one side, staring at Jervis as if he had never seen him before. Next to him stood Gregory, also dressed in his best robes and wearing an expression of almost fatherly pride as he gazed at Jervis. He was led to the front of the hall, where the King himself sat waiting. “Who sponsors this man?” came the question from the King. De Warenne and Leyburn stepped forward and bowed, then stepped away again. “Jervis FitzHugh,” said Henry, sternly. “Will you take the oath of a knight, swearing never to deal with traitors, to respect and defend all women, and to fulfil your duties as a Christian?” “I do so swear,” replied Jervis, loudly. The priest took the sword from round Jervis’s neck and blessed it, then handed it to the King. The King held it in front of him with both hands then, as Jervis knelt before him, he tapped him lightly on the shoulder with it. “Thus are you dubbed Sir Knight,” he said. “Rise, Sir Jervis FitzHugh!” Jervis stood up, in a daze, and bowed to the King. He felt a nudge in his side and looked up. Henry was handing him the sword, together with a shield. He took them both and bowed again and applause broke out from the crowd gathered in the hall behind him. The rest of the day passed as in a glorious dream. At some point, he found himself dressed completely in new armour, put on him with much laughter and pushing from his friends. Then de Warenne had presented him with new spurs and insisted on putting 189

them on. Gregory said something that he could not hear in the general din, but it was clearly affectionate, so he simply smiled and clasped his friend’s hand. Feasting and drinking seemed to take up a large part of the day and there were tumblers and minstrels in the hall. Finally, the noisy celebrations abated and it was still only mid-afternoon. Jervis was longing to lie down and sleep by now. His sleepless night and the surfeit of food and drink were finally beginning to have an effect on him, but the day was not over. “Come on, Sir Jervis,” said a laughing voice in his ear at last and he was led away to his chamber and undressed, then left on his bed to sleep. His headache and sour stomach the next morning were most certainly not a dream. He lay with his arm across his eyes, groaning until Robert’s voice from across the chamber told him to shut up. They suffered together through the morning until their headaches eased a little. Jervis sat up gingerly and was relieved to find that his head stayed on his shoulders. “I am going to find the pump again, Robert,” he croaked. “If you help me to stand, I shall come with you,” said Robert in a whisper. “But do not talk to me on the way.” “I cannot say more in any case,” said Jervis mournfully. They staggered out of their chamber together, arms around each other’s waists. At the entrance to the courtyard where the pump beckoned, they paused and looked round carefully. There was no one to be seen and they tottered to the pump. Robert worked the handle and Jervis took a breath and plunged his head underneath the stream of cold water. “Aaarrrggghh!” he said as the water hit his sore head. “Aaaahhhh,” he sighed as it eased the pain. He would have stayed there for longer, had not a push from Robert reminded him to move aside. He took his turn at the handle and worked it with a will. Soon Robert stood up, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes and grinning. “And now, Sir Jervis,” he said, with a mocking bow. “To find something to help our bellies!” The new knight found the following days and weeks filled with activity, so that waiting for the banns to be read went faster than he could have hoped. If he was not feasting, he was jousting, or practising swordplay, or overseeing the care of his horse. Robert and his other friends in the palace kept him busy as they congratulated him and insisted he spend some of his time with them. He met with Madeleine in her beloved garden—always with Joan in discreet attendance, despite their betrothed state. Gregory invited him to visit his house in Milk Street, this time as an honoured guest. Aaron and Judith were there too, sometimes, and they spoke of how strange it was to find the country at peace. “I hope we shall still all be friends?” said Jervis on one of these occasions. “Oh, Jervis!” began Judith, laughing, then put her hand to her mouth, looking horrified. “I beg your pardon—Sir Jervis,” she said. Jervis shook his head at her.

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“Always just ‘Jervis’ to you and to everyone here,” he said. “I can never be on formal terms with you, Judith—or I shall have to call you Mistress Yechiel, shall I not?” It was enough to make the awkward moment pass. Finally, Jervis awoke and it was the morning of his wedding day. He looked across to where Robert usually lay sleeping, but the bed was empty and he was alone. Wondering, he sat up and looked about him. Then the door opened and there was Robert with a jug of hot water. “Come, Sir Knight!” he said. “Wash yourself and dress in your finest clothes—you are to be married, or had you forgotten?” As Jervis was being helped to dress by Robert, Madeleine was in her own chambers, being dressed by Joan and her friend Alice de Warenne. Briefly, she thought back to her first wedding day and suppressed a flash of sorrow. That had been an arranged marriage and, despite Roger de Tourney’s undoubted love for her, his memory would always be tainted by his treasonable behaviour and his traitor’s death. “Think of today and that handsome young man waiting to take you for his wife,” said Joan, softly. “Thank you, Joan,” said Madeleine. “You are right, as so often.” Alice said nothing, but stepped up to her with the fine linen chemise in her hands. Raising her arms, Madeleine allowed it to slide down her body like a whisper. Next came a silk tunic of pale yellow, trimmed with white fur and as light as a feather. Then a light mantle in the finest scarlet went round her and a veil with a golden chaplet to keep it in place was set on her hair. Finally, shoes of the thinnest leather, decorated with more gold, were placed on her feet. Outside, Jervis was waiting for her and came forward to offer her his arm. She took it and they smiled tenderly at each other, both delighted that this day had come at last. In front of them were the musicians who would play them on their way and behind were their wedding guests with John and Alice de Warenne at their head. The procession set off on the short walk to the main door of the abbey, where all work had been halted for this occasion and the workmen and all who lived nearby had gathered to watch them pass. As soon as they were within the abbey porch, the priest approached them from inside the building, bearing an open book in his hands, on which lay the ring. Afterwards, all Jervis could remember was the exchange of vows, and the point at which he placed on each of Madeleine’s fingers, saying the requisite words, before finally placing it on her third finger. “With this ring I thee wed,” he said firmly and it was done. THE END

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