Belaset's Daughter

Belaset’s Daughter

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Belaset’s Daughter

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Belaset’s Daughter

Published by Boson Books 3905 Meadow Field Lane Raleigh, NC 27606 ISBN 0-917990-28-5 An imprint of C&M Online Media Inc. Copyright 2001 Feona J. Hamilton All rights reserved For information contact C&M Online Media Inc. 3905 Meadow Field Lane Raleigh, NC 27606 Tel: (919) 233-8164 Fax: (919) 233-8578 e-mail:[email protected] URL: http://www.bosonbooks.com/

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Belaset’s Daughter

_____________________________________________

BELASET’S DAUGHTER

by

Feona J. Hamilton ______________________________________

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Belaset’s Daughter ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS It took a long time to research and write this book, and many people helped and encouraged me along the way. First, I should like to thank my rabbi, David Goldberg of the Liberal Jewish Synagogue in London, who was the first person to hear the outline of the story, and who assured me that nothing I had imagined would have been impossible, including the freedom I gave to Judith as a medieval Jewess. My thanks go to the library staff in the London Library, the Guildhall Library , and the Public Record Office. Ross Woollard and Margaret Blackburn, both of the University of London Library, were particularly helpful, as was Michael Walsh, Librarian of Heythrop College, London. My friends and fellow writers, Merion Willis and Dorothy Courtis, told me over and over again that this was a story worth completing. As always, Marie Weinstock showed unfailing interest, support and encouragement through all the phases through which a writer passes and for this reason this book is dedicated to her.

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Belaset’s Daughter

LIST OF CHARACTERS * = actual historical figures Royalty and courtiers *Henry III, King of England *Prince Edward, Earl of Chester, his son *Richard, Earl of Cornwall, brother of Henry III *Guy de Lusignan, half-brother to Henry III *Humphrey de Bohun *Roger de Mortimer *Louis IX, King of France De Montfort family and household *Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester *Guy de Montfort, his fourth son *Henry de Montfort. his eldest son *Simon de Montfort the younger, his second son *Trubodi, a messenger In Lewes De Warenne family and household *John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey *Alice de Warenne, his wife Jervis FitzHugh, squire to John de Warenne Philip, a squire Robert, a squire De Tourney family and household *Roger de Tourney Madeleine de Tourney, his wife Joan, her servant *Belaset, a widow *Judith, her daughter *William Foville, Prior of St. Pancras Brother Daniel, a monk of the Priory Colin, a dumb lad who helps Brother Daniel in the kitchen Green Gerda, a wise woman

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Belaset’s Daughter In London *Benjamin Yechiel *Dorcas Yechiel, his wife *Aaron Yechiel, his son *Gregory Rokesly, Aaron s friend and tenant of a house belonging to Lewes Priory Walter, Gregory s ostler in his Westminster house Hubert, Gregory s personal servant *Hugh Dispenser, holder of the Tower of London for de Montfort *Gilbert de Clare *William de Monchesny, one of occupying force in the Tower of London *John Fitzjohn, the same At the Battle of Lewes *Walter de Cantelupe, Bishop of Worcester *Richard of Sandwich, Bishop of London *Henry de Hastings, co-leader of the Londoners at the Battle of Lewes *Nicholas de Segrave, co-leader of the Londoners at the Battle of Lewes *Bukerel, a Folkmoot leader *Puleston, a Folkmoot leader *Michael Tovy, a Folkmoot leader In France Isaac Hanuchin of Abbeville, a goldsmith Brunetta Hanuchin, his wife Dulcetta, maidservant Master Bonami, ship s captain Pierre, a fisherman

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Belaset’s Daughter

PART ONE

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER ONE

The kestrel flew straight up into the air, while the man who had flung it into flight stood watching, his arm shading his eyes from the sun. The South Downs seemed empty of all animal life except these two, the man standing tense with concentration and the bird, now hovering above him, with its wings outstretched. Suddenly, it dived and snatched a small, unwary creature from a tuft of grass, before flying up again. The man below gave a piercing whistle and the bird responded by circling lazily down, to land on the hand which was held out to it. Jervis quickly caught the trailing jesses, and fastened the decorated hood over the kestrel’s eyes. It sat, silent but fierce even when captured and held by a human. Whatever it had caught, it had eaten immediately. Jervis stood admiring the view the small town in the cleft of the Downs, with its castle perched on a manmade mound, and the great priory on the outskirts. The river meandered round the town, while a tributary served the priory. Both were only half full of water now, but in a few months it would be different, when they were both swollen by spring rain. He turned his back and squinted the other way. Sometimes, if the light was good enough, it was just possible to see the faint blue line of the English Channel, seven miles away. He thought he could see it today, but perhaps it was just because he wanted to think so. The kestrel shifted uneasily on his hand as he turned, and he soothed it, clicking his tongue and stroking its front with a finger, until it settled down again. He sighed and turned to where the boy squatted on his heels, waiting patiently, while the horse and pony that he guarded cropped the short, sweet grass beside him. "Come along, lad!" he said. The boy stood and took the bird from him, while he mounted, then held out his hand again. Jervis called to the kestrel, with the peculiar clicking sound once more, and it cocked its head in recognition, as it scrambled on to the gloved hand which he nudged gently against the cruel talons. He turned his horse towards the town and urged it forward, the boy following close behind on his pony. They rode down a track which had been a descent from the Downs for thousands of years. The steep banks on either side were covered in long, rank grass, unlike the short turf on which they had been standing. Small gorse bushes clung precariously, and brambles sprawled between them. A deep silence surrounded them, with only the sound of the horses’ clopping hooves and the jingle of their bits to break it. They emerged abruptly onto the lower slopes of the Downs, where a wider path stretched ahead of them to one of the town gateways. Breaking into a canter, Jervis and the boy covered the ground quickly, until they were almost there. They slowed, so that the gate-keeper could see and recognise them. It was not wise, in this year of 1264, to appear without warning at any entrance to any town particularly one as well-fortified as Lewes. The castle might conceal any number of skilled longbowmen within its square keep, and an arrow would be meant to kill, rather than maim.

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Belaset’s Daughter The massive gates remained open and the gate-keeper merely lifted his arm in greeting, as Jervis and the boy rode slowly past. The hard mud under the horses’ hooves was more rutted and uneven inside the gate, scored by the marks of carts bringing produce to the weekly market held in the town. Here, too, there were patches where the thin soil had been completely worn away, and the chalk showed white in such places, with here and there a flint to strike sparks from the horseshoes clattering across them. After rain, the muddy streets and the bare, flinty patches combined to make travelling a nerve-wracking business, but today the ground was firm under the horse’s hooves. The two turned sharply to the left a short way along the main street and under another gateway, into the castle grounds. The horses plodded up the steep slope of the castle mount and into the forecourt. Jervis dismounted, the bird still on his wrist and gave the reins to the boy. As he did so, a woman’s voice called his name and he turned. "Madeleine!" he said, not disguising the pleasure he felt at the sight of her small, neat figure hurrying towards him across the courtyard. He bent to kiss her cheek in greeting, a courtesy which she returned with equal pleasure, laughing as she did so. The kestrel flapped its wings menacingly and Madeleine de Tourney stepped back swiftly. "You had best settle that winged weapon, Jervis, before we talk. I’ll be waiting for you in my rooms Joan will admit you when you knock," she said. "In as few minutes as possible," he promised. Madeleine turned and crossed the courtyard again, to re-enter the castle. She was conscious of Jervis’s admiring eyes following her and smiled to herself, then sighed impatiently. He was a boy, still, not yet twenty, and she a married woman of twentyfive! Foolish to even think of anything more than friendship between them. And there was her husband, however little she may see of him, involved as he was with the present situation! Even that obsession would not blind Roger de Tourney to any straying by his wife. At least here, in Lewes castle, they were together under the same roof, with the de Warenne family and Jervis. Did Alice de Warenne feel as she herself did, she wondered? Dare she ask if Alice thought that King Henry was right or wrong in his refusal to propitiate Simon de Montfort and his followers? She had puzzled over the problem herself for hours. The King was King by divine right, and all his subjects owed him their allegiance so she had been taught. But what if he did not rule wisely, or took no notice of agreements made by his predecessors? What if de Montfort, with his insistence on the right of the barons to have some say in the ruling of the country was right? De Montfort claimed that the great charter signed by King John gave him and his fellow barons that right: Henry claimed that it was his right alone, as the lawfully crowned King of England. Madeleine had a suspicion that de Montfort would not make claims which he could not substantiate and the King’s famous temper had alienated the two men, despite their being brothers-in-law. It was a subject which fascinated Madeleine, but finding anyone with whom to discuss it was difficult. Her husband, when she had broached it, had roared with laughter, and told

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Belaset’s Daughter her to concentrate on her own interests, and not to try to understand men s talk. She felt her temper rise even now, at the thought of it. It would take courage to ask such questions, unless you were more or less sure of the response. However well you knew someone, could you really trust them not to betray you, if you mistook their allegiance? The most idle speculation about the correctness of Henry’s decisions could lead to accusations of treason and death. She shivered nervously, and glanced behind her, but no-one had followed her across the great hall and up the stone steps spiralling their way up inside the tower to the next floor. She reached her chambers with relief and smiled as she saw the matronly figure of Joan leaning across the bed, smoothing the heavy fur which lay across it. "Joan," she said, laughing. "You are almost as wide as the bed is long!" Her servant stood upright, with some difficulty, and turned. She was a woman of forty or more, her light brown hair now showing some white, stout but comely, and pink in the face from bending. She had been Madeleine’s nurse and, as the years had passed, had become her servant and confidante. Now, she placed her hands on her hips and looked indignantly at her young mistress. "I should not need to take so ungainly a position if the servants here took their duties seriously!" she said. "Who would think that I would have to spend time tidying your room and making the bed again, after they had gone on their carefree way!" Madeleine tried to look sympathetic and serious, but failed. Smiling, she caught Joan’s sleeve. "I have just met Jervis FitzHugh in the courtyard with said.

his kestrel, of course!" she

Joan looked at her shrewdly. "You are very interested in that young man, Madeleine," she said. Madeleine felt her face grow hot, but shrugged in what she hoped was a off-handed manner. "No I’m not!" she said. "But why shouldn’t I feel flattered when young man is so admiring?"

such a handsome

"And make sure that it remains only flattering," said Joan, wagging a stubby finger. "Oh, Joan!" said Madeleine. "He is a boy still I am a woman six or more years older. He’ll grow interested, and more, in a girl his own age before the summer is here." "Humph!" said Joan, walking across the room and brushing aside the heavy curtain which concealed an archway into another chamber. It was comfortably furnished, with a couch under the window, covered in cushions, and had chairs with arms for lounging in. The whitewashed walls reflected whatever light managed to struggle through the thick, opaque glass at this time of the year. A fire, burning brightly in the hearth, made the room

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Belaset’s Daughter seem pleasantly warm, after the chill outside, and brought a faint smell of thyme and from the thickly-strewn floor. Madeleine followed and stood warming herself at the fire. There was a sharp rap on the door opposite the fireplace, and Jervis came in. He had changed from his hunting outfit and wore a heavily-embroidered surcote over his white undershirt and braies, with vivid blue tights. Madeleine stared at this vision for some moments, while Jervis struck a pose, then made an elaborate bow. "Well?" he said, as Madeleine still said nothing. "Do you like me, Madam, or not?" "You blind me with your glory, sir!" she answered lightly, pretending not to notice the earnestness with which he spoke. "Every female in the castle will yearn for you won’t they, Joan?" she said, turning with a smile to where Joan stood watching the two of them. "Those who think the looks explain the person," said Joan, with a wholly unconvincing sniff. Young Jervis FitzHugh was difficult to dislike. She sat down on the couch and picked up the mending which she had left there. She did not trust this young man, or her mistress, if they were left alone together, however much Madeleine might try to dismiss the idea. Her blush had been noticeable and Joan preferred a peaceful life, not one beset by emotional storms, and discord between the de Tourneys. Madeleine s high spirits and her husband s short temper had already led the two of them into arguments. Joan had been shocked to hear Madeleine answering back and refusing some request of Sir Roger s, instead of meekly submitting to his every demand, as a wife should. Hadn’t she raised Madeleine herself, and advised her in all the wifely duties that would be expected of her, once married? Joan s face still grew warm, when she remembered the awkwardness of such explanations, and the disbelieving laughter from Madeleine. Now she knew that she had been told the truth and there were times when she flatly refused her husband. Worse, there were times when she disagreed with his opinion and, instead of saying nothing, argued with him. The room had gone quiet, she realised, and looked up to see Madeleine staring at Jervis with a strange, contemplative look in her eye. Jervis grinned at Madeleine, looking like a mischievous little boy again. "Well, Madam," he said. "Are we to stand for the rest of this visit, or may we sit and be comfortable together?" Of course you may sit, Jervis," said Madeleine, laughing, and coming out of her reverie. "Only after you have done so," said the young man, making another outrageously mannered bow. Madeleine sat at once, in one of the chairs which was placed on one side of the hearth and Jervis took the other, opposite her. He stretched out his long legs, with a sigh of relief, and gave a rueful smile.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Riding on these Downs is hard work," he observed. "My legs will ache for hours, as will my..." Joan tutted audibly. "Master Jervis, you are in a lady’s chamber," she said reprovingly. "...as will my hands," finished Jervis, in a tone of mock surprise. "Since it was very cold out there." Using all her self-control, Madeleine managed to keep her face composed. Really, Jervis was getting too bold! Perhaps Joan was right she should not encourage him to visit her. Except that she so enjoyed his company, his jokes and his teasing! Jervis was idly examining his foot, in its long-toed shoe. "What think you of Earl Simon and his friends?" he asked, casually. Madeleine looked startled. "What should I think?" she said. Why should my opinion be of interest to you? Besides, I’m married to John de Warenne’s close companion and John’s loyalty to the King is unquestioned." "I am not talking about John de Warenne, or Roger de Tourney," said Jervis. He leant towards her and lowered his voice. "Not everybody in this castle has the same loyalties, Madeleine," he said. He glanced across as Joan, who sat apparently absorbed in her stitching. His voice sank to a whisper. "Some people are wondering who is right Simon or Henry," he continued. "And some have already made up their minds. What about you? You are an intelligent woman, Madeleine. You must have considered the situation, perhaps even discussed it with your husband. Whom do you favour?" "No-one wants a woman’s opinion, sirrah!" she said, lightly. "Joan, bring us some mead, please. You will need to fetch it for us. It will take an age if you try to find one of the castle servants." "But, Madeleine!" Joan began to protest. Leave her precious lady alone with this young peacock? Never, if she had a choice. "Please do as I say," said Madeleine, firmly. "I am safe in here for a few minutes aren’t I Jervis?" "Certainly, Madam," said Jervis, dropping back into his usual bantering manner. "And I have a thirst on me that only mead will quench!" Grumbling under her breath, Joan turned on her heel and left the room, followed by the sound of Jervis chuckle and Madeleine s giggle. They both knew that it was a long trip to the kitchens for the mead, she thought. Well, she continued to herself, shrugging her

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Belaset’s Daughter shoulders, she had done her best if Madeleine wished to start the gossips tongues wagging, there was nothing more she could do. Now, where were the kitchens in this old English castle? A boy came towards her along the passage and she beckoned to him. Which way to the kitchens? said Joan, coldly. The boy grinned cheekily. Down and down the stairs, until you can smell em, he said, and dodged away from Joan s outstretched arm. He was too slow; she caught him by the ear and said grimly, Show me, lad, and no tricks! She started off at a good pace, still holding the boy by his ear and pushing him ahead of her, ignoring his yelps of pain. He stumbled along in front of her, leading her, as he had said, down a slope. The smells that began to reach her nostrils made them twitch. Roasting meat mixed with the smells of something suspiciously like rotting cabbage and rancid fat. This part of the castle is little better than a midden, she thought to herself, grimly. The boy’s yelping had subsided and he trotted along obediently. She relaxed her grip on his ear, realising that there was little chance of him escaping, so long as she held some part of his clothing, so she grabbed a handful of cloth at his shoulder, which was more comfortable for both of them. The rank smell grew stronger then, as they passed a passage branching suddenly to the left, faded again. "Where does that lead?" said Joan, still wrinkling her nose at the smells that assaulted it. "To the dungeons I told you it smelt bad down here!" said the lad, glancing back and seeing her expression.

at her

"Is there someone down there?" said Joan, horrified. "No-one living," said the boy. "But they say that there are dead bodies down there still. My Lord de Warenne’s father was a great one for throwing people in the dungeons if they displeased him, my master says." He shivered suddenly. "I hope I never see them," he said. Joan’s heart was touched. "You never will, if you obey your master, and do your work, I’m sure," she said. The boy looked at her, amazed. "I wouldn’t, in any case, mistress," he said. "Lord John does not use the dungeons any more. I don’t know why they still smell so bad."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Perhaps he’s given permission for others to use them, now that he has so many people staying here as his guests," said Joan. "Not everybody treats their servants so well." "Do you think so?" said the boy, stopping completely, and gazing at her in horror. "Might my master be given permission?" "No, no!" said Joan, giving him a push. "Little boys aren’t put into dungeons. Now get me into the kitchens, where we are supposed to be, and stop frightening both of us with your talk of dungeons and dead bodies!"

* * *

"Jervis," said Madeleine. "You really do want to know my opinion, don’t you?" Jervis looked at her, his previously easy manner replaced by wariness. "And would you really tell me, Madeleine?" he said. "Now, when no-one else can hear us?" She paused, staring at the rushes on the floor, as though seeking guidance from them. Jervis waited, saying nothing. "I’ll tell you this," she said, staring straight into his eyes. "Don’t assume that a wife necessarily shares her husband’s opinions." Jervis let out his breath in a long sigh of relief. "I hoped you would answer me as you have," he said. He leant towards her and lowered his voice. "If it should come to such a pass that you’re no longer safe within your own household..." he began. Madeleine placed her finger on his lips and then touched his cheek, lightly. "You’ll rescue me!" she said, smiling. He caught her hand in his. "It’s not a joke," he said, his face very serious and his voice roughened with anxiety. Gently, Madeleine freed her hand from his grasp. "I know, Jervis," she said. "You’re my knight already, even though Sir John still sees you as a squire and I’ll certainly come to you if I find myself in danger" She stood and moved away from him, smoothing her skirts. "Might it come soon?" she asked, swinging round to face him. Jervis shrugged.

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Belaset’s Daughter "I’m not sure if your husband does not feel threatened then you will be safe. But if he thinks..." Again, Madeleine stopped him, shaking her head. "Don’t say any more, Jervis," she said. "The less I know about the situation, the less likely I’ll be to betray myself, or you, by an unguarded look or word in my husband’s presence." Jervis nodded. "You’re right," he said. "And just as clever as I always suspected you to be. You have spent time thinking things over, though, haven’t you?" It was Madeleine’ s turn to heave a sigh. "Ah, I have a great deal of time to think, Jervis," she said, ruefully. "But still," she went on, putting her shoulders back and glancing around the chamber. "I am luckier than many wives my husband gives me a good deal of freedom to come and go as I wish, provided I do nothing to cause him embarrassment." The door opened and Joan reappeared, the boy still with her, and bearing a jug of the promised mead. She looked relieved to see that Jervis was still sitting in the same place, and that Madeleine was standing some way from him. Much further than she could have moved, had they been too close together, she though, with satisfaction. Master FitzHugh seemed to have some sense of decorum, at least.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWO

Judith woke with a start and lay, heart pounding, as the nightmare slowly left her. It was always the same: she was back in the house in Leicester and the mob were shouting outside. The door burst open and they were in, bludgeoning her father as he stepped forward to protect the family. She saw him fall, blood streaming from his head, saw one of the men pick up her baby brother and throw him down. She heard the screaming and the wail cut suddenly short, as the baby hit the floor. Her mother grabbed her and they ran, her two sisters running behind them. Outside, the tumult continued and she was running through thick smoke and trying to keep up with her mother. The two of them turned a corner and she knew her sisters had not seen them. She screamed at her mother to stop and wait, stop And that was when she always woke up. Now only her mother and she, the eldest daughter, survived. There was no-one else no father, no sisters, no baby brother. Her breathing slowed gradually and her heartbeat returned to normal. Even the sadness was less piercing after ten years. Would the nightmare ever stop? She doubted it, but hoped it would come less frequently. Throwing back the bedcovers, she rose to prepare for another day. Glancing through the window of the room in which she sat later in the morning, Judith could see down the slope and into the grounds of the great Priory of St. Pancras, built on the flat land bordering the Winter Bourne. The tiny figures of the monks and the lay people who acted as their servants went about their daily business. Watching them over the past few years, she had grown familiar with their routines, the times of their services in the priory church, the hours they spent working in the gardens, their mealtimes even their festivals and times of fasting. It was strange, she mused, how much she knew about their religious rites, and how little they knew or cared about hers. Jews and Christians, living so closely together, and yet so far apart. Sighing, she bent her head again to the parchment on the table in front of her, and read the words over. It was her ketuba, the marriage contract sent by messenger from London to her mother, who now sat opposite her, waiting for her to speak. "A wedding is arranged between Judith, daughter of Belaset, daughter of Rav Benedict of Leicester, son of Master Moses of Lyons; and Aaron, son of Benjamin, son of Joce Yechiel of London..." she read. "You remember Aaron you liked him, I think?" said Belaset gently. Judith nodded.

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Belaset’s Daughter "He seemed pleasant enough, Mother," she said. "I have no objections to this marriage, if it pleases you, but..." she sighed again. "What is it, my daughter? Do you prefer another? Tell me now, and we won’t sign the ketuba." Belaset’s concern made her voice tremble slightly. "There’s no-one else," said Judith. "I have no wish to marry at all, yet it seems I must." "It’s hard for a woman to be alone," said her mother. "Others will think you are unable to make a good marriage for some reason that there’s something wrong with you, or some secret in your family which cannot be told." Judith stood up and came round the table to hug her mother. "I know all that," she said. "Perhaps to marry someone for whom you feel nothing is an advantage. There are no illusions to be broken. Don’t worry, Mother, I will marry Aaron and try my best to be a good wife." Belaset smiled with relief, and patted her daughter’s hand. "You’re a good daughter, Judith," she said. "We’ll arrange for theceremony to take place in a few months in April. Let’s talk about it again later." She picked up the contract, rolled it, and wrapped it carefully in its linen cover, tying the strings to hold it tightly bound, then, rising from the table, she went over to one of the heavy chests standing against the wall, and laid the scroll carefully inside. She smiled at her daughter and bustled out of the room, with an air of satisfaction. Judith stood where she was, staring out of the window. Such a short space of time in which to accomplish all that she had promised to do for the King s cause. She must get a message to the Priory and arrange a meeting with Prior William Foville as soon as possible. She took a scrap of parchment from the corner of a piece which lay on the table, and marked it with the symbols ’J?’, to indicate her wish to meet that afternoon,then took it with her as she went out of the room, down the stairs and out into the yard at the back of he house. Pursing her lips, she made a twittering sound as she entered a little shed, built into the corner of two walls. Inside, a white dove cooed nervously as she approached it, but she soothed it, as she fastened the parchment to its left leg, tying it on with a piece of ribbon. Holding the bird firmly, she walked out into the centre of the yard and threw it into the air. She watched, as it circled once, then flew out of sight, in the direction of the Priory. She should receive a reply quickly, telling her that the meeting was arranged. She went back into the house and prepared to wait patiently. Wanting to distract herself, she wandered into the kitchen, where the servant was preparing the midday meal. She hovered over the fire, sniffing the contents of the cauldron. The old woman smiled at her, as she continued stirring.

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Belaset’s Daughter "It will be ready very soon," she said. She went to the table and tore two chunks of bread from the loaf that was there, then took two silver bowls from a cupboard and ladled a generous helping of the soup into each one. Placing the bowls on a tray, she added the bread, and two silver spoons, before lifting the it and leaving the kitchen, with Judith following eagerly behind her. They processed in this manner to another large room, where Belaset sat sewing beside a blazing fire. The servant put the tray on the table, curtsied to her mistress, and left. Judith and Belaset sat together at the table. Belaset covered her head and spoke the grace before meals. "Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth," she said. "Amen," said Judith with her. The two women began their meal in silence.

* * *

The dove had flown straight down the valley, into the grounds of the great Priory. Brother Daniel, watching the dumb lad, Colin, kneading dough in the infirmary kitchen, saw it fly into the garden and across to the dovecote. Glancing round to see that he was not observed, he walked quickly out of the kitchen, passing the steps leading into the cellar below. He crossed the garden, bare now in the depths of winter, and went softly to the door of the dovecote. He made the same twittering sound as Judith had done, as he opened it. The birds inside cooed comfortably back at him, used to his presence among them. He looked up and down the rows of perches. There was the new arrival over to his right. He went to it, reached up, and encouraged it onto his hand. The bird came easily, and he untied the ribbon he could see on its leg. The scrap of parchment came off with it, and the dove was put back gently on its perch. Daniel tucked parchment and ribbon into his left sleeve, as he slipped his hands back deep into the warm folds of his rough woollen habit. He left the building again, every sense alert for watchers, but there were none. No-one had seen him, as far as he knew: now he must get the message to Prior Foville as quickly as possible. Covering his head and face with his hood, he set off through the maze of buildings, taking the quickest route he could to the Prior’s quarters. The infirmary was nearly empty, he knew, except for a few elderly monks, spending their last days in as much warmth and comfort as possible in this bitter weather. He walked through it confidently, looking neither to right nor left, just one of the monks going about his duties, then made his way through the warming-house and turned left along the cloisters. They too seemed almost deserted. He was almost there, and only had to climb the stairs to Prior William’s door.

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Belaset’s Daughter Breathing heavily, he mounted the stone stairs and knocked on the door. There was a moment’s pause, then the Prior himself opened it. Brother Daniel bowed his head in obeisance, and half drew his hand out of his sleeve, to show the ribbon clutched in it. The Prior beckoned him in, and closed the door silently behind him. "Well, Brother Daniel," said William Foville. "What brings you here in such haste?" "A message, Father, from outside the walls," said Brother Daniel, still panting from the pace he had set himself. He took the small scrap of parchment, with the ribbon, from his sleeve, and handed it over. William glanced at it and nodded. "The answer is yes," he said. He turned over the small scrap, and scratched "YF", for "Yes, Foville", on it with a quill, which he took from his desk and dipped hastily into ink. "Here," he gave it back to Daniel. "Send the message back as quickly as you can. You have done well to come to me unseen see that no-one notices you now, until the dove is safely on its way." "I’m but one among many," said Daniel. "My hood hides my actions, as well as my face. And the boy, Colin, is the only person who saw me leave the kitchen. He can’t tell anyone of my doings." "Be careful, nonetheless, Brother Daniel," said William Foville. "Speech is not the only way of passing on secrets." "Have no fear, Father," said Daniel. "The boy is grateful to me he follows me about like a puppy-dog. He knows I saved his life, taking him from his house after seeing his father kill his mother in his drunken state. Colin wouldn’t betray me, as it was me who brought him into the Priory after that terrible event. Besides, I take care he hears nothing that he could pass on to anyone else, by whatever means. " The Prior grunted, and crossed the room to open the door once more. Daniel slipped out, looking cautiously around before retracing he steps. Again, the cold seemed to keep everyone from his route. He made it back into the infirmary building without seeing anybody. In the infirmary kitchen, Colin still kneaded busily, though he lifted his head as the monk entered. Daniel crossed the room, with a smile in the boy’s direction as he passed him. He hurried out to the dovecote again. Looking into the cages where the birds from other places were kept, he found Judith’s own bird, greyer than the one which had brought the message, and tied the scrap of parchment and its ribbon to the bird’s leg. His fingers fumbled, stiff with the cold, and he blew on them to make them more flexible. At last, the job was done to his satisfaction. He took the bird into the small garden and threw it into the air, watching it as it circled once, then flew in the direction of its home. Back in the warmth of the kitchen, Brother Daniel waited until Colin had placed the dough on a tray, slid it into the clay oven, and closed the door.

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Belaset’s Daughter The boy stood before him, waiting to be told what to do next. "Take our guests their food, Colin," said Brother Daniel. Obediently, Colin took some wooden bowls and ladled a thick soup into them, then took a number of flat loaves from the morning’s baking. Loading it all on to a large wooden tray, he took his burden into the infirmary itself, where he gave a bowl and a loaf to each of the old monks, as they sat or lay on their beds. Coming back into the kitchen, he served himself the same meal, and sat at the table to eat it, dipping chunks of the loaf into the soup, and pushing them greedily into his mouth. He grinned happily at Brother Daniel, clearly showing his appreciation of the food, and nodded with satisfaction, before lowering his head again and concentrating on it. Brother Daniel went to join the rest of the brothers, slipping into the great church via the chapter-house, and taking his place quietly in the semi-darkness inside. What a blessing a dark, January day could be, he thought, with a grim smile. How many secret meetings and movements it could hide! Prior Foville, he noted, was there in his place by the altar, taking part in the singing of the Psalms as though there was nothing else on his mind but this act of worship. Prior Foville, thought Daniel privately, is a clever and therefore a dangerous man. The dove sent from the Priory was watched for eagerly in the room where Judith waited after her meal. At last, she could bear the wait no longer, and hurried out to check the shed. It was there, and carried a message agreeing to a meeting, she saw with relief. Hurrying back into the house, she took her cloak and wrapped herself in it. Carefully and quietly, she left the house and made her way down the hill and across the stream to where the Priory loomed up in the short twilight of the winter’s day. She stood, well-muffled against the cold and discovery, in the shadow of one of the towers which were being built at the west end of the priory church. It was not yet halfbuilt, but its size was already sufficient to provide some shelter from the wind, and the curious gaze of any passer-by not that many were out today. Her tall figure, and the dim light of the winter afternoon, coupled with her deliberately-chosen clothing, gave her the appearance of a youth, loitering for some reason of his own outside the church. She heard the small door in the side of the tower nearest to her creak softly as it opened. A hooded figure looked out, and a voice whispered softly, "Judith?" "Yes here!" she answered, equally softly, and moved forward, so that Daniel could her.

see

He beckoned, and stepped back into the tower. Judith followed him as quickly as she was able, picking her way through the rubble left by the builders, who had stopped working on the construction of the tower before Christmas and not yet started again. Ahead of her, Brother Daniel opened another door and led her into the church. He genuflected hurriedly in the direction of the high altar, invisible at the other end of the building, then turned right sharply, between two of the great pillars which marched

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Belaset’s Daughter massively and silently down each side of the building. Had she not been so close behind him, she would have lost sight of him completely. Now they were within the confines of the Priory, behind the high wall which protected it from the outside world. They walked along the west side of the cloisters, and then rounded the corner, to the short flight of stone steps which led to the Prior’s lodging. One furtive look round, to make sure that there was nobody to see them, and Daniel led her quickly up the steps, where he knocked for the second time that day at the door. Again, William Foville opened it himself, as he had that morning. Judith stepped inside, and the door closed. Outside, Brother Daniel looked at the closed door, shook his head, and made his way back to the infirmary. "Well," said Foville. "Is there news?" "Not from the King," said Judith. "But there is news about me that you need to know." "What can be so important about you, that you think I will be interested?" said Foville, coldly. "My Mother’s planning my marriage we wedding to be held within a few months."

have the contract, and she wishes the

Foville was suddenly serious. "This is indeed news how long until the wedding?" "Until April and it will be in London." "London?" said Foville, thoughtfully. "That might be very useful will before the day itself?"

you travel there

"I may not myself we have yet to decide whether I should meet my future husband again before the ceremony or not. We know each other already, although we haven’t met for some years, so it might not be deemed necessary." "I think it will be so deemed," said Foville. He stared at her. "You must insist on meeting this man who will be your husband perhaps once. Can you show hesitation?"

more than

"Done already," said Judith. "I’ve made it plain that I’m agreeing reluctantly." "Excellent!" Foville actually rubbed his hands together. "See if you can spend several days on each visit. Take the opportunity to find out as much as possible about the mood of the Jews of London." "I already know my own people’s feelings," said Judith. "They will never support de Montfort and his barons against the King. Henry’s constant demand for more tallage may be wearying, but he’s the only protection that we have."

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Belaset’s Daughter "You Jews are always complaining of hardship," returned Foville, crisply. "Yet your houses are better built than many, and none of your people starve." He swept aside the problems of the Jews, with a wave of his hand. "Your own family’s sufferings at the King’s hands do not alter your attitude to de Montfort, I trust." Judith’s face hardened. "I shall never forgive him for what happened in Leicester. He could have prevented it, had he chosen. My mother’s grief was terrible and even now she misses my father. However kind our friends may be, it can never replace the loss of most of our family, especially a beloved father and husband." In the face of her feeling even Foville looked momentarily embarrassed before his face assumed its habitual aloof expression. "Well, whatever your reasons for offering your services to the King and his loyal supporters, you’ve proved useful," he said. "If you can bring news to us of what is happening in London, that will prove even more useful. We’ve heard that the Tower is in the hands of de Montfort s followers, and they are encouraging the London mob in their rioting and destruction. See what you can learn." He turned to his desk, to pick up a parchment bearing an impressive seal. As soon as Judith saw it, her eyes widened in recognition. "You have another task for me?" she asked. Foville nodded. "A messenger brought this to me yesterday. I have been considering whether or not you could carry out such a difficult mission," he said. Judith’s reaction was exactly what he had judged it would be. "I’m equal to anything you may require of me!" she flashed back at him, her whole body stiff with insulted pride. "What is it?" "The King’s in France," said Foville. "Asking Louis, his brother-in-law, to act as arbitrator between himself and his rebellious barons. Whatever Louis decides, regarding the legality of these Provisions of Oxford, Henry won’t be satisfied until he has crushed Simon de Montfort once and for all. If this means warfare and I don’t see how it can mean other the King wants to ensure that it starts when and where he decides, rather than having it forced upon him." "I see the wisdom of his thinking," said Judith. "But why should it involve this Priory and its Prior?" "Because we’re on the edge of a possible battle site," said Foville. "And the King will need quarters for himself and his retinue. His message asks me to prepare for such an eventuality. You will take a response from me, assuring him of my readiness to serve him BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter in any way I can. There may also be a most secret message for you to bring back to me, giving details of the King’s plans in the immediate future." His eyes bored into hers. "Now do you understand why I hesitate to use you? It will be dangerous you’ll have to get across the Channel, get my message to its proper recipient and no-one else, and bring another message back to me all without mishap, or alerting possible spies. Can you do it?" Judith met his gaze steadily. "Yes," she said firmly. "I can do it." "Arrangements will be made," said Foville. "There will be a boat to take you across to France and you will be told where to go. You ride like a man, I know, and you’ll be provided with horses on both sides of the water. As soon as everything is ready, you will be told. The first horse and an escort will be waiting for you here in the Priory. Now you must leave it’s almost time for Vespers and no-one must see you go from here." He opened the door and Judith slipped past him and down the stairs. Walking swiftly through the cloisters, she found the little door in the side of the church, and opened it softly. She slipped inside and crossed to one of the pillars, where she stood searching for a sign that she was not alone. A shadow seemed to move to her right, but when she looked again, she could see nothing. She walked silently down to the door leading into the tower, was through it, across the tower and outside in the now complete darkness, in a moment. She pushed the door closed behind her and leant on it, letting out a long sigh of relief. Inside the church, the boy Colin rose from where he had crouched down behind the statue of the Virgin to avoid being seen.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER THREE

Amiens in February was as cold and unwelcoming as any English town. Its cobbled streets lay under a cloak of muddy slush, composed of snow, straw, and a malodorous mixture of waste matter. The buildings lining the streets looked grimy and melancholy under a menacing yellowish-grey sky, and a thin wind whipped round corners to catch the unwary. The few people abroad were mostly on foot, huddled in their cloaks as they made their way cautiously through the streets. Stepping daintily along, a horse came down the street, its rider looking from side to side, obviously searching for a particular house. He was dressed in a long cloak, lined with squirrel fur, and a fine woollen tunic showed its hem as the wind caught the edge of the cloak. The rider’s hat was pulled well forward, and was edged with the same squirrel fur. The horse, a high-strung chestnut with a white blaze, and four white socks, slipped slightly and tossed its head in alarm. The rider soothed it, patting its neck and clicking his teeth until, calmer, it began again to pick its way along the street. A shopkeeper came out of his door, and turned to open the shutters across the window. The rider pulled up and sat with his right hand resting on his thigh, as he gazed at the man thoughtfully. Conscious of the gaze upon his back, the shopkeeper turned and raised his head, waiting for the rider to speak. The man on the ground found himself looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen, set in a face with a serious, questioning expression on it. "M’sieur?" said the shopkeeper, uncertainly. "Where does the priest live? Is his house nearby?" asked the stranger, in the same language. "Ah, yes!" responded the shopkeeper swiftly. "He lives two streets away, on the left hand side. When you come to the turning you will see the church at the corner. The priest has a room at the side. Knock loudly, he’s getting deaf these days." He bowed, and watched with relief as the rider nodded his thanks and began to make his way along the streets again. Glancing round, to make sure that no-one else had seen him in conversation with the stranger, he scuttled back inside his shop, and began arranging the bolts of cloth which he sold, with hands that trembled. Meanwhile, the stranger had found the turning, with the church on the corner, and the rough doorway which indicated the priest’s quarters. Dismounting, he allowed the reins to dangle free, as the horse, too tired to do anything else, drooped its head despondently. The rider stroked its cheek affectionately. "Poor old fellow," he murmured to it. "You have carried me bravely. Please God, the journey is nearly over now."

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Belaset’s Daughter He turned to the door and rapped sharply. When there was no apparent response, he knocked again, louder this time. The door flew open almost immediately, and a small man past middle age stood there, shivering slightly in a threadbare cassock. "Well? well? what is it?" he asked querulously. "I come from Simon, mon p re," said the stranger. The effect was startling. The priest stepped forward, checked, and stepped back hurriedly. He stretched out a hand, and clutched at the man’s cloak, saying urgently, "Quick! quick come inside before you are seen! Have you spoken to anyone in the city before you arrived here? I beg you, come in off the street!" He anxiety was so great that it gave him a surprising amount of strength in such an apparently feeble body, and his visitor found himself being dragged bodily into the interior of the priest’s dwelling. He stumbled slightly, and removed the priest’s hand as gently as he could. Half-laughing, half-puzzled, he said, "I spoke to no-one, Father, but some shopkeeper on your main street. He directed me here." The little priest crossed himself, and asked, "Did you speak in English, or in French?" "In French, of course, Father, as we do now!" "Then perhaps you’re safe. Still, it’s unwise to speak to anyone anyone at all while you are in France. Especially here in Amiens! You must know that Henry, your King, is staying nearby. His knights and their retainers are frequent visitors to the shops and taverns, and anyone who has spoken to a strange knight, travelling on his own and not knowing his way, is bound to mention it to them, in the hope of receiving a reward." He peered more closely at the stranger. "Which of Simon’s men are you? No name was given to me, nor when I should expect you." The man laughed, and doffed his hat with a flourish. "Guy de Montfort thanks you for your concern and commends your caution," he said, with a smile. "And would welcome a warming draught of something, if you can spare it, Father." The priest threw up his hands in mock horror. "But of course! You must be frozen, even in so fine a cloak. My apologies for not making you more welcome. I was forgetting my manners entirely....." He turned, beckoning Guy to follow him, and bustled along a dark passage, muttering to himself as he did so. Guy followed, grinning hugely, as he listened to the priest castigating himself and, at the same time, planning aloud the meal he would put before his unexpected visitor. "Really, to keep a tired man standing thus.... perhaps there’s some of that good wine, still....and one of Simon’s sons, too.... there’s some cold mutton somewhere,I’m certain.... BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter how far has the poor lad come all and the fire will heat the wine...."

the way from England?....I have some bread, I know,

He flung open the door at the end of the passage, and Guy could see a large room, with a cheerful fire burning on the opposite side from where they stood. A big, worn table, two stools, a chest against one wall, and the priest’s narrow bed against the other, provided most of the furniture. Two small windows, high up in the wall, provided more than enough fresh air, but little light at this time of the year. The little priest turned and beckoned, and Guy walked past him into the room. Throwing his cloak across the end of the table, he sat down on one of the stools, and stretched his hands towards the fire. He sat enjoying the warmth, and watching with amusement, as the priest rushed to and fro between the chest and the table, with plate, spoon, knife and a beaker. A door in the corner by the chest was opened, to reveal a dark cupboard, with a few shelves, from which the priest took a loaf, some cold mutton, and an earthenware jug. The jug was half full of some rough, red wine, which he poured into the beaker and offered to Guy, with an encouraging nod. "You have a message for me, Father?" said Guy, urgently, as he took the beaker. "I have, my son," said the priest. "But you must refresh yourself first. Eat and drink, and I’ll fetch what I’ve been given for you, as you do." He turned to leave the room. "Just a minute, Father," said Guy, standing up, hastily. "Where are you going isn’t the message here, in your keeping?" The priest turned and smiled patiently at the young man. "Yes, of course. It’s in a very safe place. Come with me, if you wish, and I’ll show you. Theres no need for alarm!" Guy came round the table, his hand reaching to unsheathe his dagger. The priest shook his head at him, and motioned for him to replace the weapon. "You’re in God’s house, Guy, there is no reason to arm yourself," he said, reprovingly. Guy hesitated for a second, but the expression on the priest’s face convinced him. He was led across the room, to the door by the chest. The cupboard was opened again, but this time, the priest reached over to the side, and the back swung open to reveal another passage, shorter than that which led from the side door to the room they were in. At the other end, a heavy curtain hung from ceiling to floor. The priest pushed it to one side and walked through, then held it back for Guy to follow. They were in the apse of the church. It was dim, and the heavy scent of incense hung in the air. The cold was piercing and stung the nostrils with every breath. The silence was so profound, that Guy felt himself grow calmer, and the tension of the journey was eased by the atmosphere.

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Belaset’s Daughter As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could see that they were in an alcove, with the high altar to their right, in the centre of the apse. The priest went to it, and, stooping down, reached under the embroidered cloth that draped it. He stood up, with a packet in his hand, and came back to where Guy stood. The packet was small, sealed with wax, bearing the impression of a ring. The wax gleamed faintly in the dimness, as the priest held it out. "Here," he said. "Here’s the message you came for take it!" Guy took it from him, and put it into a pouch, which he drew from inside his tunic. Closing it again, by the drawstring on which it hung, he thrust it back into its hiding-place, where it lay against his chest. "The safest place I know," he said to the little priest, patting his tunic. "To cut that off, you would have to cut me down first!" The priest nodded, as if satisfied. "Now," he said. "Perhaps you will spend some little time quenching you thirst and warming yourself, before you leave?" "Why not?" Guy said. "Is there somewhere for my horse, that it might enjoy some rest and shelter, too?" They returned along the passage and into the priest’s room. "If you wish," said the priest, almost timidly. "You can bring it into the other passage. It will get some warmth from the fire, and the droppings if there are any will give me some fuel, perhaps." The horse lifted its head, as Guy opened the door. Grasping the reins, he urged it inside, and it came willingly enough. Its hooves clattered on the stone floor and it snorted in surprise. Then it nuzzled Guy, as though to show its gratitude for being brought in, away from the bitter cold. Guy patted its neck, roughly, and squeezed past it, to shut the door. He gave a quick glance to each side, but there was no sign of life the length of the lane. Closing the door, he slipped across the stout bolts at the top and bottom of it, then squeezed back past the horse and into the room. The priest had slung a pot over the fire and was stirring vigorously. Guy picked up the beaker of wine, and finished the contents. He stepped across to the fire and gazed curiously into the pot. The smell it gave off was pleasantly spiced, but strange to him. "What are you brewing there, Father?" he asked, puzzled but intrigued. The priest smiled up at him. "Just a herbal infusion, made to warm you on your travels," he said. "There’s cinnamon and ginger in it, and a little pepper. The whole receipt is a monkish secret." "And will remain one, I see!" said Guy, laughing.

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Belaset’s Daughter The bubbling mixture was ladled into another wooden beaker, and Guy took a cautious sip. He felt the fiery liquid go down his gullet and a warmth spread through his stomach and into his bloodstream. He took half of the beaker s contents in a single gulp, for the pleasure of repeating that spreading warmth. "Sit awhile," came the priest’s voice. Guy was surprised at how far away it sounded. He could feel he was being led towards the bed, but the bed and everything surrounding it was disappearing into a mist, and all he wanted was to sleep.... He reached the bed with a last effort, and collapsed onto it, as his legs buckled beneath him. He had fallen on his side, and the priest, grunting a little with the effort, leant over and felt inside his clothes, to retrieve the packet. He lifted the whole pouch , and slid it over Guy’s unconscious head. Swiftly, he went back along the passage that led to the apse, and into the church. Peering into the gloom, he walked down the centre aisle, until he was almost at the main door. A figure had detached itself from the pillar on the right side of the aisle, and stood waiting. A long, hooded cloak covered it from head to foot, concealing the face as well as the body. In the gloom, its stillness was menacing. The priest halted uncertainly. "Who are you?" he said, in a low voice. "My name is Judith," came the reply, as the hood was pushed back slightly, to reveal her features. "Did you think one of your saints had appeared though heaven knows why he should choose such a freezing day as this, and such a miserable place! The packet is for me." The priest stood gaping, as she held out her hand. Reluctantly, he gave her the pouch containing the packet, and she pushed it inside her cloak, then pulled the hood forward again, as turned as if to leave. The movement roused the priest from his stupor. "But who are you?" he said again. "Who sent you? I thought a man..." His voice trailed away, as she turned back to him. "I am a messenger sent from Prior William. The King of England’s men protect me... from each other, as well as from the dangers which may befall any traveller," she said tersely. "Prior William?" asked the priest. "William Foville, Prior of the Cluniac house of St Pancras, Lewes." The priest relaxed visibly. "You are indeed the messenger I was expecting," he said. "No-one else could have known so precisely who wanted that package not here in Amiens. My other visitor was less well-informed..." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "What other visitor?" said Judith, sharply. "Have you shown this package to someone else?" "Guy de Montfort called, and is now sleeping dreamlessly in the priest’s quarters. But," he continued, as Judith opened her mouth to speak, "I was warned that his father would try some trick of this sort, and came prepared. There is certainly a traitor within our own walls, as we feared." Judith looked at him. "You’re not the parish priest, are you?" The ’priest’ smiled. "How many of us are exactly what we seem these days?" he said. "I’ll detain you no longer. Guy de Montfort will not re-awaken for some time. You should be able to get back to the coast well ahead of him." With a nod, Judith turned and walked swiftly away from him and opened the door which led to the street. She walked through and pulled it shut behind her. The dull thud of its closing boomed sullenly through the church. The man left inside stood in thought for a moment, then returned to his unwanted guest. Guy still lay on the bed, as the other man had expected. Stopping only to take his staff and his cloak, which he wrapped around himself, the ’priest’ went out of the room, passing the horse, unbolted and opened the side door and hurried up the mean alley out of sight. The horse stamped restlessly, tossing his head and jingling and champing on the bit. Then it settled again, and there was silence.

* * *

Once outside the church, Judith walked swiftly to where the escort waited, with her horse. She snatched the bridle from the hand of the man that held it, placed her foot in the stirrup and sprang into the saddle, sitting astride the horse, like the three men. Her height, and the clothes she wore, made her indistinguishable from them. She led off down the main street, past the shops and booths which lined it, now all open, and out of the city gates onto the main highway. She glanced behind once, to make sure that the men had kept up with her, then spurred her mount into a swift canter. It responded willingly, as though the wait outside the church had tried its patience. Behind her, she could hear muffled curses, and then the sudden thunder of hooves, as the horses behind her were urged into action. The horses seemed sure-footed, despite the ruts beneath their hooves, and the thin layer of ice that lay in some of them. Breath steamed from their nostrils, as the canter became a

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Belaset’s Daughter gallop, and they streamed along, one behind the other. The cold air made Judith’s lungs ache, and brought tears to her eyes, but the speed was exhilarating, as well as necessary, and she would not slow down. At the river, which was still flowing despite the cold, she urged her horse across the ancient stone bridge without hesitation. It was narrow, with one bay in the middle, where it was possible to pass someone coming the other way. She could see a horse and cart just stepping on to the other end. The carter seemed completely unaware that there were riders coming towards him, and the horse pulling the contraption continued to amble slowly along, head down. Judith was nearly across, and just managed to squeeze by. It was a mistake; the carter suddenly pulled at his right hand rein, and the horse swerved across obediently, completely blocking the bridge. Judith’s escort tried to stop their own horses, pulling frantically at the reins. The back rider managed to stop completely, without hitting the two in front, but the middle rider was powerless to stop his mount cannoning into the leader, which promptly whinnied in surprise, and kicked out to the rear. Losing his balance, its rider was tossed over the animal’s head, straight into the icy waters of the River Somme. The rider of the second horse, which was now standing rigid but unhurt, dismounted hurriedly and ran to the side of the bridge. The carter gazed at them stolidly, but said nothing, nor did he make any attempt to help, or move his cart out of the way by backing off the bridge. It was an obvious and successful attempt to separate Judith from the men. She could see no-one else as yet, but there was a thick coppice of trees just down the road on her right. The left side was clear, and open scrubland. Without waiting to find out the fate of the rider in the river, she galloped off, veering to the left to make a wide detour round the threatening trees, lest anyone should be waiting there to ambush her. Sure enough, as she drew abreast of them, two riders burst from the trees. Judith dug her heels into the horse’s flanks, and it responded slightly, despite the speed it was already making. She knew she could not keep going at such a pace for long, and there was always the danger that the horse might stumble. The road had been uneven enough, but here the going was even rougher. She gritted her teeth and crouched low over the animal, trying to keep her balance and fighting for control of their direction. The ground flew past beneath the animal’s hooves. Tussocks of grass were flattened beneath their passage, ice cracked sharply and flew in all directions. Judith could hear the heavy snorting sound of the horse, as it laboured for breath, but she dared not slow, nor turn to look behind her. They slithered down a steep slope and up the other side. At the top the horse, slowed by the effort of the climb, paused momentarily. Judith sat up and risked a glance behind her. The leader of the two riders chasing her stumbled at that moment, as he reached the bottom of the slope. The one following wrenched at the reins, so that his horse reared, but the effort to avoid crashing into the horse in front was in vain. There was a sudden cry of fear, whinnies of pain, and the sickening crunch of something breaking. The front rider lay on the ground, motionless, where he had been flung by the impact. His head was at an odd BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter angle, his neck apparently broken by his fall. His horse struggled to rise, but could not. The horse behind with its flanks heaving, while its rider hung weakly in the saddle, before sliding off and standing dazed beside it. Judith hesitated a moment, then turned away and, patting her horse’s neck, urged it into a trot. She could do nothing for the poor beast which had been injured in the accident, and the men had been trying to catch her no doubt followers of de Montfort. Still, her natural instinct had been to go to their aid; it had been hard to simply turn away. She shook herself, and put the matter behind her. For now, she must make a decision. Should she go on alone, or circle back and see what had happened to her escort? She was not sure of the route, but thought the road they had been travelling along led straight to their destination. Circling back would only delay her and, perhaps, mean her capture after all, she decided. She pulled on the reins, directing the horse back across the open land to the track she had left so precipitately during the chase. Settling more comfortably in the saddle, she patted the horse’s neck, soothing it, then set off again at a canter.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER FOUR

Guy opened his eyes and turned his head. He groaned as the room spun round him and a wave of nausea washed over him. Lying still, with his eyes firmly closed, he waited. Slowly, the world stopped spinning, and he remembered where he was. The ’priest’ had fooled him completely, he thought, annoyed with himself for falling so easily into the trap of taking a drugged drink. He listened, but heard only the horse, pawing restlessly in the passage outside. Opening his eyes he sat up cautiously, and leant against the wall beside him, as the dizziness began again. It settled more quickly this time, and his stomach did not protest when he swung first one leg and then the other over the side of the bed. He waited, then stood slowly upright and took a few experimental steps towards the table. He felt weak, but not much else seemed wrong, and his strength seemed to be returning, slowly. Breathing deeply, he lowered himself onto a stool, rested his arms on the table, and put his chin in his hands. The packet, he could feel, had gone. It might have been important or it might have been a dummy, to make him think that he had received the expected documents. He had no idea what was in it, only that there was a packet to collect, and take to his father, and that his visit to the church should not be made known to anyone. Yet somebody obviously had known or how could the false priest have been there? What had happened to the real incumbent? The thought was enough to stir Guy into immediate action. He stood, swaying slightly, and stumbled down the passage that led into the church. A hasty search of the apse and the main part of the building showed him that no-one else was there. Back in the room, he looked around for any clues as to what might have happened before his arrival, but there were none. The bread an mutton were still on the table, where they had been set by the ’priest’. Guy seized the loaf and tore off a chunk, surprised at how stale it felt. It was half-way to his mouth when a sudden thought struck him. What if the food was full of poison? Reluctantly, he threw it back on the table. Flinging open the door, he went into the other passage, where his horse whickered softly at the sight of him. Guy gave him a rough caress, and squeezed past it, picking his way past the horse’s dung to open the door that would let them out of this place. He stepped out and looked each way; there was nobody in sight. Re-entering, he slid past the horse once more, then took it by the cheekstrap and urged it backwards, out of the door. The horse clattered back, snorting, and rolling its eyes nervously. Guy soothed it, and stroked its nose, until they were both out. The horse’s breath steamed in the cold, and Guy shivered, as he swung himself into the saddle. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter The lane was narrow and he had no choice but to go up it, away from the street from which he had entered. Emerging at the other end, he looked round to see where he was. It was hard to tell, other than that he was somewhere in the centre of the city. There were houses on either side of the street, some of them large and looking as though the people who lived in them were prosperous. Turning the horse to the right, he set off along a wider street, trusting to his instinct to bring him to a place he recognised. There were very few people about, and he wondered what time of day it was. He had reached Amiens very early, and had spent only a short time with the ’priest’ before the drug had taken effect. It should by now be the middle of the morning, he thought, yet the streets were far too quiet. In his reverie, he had let the horse find its own way along the street. He looked up, and saw that he was coming into a large square perhaps a marketplace. Yet there were no stalls, no people bustling about, no cries from street hawkers. Puzzled, Guy brought the horse to a halt, and looked around again. A passer-by stopped and looked at him oddly. He seemed about to speak, then changed his mind and hurried on again, glancing back over his shoulder as he walked away. Guy sat on for a moment, still feeling drowsy from the draught that he had drunk so eagerly, and so foolishly but how long ago? His strength was failing him again, and the weakness growing stronger, so that it was an effort to stay in the saddle. A woman’s voice spoke timidly beside him. "Are you feeling ill, sir?" she said softly. A jolt of surprise went through him, as he recognised the voice, but could not believe he was right. Turning in amazement, he looked down. It was Madeleine de Tourney’s maid, Joan. But how could it be? What would Joan be doing in Amiens? As he turned his head, Joan realised who he was. He saw her eyes widen, and he raised his hand, weakly, begging for her silence. Her mouth, which had dropped open in surprise, closed with a snap, and she nodded briskly. Beckoning him to follow, she led him down one side of the square, then turned down another of the myriad alleys which seemed to criss-cross this city. At a door in a high wall, she stopped and knocked in a particular way. Immediately, the door opened, and she entered, gesturing to him to follow. Guy hesitated. It seemed too much like a repetition of his recent experiences, and he had no desire to repeat them. Still, there were strong rumours that the de Tourneys held their own opinions as to who was right and who was wrong in this dispute between the King and the barons. Roger de Tourney’s opinion was not known to him, but Joan seemed to welcome him, and he was feeling weaker and weaker. He urged his tired horse forward through the gate, and found himself in a surprisingly large courtyard, with stables to one side, and the entrance to one of the houses in the wide street he had just passed along on the opposite side.

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Belaset’s Daughter As a man came to take his horse’s reins, Guy dismounted. He felt his knees begin to give way, as he tried to stand unaided. Joan hissed in alarm, and two more men came running, to catch Guy just as he fell. Taking an arm each, they half-carried, half-walked him across the courtyard, and into one of the stables, where they laid him on the clean straw on the floor, and stood looking uncertainly at Joan. "You can both go," she said. "You’ve seen nothing, and no-one has been here. Do you understand?" The men looked at each other, then the older one nodded. "If you say so, mistress," he said. "I do say so!" she said sharply. Even through his fatigue, Guy felt some amusement. Joan spoke to everyone in the same tone, no matter what their station. Except for her beloved Madeleine, of course. He lay with his eyes closed, waiting to hear what she would say to him. Something about not taking care of himself, he was willing to wager. "Why do I find you in such a state, Master Guy?" she said. "Where have you been for the last two days?" " Two days?" said Guy, opening his eyes. "I came to Amiens this morning: two days ago, I was still in England." "Indeed you were not," said Joan. "Two days ago, you left Earl Simon, on some mysterious errand. You were here, in Amiens. I saw you go along this same street myself, just as I was taking my lady her breakfast." Guy looked at her, amazed. "Two days?" he said, again. "For two days, I was lying unconscious in a priest’s room, and no-one came in " Joan gave a little cry of horror, and her hands flew to her mouth, to stifle the sound. "Unconscious?" she whispered, her eyes large with pity. "No wonder you’re so weak and pale. How you’re still alive I don’t know! You must be starving." Guy managed a weak smile. "I feel empty, certainly Joan but I think I must be past hunger. I was foolish enough to drink a posset "to warm me" made by a priest, I thought. My stomach isn’t ready for anything else, yet. Besides, I must return to my father, and make my report." He struggled to stand, but fell back again, unable to find the strength. Joan stood, hands on hips. watching him. As he sank back, she shook her head, and smiled at him, sympathetically.

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Belaset’s Daughter "You see how far you can get, at this moment," she said. "You’re too weak, Master Guy. Rest here awhile, until your strength returns. One of the men from here will get a message to your father, and tell him you’re safe." "But how can anyone from the de Tourney household go to my father?" said Guy. "You are for Henry." Joan looked at him. "Are we?" she said. "Then why are you lying here, within the de Tourney gates albeit in the stables? Now stay where you are, and I’ll fetch a bowl of broth for your unhappy stomach, and a man for your message." She hurried out of the stables and across the yard, then up the steps and into the house. The hall was crowded, and smoky from the fire in the centre. At one end sat Roger de Tourney, his head thrown back, laughing at a jest from one of his companions. Small groups sat gossiping on benches further down, and a few dogs roamed about, looking for tidbits. The meal which had been eaten had ended some minutes ago, but most people were reluctant to leave the warmth and companionship of the big hall. No-one took much notice of the well-known figure of Joan, although a few gave a friendly nod as she passed. Up on the first floor, where Madeleine had retired at the end of the meal, Joan knocked at the heavy oak door, and entered. Madeleine sat close to the fire, gazing into it, her sewing on her lap, her hands idle for once. She looked round as Joan came in, and the expression on her servant’s face made it clear that something needed her attention. "What is it, Joan?" she said. Joan came close, so that she could speak in a low voice. "We have Guy de Montfort is our stables," she said. Madeleine gaped at her. "How comes he here?" she said, at last. "I found him, wandering in the street, not knowing where he was, or what day it was," said Joan. "He had been drugged and left for dead in some priest’s room..." Madeleine grasped her arm. "Where?" she interrupted, urgently. "What has been happening?" Joan shook her head. "I don’t know all of the story," she said. "He wanted to go on to Earl Simon’s straight away but the poor lamb’s too weak to stand. He’s had no food for two days. How he’s still alive I don’t know!" "We must feed him and look after him until he’s strong enough to leave," said Madeleine. "The stables will do for now and you must keep him out of sight as much as possible. Who knows he’s here?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "Only three men from the yard," said Joan. "And I’ve already told them that they haven’t seen him." "But can we trust them?" said Madeleine, with a worried frown. She stood, and put the sewing on a small table near the chair in which she had been sitting. "We can trust one of them, that’s for certain, " said Joan. "Trubodi was one of those who helped he said not a word to show that he knew Guy. Since he came from the Earl with a message from your husband, who better to return to him with a message telling him that his son is safe with us?" "Joan, you’re a marvel!" said Madeleine, with a laugh of relief. "I’ll leave you to find food for Guy, and I’ll find a man to ask my husband to come to me." She whisked out of the door, the pensive mood of a few moments ago gone completely. Joan followed more slowly, turning away from the hall when she reached it, and taking a narrow back stair to the rooms below. In the kitchen, the cook was busily scolding anyone who was within hearing, and wiping her streaming face with a piece of rag. The heat was intense, especially after the cold outside. Pots bubbled and steamed, the fire roared and crackled, and a small boy sat as close as he dared, while he dipped dirty bowls into a wooden tub of scalding water to wash them. A pile of clean bowls stood on the table, some still wet from their recent dunking in hot water. Joan took one and ladled into it some of the stock which was kept bubbling all day. The cook glared across, to see who was interfering in her domain, but said nothing. Joan and she had exchanged words before, and she already knew who would come off worse if she tried again. She would have scolded anyone else daring to help themselves to food, but Joan was the Lady Madeleine’s close companion and personal servant. A word of complaint from Joan to my lady, and the cook would no longer have any place in the de Tourney household. After filling the bowl, Joan left the kitchen and made her way out into the yard again, using a different door from the one by which she had entered the house. This was not the main entrance, but was tucked away in a corner of the yard. There was no-one outside to see her quickly crossing to the stable where Guy was lying. At first, she could see nothing, but heard a sharp rustle from the back. Then, as her eyes adjusted, she could see Guy, raised on one elbow, a dagger in his other hand. "It’s me, Joan," she whispered. He sank back, with a sigh, and laid the dagger on the straw beside him. "Here," she said, as she crossed the stable to him. "I’ve brought you some broth. Prop yourself up and take some slowly, mind." She held the bowl to his lips and he took a mouthful, swallowed, and coughed. Gratefully, he smiled at Joan, his eyes watering from the coughing and the effort of stopping it. He breathed deeply and waited a moment, then took a smaller mouthful.

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Belaset’s Daughter Sitting up straighter, and leaning against the wood of the stall, he held out his hand to take the bowl from her, but she shook her head. "You must let me feed you for now, Guy," she said. "A few mouthfuls only, then a rest, before you take some more." "I’m to have a nursemaid again, then?" he said, his voice soft, but sounding stronger already. "Yes," said Joan. "A nursemaid for today, and a messenger, too, if you will. But first another mouthful!" She held the bowl to his lips again, and this time he swallowed without difficulty, before raising his eyes to hers, with a worried frown. "What about my horse?" he said. "If I have been without food for two days, so has he. And who is this, that you can trust to go to my father with a message, so that he knows what has befallen me?" "Your horse is next to you, and making less fuss about its food," said Joan. As for getting a message to Earl Simon Trubodi’s here. He came earlier today and spoke to Sir Roger. Your father is indeed concerned, and asking Sir Roger to look for you. Trubodi will have excellent news to take to him." Guy shook his head. "No he’ll have news of a fool who was drugged by a false priest, and who had a message from the King to his supporters within his grasp, but lost it!" he said, bitterly. He lay back against the straw, and passed his hand over his face in a weary gesture. "How can I redeem myself?" he said in despair. "My father will never trust me with even the slightest errand for him again. I’ve failed him." Joan snorted. "Such dramas, Guy!" she said sharply. "You’ve been tricked by a very clever man. You did what you were instructed to do, and went where you were told to go. It wasn’t your fault if an impostor took the place of the real priest. If you really want to make amends, you’ll mend yourself first, then decide what to do. Meantime, Trubodi will tell your father that you’re in a safe place, that you’ve been ill and are recovering. There’smore than one reason for being found dazed and wandering..." "No!" protested Guy. "My father must know the truth. Tell Trubodi to come here to me." Joan rose from her knees and dusted the straw from her skirts. She looked down at the young man, lying at her feet, so weak, but now with a fierce light of determination burning in his eyes. "Very well," she said. "Trubodi will come but you must keep your voice down when you speak to him. Tell him to make sure that no-one knows you’re here, except Earl BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter Simon. We’re happy to see you alive, but you’re a danger to the household while you’re here. But here you will stay," she went on, as he tried to interrupt her, " until you’re well again. In the stable for now we’ll try and find somewhere more comfortable later." He smiled up at her. "What could be better than the stable?" he said. "It’s warm and quiet, and I’ll be wellfed. I’m content to stay here, and it’s easy to keep unwelcome visitors away. Will the two men who helped me be silent?" "They’ve forgotten they ever saw you," said Joan. "I’ll send Trubodi as soon as I find him. He is masquerading as one of my lord de Warenne’s clerks, sent with a message to Sir Roger. No doubt he is one of the group I saw in the hall just now, swilling wine so that it ran down their clothes. I hope he’s only acting the rest are so drunk that they cannot stand without assistance." She bustled out again, taking the bowl with her. Using the little side door again, she swept back through the kitchen, dumping the bowl on the table with a thud as she passed. The cook, still silent, turned to look at her, and at the bowl she had left. Seeing it empty, she pursed her lips. Who had eaten the broth? And where was Joan going to now, so busily? She stood in front of the fire, stirring thoughtfully. If she could find out the secret, it might be a useful way of controlling Mistress Joan.

* * *

Joan, uncaring of the curiosity she had aroused in the cook, went on her way into the great hall. She searched for Trubodi, but was unable at first to see him. She asked one of the group he had been with, and the man gestured vaguely behind him. Walking over to the side of the hall, Joan found the man, wrapped in his cloak, apparently asleep on the floor. Leaning close to him, she hissed his real name in his ear. A voice issued from the bundle on the floor, equally softly. "I’m not asleep, Mistress Joan," said Trubodi. "It’s difficult to pretend drunkenness for a long time, so I decided to feign drowsiness instead." "Well," said Joan. "Now you’re going to have to feign a sudden need for fresh air. I’ll let my disgust for your state be seen, and stalk out in a rage. Follow me when you feel the time is right." She stood upright, then suddenly drew back her foot and kicked him. "Another drunkard!" she announced in disgust, and the men near her laughed and raised a feeble cheer, as Trubodi roared and looked to see who had assaulted him. He followed this with a yawn, and a vigorous scratching of his head, then he stood up and swayed back and forth, clapped his hand over his mouth, and rushed out to the door. The cheers and catcalls of the other men followed him. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter Outside, in the yard, Joan was waiting. She beckoned to him, and went off in the direction of the stable where Guy was lying hidden. Just inside, she grasped Trubodi’s arm. "Are you truly sober?" she asked. He nodded. "Guy de Montfort has a message which he would have you take to his father," she said. She pointed to the stall where Guy lay. "He’s waiting anxiously go to him. But keep your voices down. And remember he’s weak from his experiences of the last few days." Trubodi simply nodded again, and went to Guy. As he bent over the young man, Joan turned and left them. "I’m glad to see you safe, Master Guy," said Trubodi. "Your father has been very anxious about you." "Then you must take my message to him without delay," said Guy. "But first, my thanks for your quick thinking. Joan tells me that you didn’t give even a flicker of recognition. I was too close to fainting to notice anyone, luckily. Had either of us given the slightest sign, our lives, and those of others would have been put in grave danger." "It was lucky that Joan’s kind heart prompted her to speak to you," said Trubodi. "If anyone else had found you, you could well have been dead." "I was left for dead," said Guy, sombrely. "You have to tell my father that his son’s still a green youth, who can be tricked far too easily for his own safety." Trubodi raised his eyebrows in a silent question. "Tell my father that I was drugged and left for dead, by a false priest. Tell him that I had the packet in my hands, but lost it again. Tell him that his son is unhurt, except for his pride. Finally, tell him that I shall return to my family when I have the packet in my hands again, but not before." Trubodi was silent for a moment. "Do you not think you should return, to hear your father’s wishes on this matter?" he ventured. "I can’t face my father, till I can hold up my head again, Trubodi," said Guy. "He’ll understand, I’m sure. Just give him my message no harm will come to you." "I’m not concerned for my own safety, but for yours," answered Trubodi, with great dignity. "I’m sorry, Trubodi I didn’t mean to imply that I doubted your bravery," said Guy. "But I’m so tired my mind is working through a fog. Now go to my father, and the next time we meet, I’ll be myself again."

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Belaset’s Daughter Trubodi bowed and left the stable. Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from an excess of wine, he went to the well that stood in the yard, and leaned wearily on it. Then he hauled a bucket of water from it, and doused himself. Shuddering from the coldness of it, he made his way back into the hall, shambling a little, as though still feeling unwell. As he entered, one of de Tourney’s men approached him. "Sir Roger’s calling for you he’s still at the high table." Trubodi grunted and made his way to the far end of the hall. "If you can sit your horse without danger to it and yourself, you may go," said Sir Roger, looking him up and down in apparent disgust. "There is no message for your master, other than my thanks." Trubodi made an attempt at a bow, then changed his mind and tugged his forelock instead. Then he turned and shambled away again. Behind him, one of the men with Sir Roger said something which was greeted with laughter. Outside, Trubodi maintained his pose of drunken inability by mounting his horse with such vigour that he almost fell off the other side. Grinning sheepishly at the others in the yard, he trotted out. In the street beyond, he began to straighten up and, once clear of the area, he urged his horse into a swift gallop, as he headed out of Amiens and towards de Montfort’s encampment, carrying the news of Guy de Montfort’s safety.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER FIVE

Judith’s horse stumbled under her and she started awake. How long had she been travelling along in a doze? She looked around, trying to recognise something in her surroundings. The horse had slowed to a walk, and plodded on, along the road. There was not much to see just ploughed fields on either side, with a light dusting of snow on each ridge and, sometimes, deeper snow in the furrows. The road itself was still, apparently, the rutted track along which she had been travelling for what seemed like hours. It had been hours, she realised. The daylight was different now fading into early night. She must find somewhere to stay. No-one risked travelling these roads at night, especially a woman alone, however well disguised. She stared about her again, anxiously looking for some sign of habitation. The horse ambled slowly up a slight incline and there, at last, on the other side, she could see the walls of a town, and the gate still open. Urging the reluctant horse into a trot, she went down the slope, and slowed again to a walk as she neared the gate. Walking the horse forward, she waited for someone to challenge her, but no voice told her to stop. Her heart thumping, she rode under the arch, into the town itself. There were a few people still going about their business. The street she rode along was obviously one of the main streets of the town, and soon she reached a market square. The shops on all four sides were still open, and she could see a woman standing in the doorway of one of them. She stopped the horse and dismounted, then leading it by the bridle, she walked slowly over the woman. She could see no-one else in the square to observe what she did next. Taking a chance, she flung back her hood, just before she reached the woman, who had been watching her nervously. The woman gave a cry of surprise, then stifled it with her hand across her mouth, as Judith raised a warning finger to her own lips. She spoke to the woman in an urgent whisper. "I was travelling with an escort, but we were attacked as we crossed the river," she said. "I must find somewhere to stay for the night. Will you help me?" There was a silence, and Judith held her breath, praying that the woman would not be too frightened. "If I can," came the answer, doubtfully. "But my husband’s so suspicious that he seldom allows strangers into the house. His work makes him so he is a goldsmith. Since you are a woman, and have suffered such an attack, he may be more welcoming than usual." "You’re very kind," said Judith. "If you have somewhere for my horse, I’ll take it to its own rest. It has carried me far today, and its speed may well have saved my life."

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Belaset’s Daughter "There are stables at the back of the house," said the woman, gesturing behind her at the wide doorway. "Take your horse through, and someone will help you. They can make room for one more overnight. I’ll talk to my husband, and tell him what has happened, while you see to the poor animal." Judith smiled her thanks and urged her tired horse through the doorway. It led to a wide passage which stretched the depth of the house and ended in a good-sized yard at the back. The horse’s head drooped, tugging at the reins, as they went along, and she wondered just how many miles it had carried her, when she was asleep. Sure enough, a man came forward as she entered. He looked at her curiously, but took the bridle from her outstretched hand without a word. She followed him to the stable, and saw that the horse was rubbed down with straw and led to the manger, where it began to eat. Two other horses had turned their heads as they entered, but made no move to prevent Judith’s horse joining them as they ate. "I’ll come for it in the morning," she said. The man nodded, then turned back to continue with the work of taking great forkfuls of fresh bedding into the stable. Satisfied that her horse was in good hands, she turned back again to the house. The woman to whom she had spoken was waiting, beside her a bearded man with a slight frown on his face and his arms folded across his chest. He was not tall, but a certain authority was obvious in his bearing. "I am Isaac Hanuchin," he announced. "My wife, Brunetta, has told me your story." His voice was deep and carefully devoid of all expression. "Since she sees no reason to mistrust you," he continued, "I bid you welcome to this house. I shall expect to hear more of the strange circumstances that bring you here, after you’ve recovered from the rigours of the day. We’ll feed you, but your bed for the night will depend on your answers to our questions." "I understand completely, sir," replied Judith, formally. "You are right to take such care to protect your family and your house. It is kind of you to offer food and rest to a stranger." The man grunted and stood aside. Brunetta led the way into the shop and Judith followed. Inside, there was a clutter of tools on the bench ranged along one side, which she could just make out in the gloom. The shop itself was narrow, and an opening in the back wall led through into a larger room, which was obviously the parlour, to judge by the furnishings. It was warmed by a blazing fire, and Judith drew off her gauntlets, and stretched out her hands to the flames. She rubbed her cramped fingers together, and felt the stiffness begin to leave them. "Give me your cloak," said Brunetta. "It must be properly dried and cleaned, before you wear it again."

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Belaset’s Daughter Isaac Hanuchin sat down on a settle which was placed close to one side of the hearth. He looked at Judith, as she took off her cloak and revealed the tunic and hose which she wore beneath it. "You’re strangely dressed, lady," he observed. "And you have wandered into Abbeville astride a horse, like any man. My wife tells me that you were fleeing from an attack by the river were you known to your attackers, or merely the victim of thieves?" It was an astute question, and Judith thought hard about how best to answer. Should she trust this man, and admit the true nature of her mission, or should she pretend to be simply an innocent traveller? If she chose the pretence, how to explain the clothing, and the fact that she was riding with an escort, rather than in a covered cart, as any lady would? If she told him the truth what would his reaction be? She decided to trust her instinct, tell as much as would not endanger others, and hope that she would gain the help and support she so desperately needed to get herself back to England as swiftly as possible. Taking a deep breath, she began her story. "Let me reassure you on one point, sir," she said. "I do not wear the badge, but I, too, am Jewish. I am Judith, daughter of Belaset of Lewes, a small town in England. My father was Aaron of Leicester. He was murdered some ten years ago by Simon de Montfort’s men, along with all my family except my mother. Earl Simon is now threatening the King’s authority, by saying that he has broken his promise to take the advice of his barons. You may know already that our King is here in France, at Amiens, awaiting the decision of your King on these matters. Earl Simon says he will abide by Louis’ decision, but those of us who support the King do not believe de Montfort. I have been entrusted with a packet which I must take back to England with all speed, to deliver it into the hands of William Foville, Prior of St Pancras, Lewes. I was on my way to the coast, with an escort for my safety, when we were attacked on the bridge which crosses the Somme just outside Amiens. I escaped, but my men were injured. I had been riding alone for some hours, when I came upon this town. To say truth, I was half-asleep, and it was the horse stumbling that woke me. Until you told me just now that this is Abbeville, I had no idea where I was." She sat staring at the floor, waiting for some response. There was a silence, during which she could almost feel Isaac thinking deeply. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her arm, and when he spoke, his voice was full of compassion. "You have explained yourself well, Belaset’s daughter. You are brave without question. Once again, I welcome you to this house but this time, the words are not just meaningless courtesies, said to any traveller. We are proud to have you here, Judith." Judith blinked, feeling the hot tears rising in her eyes. The lump that rose in her throat made spech impossible but she nodded her head, and swallowed. Isaac patted her arm, comfortingly. "Come, Judith," he said, gently. "You are worn out after such a day. Let us feed you and show you where you may rest. You shall have some mulled wine to warm you first."

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Belaset’s Daughter He rose and left the room by a door at one side, and must have gone into the kitchen. Judith could hear him calling for a servant to bring some of the promised wine. Furtively, she wiped her eyes and gave her nose a hearty blow. She was feeling much better, when Brunetta returned. That lady’s sharp eyes saw that Judith had been weeping and, placing her hands on her ample hips, she rounded on her husband as he came back into the room. "Isaac!" she scolded. "What have you been saying to our guest to make her weep? We should make people welcome...." "Not so hasty!" said her husband calmly. "I’ve heard her story and wholeheartedly. It was but a sneeze that you saw is that not so, Judith?"

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He turned to her and, to Judith’s amazement, gave her a broad wink. She smiled at him, and then laughed. The wink had transformed his face and his whole bearing. Brunetta looked from one to the other, then joined in. The servant, entering with the wine, gawped at all three, set the tray down, and departed, muttering something unintelligible to himself. Isaac had demanded three goblets of the wine, and they each took one. Before drinking, he raised his goblet, saying, "To monarchs and their loyal subjects!" Then, flinging back his head, he took a deep draught. The women followed his example, Brunetta with some bewilderment, and Judith with gusto. The warm, spiced wine slipped down her throat, and spread deliciously through her body. She turned to Brunetta. "Your husband will tell you my story," she said. The servant returned with a plate, on which there was a loaf and some cold meat. Judith fell on it eagerly, conscious suddenly that she had eaten nothing all day, and that she was starving after the long ride and her lucky escape. As she ate, Isaac told his wife what had happened. Brunetta shook her head in wonder, and made little sympathetic noises, clucking and tutting away until it was difficult for Judith to keep her face straight. With a sigh of repletion, Judith finished the last of the food and took a final gulp of wine. She leant back and blinked, suddenly sleepy in the warmth of the room, now lit only by the flames leaping up from the fire. Brunetta was beside her instantly. "Now come, my poor child," she said tenderly. "I’ll show you your room and my maid shall help you. A good rest will make all the difference to you. There’s nothing to fear, you are safe with us." "I should continue on my way," said Judith, weakly. "Nonsense!" said Isaac and Brunetta together. "It’s dark outside," Isaac went on. "You have lost your escort and you’re not sure of the road and your horse is tired. You’re nearly asleep and no wonder! Stay with us tonight, and tomorrow we’ll help you on your way." She was too tired to argue, thought Judith. Besides, he was right she had no idea how to get to the coast from here, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter open. Again, she trusted her instinct these were good, kind people, her own people. She would be safe for the night. In Normandy, Earl Simon’s reputation was as well known to the Jews here as it was to English Jewry. She would not be betrayed by anyone in this house. Gratefully, she followed Brunetta up the stairs in the corner of the room, and across what was obviously their own bedroom. There was another door on the far side, which Brunetta opened, disclosing a second room. It was smaller, containing only a raised bed, with its head against the left-hand wall. A maidservant was in the process of using a warming-pan on the sheets, and a fur backed with cloth was laid on top as a blanket. Nightwear had been placed ready on the end of the bed. "There!" said Brunetta, with satisfaction. "A nice, warm bed, all ready for you. You will have to wear a gown and cap belonging to me for tonight but they will serve! Dulcetta will help you!" The maidservant smiled and bobbed, her round eyes taking in Judith’s clothing. The girl was very young little more than a child of ten, Judith guessed. Brunetta caught the look. "You will not gossip about our guest with anyone, Dulcetta," she said, warningly. "Particularly anyone outside this house. Do you understand?" The child nodded, and Brunetta turned to leave. She helped Judith to shed her men’s clothes and put on the night-gown. The pouch, which she had refused to remove, now lay beneath the gathers at the gown’s neck. As Dulcetta turned back the bedclothes, Judith slid inside and lay down with a sigh of relief. She was asleep before the little maidservant had finished gathering up her clothes. Downstairs, the Hanuchins sat over the fire, discussing their strange but welcome guest, and how they might help her in her predicament. At last, after an hour or more of quiet conversation, Isaac gave a huge yawn and stretched. "There’s nothing more we can do today, my love," he said. "Let us send the servants to bed and go to our own rest. We’ll need our wits about us in the morning, that’s certain!" Brunetta nodded her agreement and took the candle with her as she mounted the stairs again. She heard Isaac go into the kitchen and speak to the servants. He is a good, strong man, she thought contentedly. A little gruff, sometimes, but as soft as a kitten underneath his masculine posing! And kind yes a good husband, with a good brain. He would know what to do in the morning, to get Belaset’s daughter safely on her way.

* * *

Isaac was up before dawn. After laying tefillim and completing his morning prayers, he woke his wife.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Brunetta," he whispered. "Go and see if Judith is ready to resume her travels. We’re going with her I will tell you both what I have planned as we eat." His wife nodded sleepily. As he left the room, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Stretching prodigiously, she wondered what they were going to do and where they would go. Did he know how to get Judith away without danger? How long had he lain awake, planning and thinking, while she had slept peacefully beside him? Sliding off the high bed, she padded quickly across the freezing floor, chill even through the rushes strewn on it, and took a robe from the box under the window which held their clothes. She flung it around her and went across to the door of the other bedroom. Knocking first, she opened the door and went in. Judith raised herself on one elbow, a look of alarm on her face, then sank back with a sigh as she remembered where she was. "Good morning, Judith," said Brunetta. "My husband, full of the new day’s energy, wishes to know if you are ready to continue your travels?" "I am and I must," answered Judith, firmly. "I shall collect my horse and leave you within the hour. Your help will not go unrewarded King Henry must be told as soon as possible." "You must eat first," said Brunetta. "And Isaac has some plan, which he has worked out, involving all of us leaving together. Come, get dressed and join us for a meal, while we listen to his ideas." "No, no!" protested Judith. "You’ve done enough I can’t expect you to be more involved than you are. There will be dangers on the road possibly more ambushes, if Earl Simon’s men have somehow learned of my whereabouts..." "Isaac is a stubborn man, and a clever one," interrupted Brunetta. "Listen to what he says, before you refuse our aid." "I’ll listen," said Judith. "But I will not necessarily agree." Brunetta laughed. "This will be an interesting meal, I can tell!" she said. "Two obstinate people discussing what is best for one of them and that one a woman!" Judith smiled, but there was a determined gleam in her eye. "If you can tell me where my clothes might be," she said. "I’ll dress and join you in a few minutes." Brunetta smiled and opened the door. "I’ll send Dulcetta to you with your clothes," she promised. She left the room and Judith sat in bed, puzzling over what she could say to dissuade these kind people from putting themselves in such needless peril by travelling with her. She would travel more slowly in a group perhaps she could make the extreme urgency of her mission plain and convince them that they would hinder rather than help her. Or would it be better to start

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Belaset’s Daughter out with them and then try to leave them behind later? A sudden thought struck her: had she mistaken deceit for kindness? Was Isaac Hanuchin keeping her safe because he had already sent a message himself to Earl Simon? She shook herself and pushed the thought away. Why should any Jew be on de Montfort’s side? The idea was too ludicrous to conemplate. Her thoughts were interrupted by a timid knock on the door and the entrance of Dulcetta. Over her arms there lay Judith’s clothes, all carefully cleaned. Judith got out of the bed and stretched out her hands to take the clothes from her, but the little maidservant shook her head and held fast. "My lady wishes me to help you dress," she explained shyly, giving the little bob that Judith had seen before. "Do you know how to dress someone in men’s clothes?" said Judith, repressing a smile. The maid thought for a moment. "It cannot be too different," she said. "Here is a tunic, like a short robe but puzzle me."

these

She held up the hose. "They go on first see!" said Judith, taking them from her and sitting down to draw them on. She stood up again and took the tunic from Dulcetta. "Now the tunic and I am dressed!" she said. Under Dulcetta’s wondering gaze, she crossed the room and splashed water on her face and hands. Its coldness swept away any remaining sleepiness and she dried herself on a rough cloth, feeling invigorated and fully restored. She reached the parlour in which they had sat the night before just as another servant brought in a platter of bread and some thin red wine. Isaac and Brunetta were already there, seated at their ease at the table. Brunetta rose and crossed the room, to greet her with a warm hug, then led her to the table, and a chair on Isaac’s left. Judith stood beside it and returned Isaac’s smile as he rose. He bowed his head and recited the grace before meals and the two women murmured their amens before sitting again and beginning to eat. They ate in silence for a minute or two, then Isaac cleared his throat. "I have arranged for the horses to be hitched to the wagon and all to be made ready," he said. "We will all go together on a trip to the coast. The Baie de la Somme is the nearest place from which you may cross La Manche." Judith opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand and continued. "You think it would be better if you were alone," he said. "But think how far would you get on your own, in strange country, and with no idea of your route? Earl Simon’s men are no doubt searching for you. You will be safer travelling as our daughter. It may

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Belaset’s Daughter take a little longer for you to reach your destination, but you are more certain of doing so." It was true, thought Judith, that it would be safer. Even after such short acquaintance, she could feel affection for this couple, who had taken her in so readily, and were now ready to risk so much for her sake. It was equally true that Simon’s men would be searching, and that she did not know her way. She had planned simply to follow whichever seemed to be the most heavily-used roads, and head in a north-westerly direction. She was bound to hit the coast at some point if she did so, although she would once again have no idea where she was, unless she asked. Speaking to strangers had so far been attended by the most outrageous luck, but that luck might not stay with her. She nodded. "You’re very generous with your help," she said. "I think you know the danger you’ll be in, if you come with me. But it’s true that I do not know my way. Whether I can be your daughter, or your son, is dictated by these clothes I wear and I shall need the disguise once I am alone again." "Wrapped in your cloak, and seated in the wagon, you will be my daughter," said Isaac. "A son would ride a horse, and I want to keep you hidden as much as possible. Let’s finish our meal and set off. Brunetta, prepare yourself, and tell the servants to leave the shutters closed all day. Tell them we’re going to sell some of my work in Amiens. When we return this evening, we can say that the road was too bad for us to pass." Brunetta rose and went to carry out her tasks. Within minutes, she was back, wrapped in a long cloak, and with Judith’s own cloak over her arm. Judith took it from her and wrapped herself in it, in the same fashion, pulling the hood over her head. It was true, she thought, her other clothes were well hidden in the cloak’s fullness. Isaac soon joined them, similarly clad, and the three of them went out into the yard. The two horses belonging to the household were already standing hitched to a small covered wagon. Judith’s own horse was standing at the back of the wagon, its reins securely fastened to one of the posts which jutted out, so that it was forced to walk behind when they moved off. A servant was loading bundles into the back of the wagon, as Isaac helped the two women up and settled them on one of the benches placed midway along the sides. He swung himself up beside them, then gestured to another servant who stood beside the horses, to indicate that he should also mount. Grasping the long whip more firmly, the man sprang up easily and sat on the front seat. A flick of the whip, and a shout of encouragement, and the horses stepped forward, pulling the wagon behind them. Judith’s horse taken by surprise, was given no chance to do anything but walk forward with the rest, as the force of movement became irresistible. Using considerable skill, the servant steered them through the wide passage which divided the house and out into the street. It was still very early in the morning. As far as they knew, only the Hanuchin’s own household witnessed their leaving but they could BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter not be sure who might be lurking in the dark side streets that wound away from the main street which would take them out of Abbeville. Nobody spoke as they went on. The sound of the horses’ hooves echoed back from the houses on either side. At any moment, Judith expected to hear a shout, or the sound of more hooves as horses galloped towards them. She sat stiffly, her hands clenched in her lap, as the wagon rocked along.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER SIX

For the first hour they travelled in silence. It was bitterly cold and the darkness was still almost total. The frost, from the night’s dip to even lower temperatures, had not yet begun to melt, and the icy sheen on the ground, combined with the rock hard ruts, made difficult terrain for the horses. Every now and then, one or the other slipped. Judith’s horse seemed surer-footed, perhaps because it had no heavy cart to drag, but still, occasionally, she heard the sound of its hooves sliding and heard the snort of alarm. At last, a faint line of light appeared on the horizon behind them. Sitting sideways, as she was, Judith could see through a gap in the heavy cloth which was draped over the wooden frame to give them some kind of shelter from the weather. Anxiously, she watched as the day dawned. She scanned the country behind them, but could see no sign of movement. Apparently, no-one had thought it worthwhile to report their going. She trusted the Hanuchin servants implicitly as, obviously, did Isaac and Brunetta but would the gatekeeper say anything? Would anyone ask him who had left the town early, and why? As though he had read her mind, Isaac leant across his wife and patted Judith’s arm, as he spoke. "The further away we get, the safer we are," he said. "The ground’s too hard for us to leave much in the way of tracks, and, in any case, this is a well-used road." Judith looked at the road behind them and saw he was right. The ruts and hoofmarks left by their passing were barely distinguishable from others already laid down in the remaining snow. Any thawing would conceal them completely and if the thaw did not happen, their tracks would freeze as hard as all the others in a very short space of time. She shivered, and huddled into her cloak, pulling the hood further down and snuggling her chin into the fur lining. Peering forward, she could see beyond the driver’s shoulder. They were passing through the same empty landscape that she remembered from her solitary flight the day before. Fields divided into strips to show ownership stretched on either side, bare of crops at this time of the year. Now and then, a small coppice of trees broke the monotony, but that was all. It was a good job there was such a well-marked route, she thought, it would be easy to get lost in such featureless country. The movement of the cart and the dreariness of the landscape began to lull her into sleep again. Her companions had already dozed off, she could see. Isaac’s head had drooped and Brunetta sat with her head resting on his shoulder. Judith allowed herself to doze with them.

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Belaset’s Daughter There was a sudden shout from their driver, as the cart lurched. Startled awake, the three passengers looked to the front. Isaac jumped up, as the driver, cursing, got down from his seat. "What is it?" said Isaac, poking his head out. He jumped down to join the driver, as he went to the back of the cart. Judith’s horse, tried to dance away from them, but the man soothed it until it quieted again. Together with Isaac, he examined the wheels and axles carefully. "We’ve come off the road, master, and landed in the ditch," said the man. "But there’s no damage that I can see. You’ll have to all get out, so that the horses will have less weight to pull then they can drag the cart out again." Turning, Isaac helped Brunetta down. Judith jumped down as nimbly as he had himself, and the three stood watching as the horses were urged forward. There was a cracking sound as the wheels crunched against the ice in the bottom of the ditch, and broke through it. The horses strained against the harness, their breath steaming in the cold air. The driver shouted and brought his hand down smartly on the rump of the nearest horse. Its hooves scrambled for purchase, there was a final heave, and the cart came upright on the road again. The three travellers climbed back on board and settled themselves again. The driver pulled himself up and took up the reins. "Try to stay awake," said Isaac to him, with an edge to his voice. His servant pretended surprise. "But I was awake," he said, in an injured tone. "Hmph!" said Isaac, darkly. They started off again. The journey took on a dreamlike quality for Judith. The steady walking pace of the horses, the creaking of the cart, the quiet, unchanging landscape and the stillness, as though the whole world had frozen in time and only they were moving through it. It was a weird, vivid experience. She felt, with part of her mind, that she should be more concerned with the safety of the party, yet the quiet, rhythmic nature of their passage was lulling her again. She gave in to it, and slept. This time she woke because the cart had stopped again. There was no sudden lurch, just the cessation of movement. Isaac and Brunetta were awake, too, Isaac with his head out of the draped cloth again, talking to someone out of sight. There was an odd, muffled quality about the light in the cart. Judith leant to one side and pushed apart the covering. She could see nothing. A dense fog blanketed everything the reason for the muffled effect she supposed. She coughed in the cold, wet air, and drew back into the meagre shelter. Brunetta shook hr head and put her finger to her lips to discourage her from speaking. Now she could hear Isaac’s voice.

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Belaset’s Daughter "I have some goods here which must be taken across to England today," he said. " M y apprentice will go with them and I’ll pay you well. If you’re unwilling, perhapsyou know someone else?" There was a pause and then another voice spoke. "Tell me how much you’ll pay, Jew, before I even consider it. It must be important business if you’ve travelled here yourself today." It was the rough tone of a fisherman. Before Isaac could answer, another voice came out of the fog. "What have you caught there, Pierre?" "A rich Jew who must have his goods taken across," said the first voice, scornfully. There was the sound of heavy footsteps and an exclamation of surprise. "Isaac Hanuchin what brings man, he’s a friend of mine."

you here?" Then, to the man called Pierre, "I know this

"Friend, eh," said Pierre. It’s your choice, I suppose, but...." "Indeed," said the second voice, curtly. "My friends are my own choice." There was a grunt, followed by more footsteps, this time walking away from the cart and fading into the distance. Isaac leant down. "My good friend, Master Bonami," he said, warmly. "Join us in here and get some shelter, while I explain the situation." "Gladly," came the reply. The cart rocked slightly, under the weight of the man who appeared beside Isaac and took a seat on the same side as Judith. He was a stocky, brown-haired man, with a broad smile, showing even, white teeth. His face was tanned by the sea winds and his eyes were grey. A gold earring glittered in one ear. Under his cloak, he wore a leather jerkin and his hose was black and salt stained. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, and leant back comfortably, nodding to Brunetta and glancing curiously at Judith, who kept her hood drawn over her face. "Now Isaac Hanuchin, tell me your story," he said. "For story there must be, to bring you here, as the unsavoury Pierre says." Judith leant forward anxiously, but Isaac stopped her with his hand held up. "Let me explain first who you are, Master Bonami," he said. "Judith, this man is well known to me. He takes all my goods across to England, to my contacts there, and has done so for many years. He has no more love for de Montfort and his followers than you or me. I’m sure we can trust him is that not so, Master Bonami?"

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Belaset’s Daughter Bonami nodded, another smile beginning to form. "Now, what have we here?" he said, bending down to peer into Judith’s face, hidden in her hood. "Would this be the goods you’re so anxious to have taken to England?" "Yes," said Isaac. "She is here on King Henry’s business, and carries a message for a contact on the other side. It is a matter of increasing urgency. There was an ambush waiting for her, which she escaped, and by good fortune found her way to my house." There was a scuffling sound outside the cart and a bump, as something struck the side. With an oath, Master Bonami flung up the cover behind him. A man was thrust against the side, his face pressed awkwardly against the wood and his arm twisted behind him. Isaac’s servant held him pinioned, while the knife he held in his other hand was pressed against the man’s cheek. A thin trickle of blood oozed from where the point had pricked the skin. "So," said Bonami." Your curiosity got the better of you, did it Pierre? A pity for you you’ll have to lose at least a day’s fishing now!" He turned back to the others. "It looks as though I’ll be taking two people across to England," he said. "God knows where this little fish will swim to, if I don’t!" "You surely don’t mean to sail in this fog?" said Isaac. "Fog pah!", said Master Bonami, contemptuously. "I’ve left in worse fog than this. I know these waters better than anyone there’s no danger at sea, if I’m the captain of the ship! If you will excuse me, I must arrange for our extra guest to be taken aboard." He got out of the cart, and took charge of the unhappy Pierre. With a nod of thanks to Isaac’s servant, he hustled the fisherman away. The other, suddenly pale, leant against the cart and sheathed his knife. "Awake that time, I see," said Isaac, to his servant. The man looked up at him and smiled, shakily. "I thought he would twist free," he confessed. "And I would have to use the knife." "You did well," said Isaac. "Come, sit in the cart, while we await Master Bonami." He put out a hand, and hauled the man into the cart, where he sat on the seat opposite to Brunetta and Judith. Despite the cold, beads of sweat stood on his face, and he wiped them off with his sleeve, then sat and stared at the floor, awkward in the presence of the two women. Master Bonami returned quickly, without his prisoner. "If you’re ready, my lady?" he said, politely. Judith rose obediently. "Let us escort you," said Isaac, standing too.

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Belaset’s Daughter "No need, Isaac," said Master Bonami. "Don’t leave your poor wife alone in a place like this, she will be taken for a slave to some Moorish potentate, if anyone sees her beauty." His exuberant spirits were infectious. Brunetta tried to keep her face and her dignity in order, but a dimple appeared in one cheek. Isaac laughed aloud, and sat down again, putting his arm around his wife and hugging her. Bonami turned to Judith. "Madam?" he said courteously. "I’m ready, Master Bonami," said Judith. "But you must not call me ’madam’ I am a young man, as my clothes show!" Bonami bowed, a twinkle in his eye. "I’ll try hard to remember, young sir," he said. He looked closely at Judith’s face."But it won’t be easy, with those features on display. Keep yourself well muffled against the cold and damp and hide your face." It was a good piece of advice. Judith certainly had no wish to be discovered while still on shore, and preferably not at all on her journey home. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head as far as possible. Standing, she hugged Brunetta and turned to Isaac, who opened his arms and gave her a quick, hard squeeze. "Go quickly, Judith. God bless you and give you a safe journey." "I cannot thank you both enough," said Judith. "I shall never forget what you have done for a stranger." "Go!" said Isaac, his voice hoarse with emotion. He pushed her forward and she followed Bonami, who was already outside on the ground, and waiting for her. Together, they set off through the fog. After no more than five or six steps, Judith turned for a last look. She could see the shape of the cart faintly in the fog, but it was not much more than a darker patch. She shivered and walked on. Master Bonami walked beside her without speaking, until they had crossed the narrow strand and come to the shore. The water lapped gently at their feet, almost noiselessly, and the tang of salt was added to the smell of the fog. There was a dripping sound from somewhere close by, adding to the melancholy feel of the place. Bonami motioned for Judith to stop and stood for a moment, his head cocked to one side, listening. Then he beckoned to her and turned to his left, following the shoreline, such as it was, for about fifty yards. Suddenly, a figure loomed out of the fog. "Master Bonami?" it said, in a low voice. "Is that you?" "Aye!" said Bonami, cheerfully. "And a passenger with me. What of our other visitor?" The sailor chuckled "Safely stowed with the other cargo, snug in the hold," he answered. "And trussed like any fowl, to keep him there." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter Grinning, Bonami turned to Judith. "Well, young sir," he said. "Are you ready for your sea trip?" Judith nodded, keeping her head down, so that the sailor could not see her. The man glanced at her once, curiously, but made no comment. He turned and led them to where a small rowing-boat was beached and waiting for them. "Get in," said Bonami, gruffly. He made no move to help her, keeping up the fiction of her sex. Judith stepped in as confidently as she could manage, despite the nervousness which made her legs feel so weak. She groped her way back to the stern and sat on the rough seat. The two men shoved at the bow and the little boat slid off the short slope and was fully afloat. First, Bonami clambered aboard, then, with a final heave and the icy seawater lapping over the top of his great boots, the sailor followed. Bonami came and sat beside her, while the sailor sat amidships, set the oars, and began rowing strongly. The eerie silence continued to press upon them, and the light was still grey and desolate. The prow of the galley loomed over them suddenly, without warning. The sailor, cursing under his breath, pulled hard on the right oar and the dinghy slewed round and avoided bumping into the great ship by a hair’s-breadth. "Careful, man!" barked Bonami, his good humour giving way to hot temper. The sailor grunted an apology and brought the dinghy to a halt with a gentle bump against the side of the vessel. A heavy rope hung just beside them, and he grabbed it to steady the boat as he shouted up to those on deck. "Mind yourself!" Bonami warned Judith, as a rope ladder came snaking down towards them. He stood carefully and grasped the bottom of the ladder. "Now," he said. "You must follow me up the ladder. Keep as close as you can without letting me tread on your hands. I’ll haul you over the top when we get there." He turned to the sailor. "This lad is unused to our seafaring ways. Come up behind us and make sure no harm comes to him." "Aye, Captain," said the man, willingly enough, but still obviously curious. Bonami began to climb the rope ladder, which swayed with his every movement. Judith grasped the rung slightly above her head, and put her foot on a lower one. The ladder was slick with moisture and she had to grip each rung tightly as she made her way up it. By the time she had climbed a dozen rungs, her breath was coming fast and she could feel her arms beginning to ache with the effort of holding on. She took comfort from the sound of the sailor climbing behind her. Still, this ascent in the fog, with the chill dampness of their surroundings, seemed endless. She stared at the side of the galley, taking in the stoutness of the planks and the signs of good workmanship. At least, she felt Bonami leave the ladder and knew she was nearly there. Two more rungs and she could dimly see the edge of the side herself. She grasped the ledge, feeling BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter the thickness of the wood. Bonami was standing right beside her and she was grateful for his hand on her upper arm, holding her steady as she swung her legs over the side and onto the deck. He let go of her only when he was certain that she was steady. Behind her, the sailor landed on deck, and vanished, moving at a quick trot. "Well done," he whispered quickly, before turning away and saying in a normal voice," Follow me, and I’ll show you your quarters." He led Judith towards the stern of the galley. They passed by a great mast, set in the middle of the deck. There were two men there, one leaning against the mast, the other, with his back to her, talking and gesturing with great earnestness. She realised that it was the sailor from the dinghy. The listener, seeing them coming, made a silencing movement with his hand. Judith felt a flicker of anxiety. What was the man telling his shipmate? Was she in danger here, when she thought the worst was over? She must be vigilant as ever for her own safety, and not take the loyalty of Bonami’s crew to their captain for granted. Her thoughts were interrupted by Bonami himself. He led her to a door in the middle of a wooden wall, which he opened with a flourish. Judith stepped inside and looked around her in amazement. She was in a huge cabin, the width of the ship, and furnished luxuriously. There were beautiful wall hangings and carpets on the floor. A couch ran along the back, beneath the large, curtained windows which took up most of the rest of the wall. It was piled high with cushions, all covered in silk and heavily embroidered. A low table stood in front of it, with a peculiarly-shaped glass bottle, attached to a length of piping, on it. Other cushions were piled against the remaining walls, again under large windows with curtains to draw across them. A chest, covered in beautiful and complicated carving, and polished to a high shine, completed the furniture. Four lanterns, all with candles shining through the delicate tracery of their sides, gave a warm glow to the whole place. She stared, transfixed. Master Bonami chuckled with pleasure at her astonishment, as he shut the door behind them. "I don’t just carry goods between France and England, young master," he said. "Some of my trade takes me to other seas and other countries. In those countries, they know how to appreciate fine things too, even if their notion of them is different from ours. So I choose what I like from each country and surround myself with a mix of them all." He strode across the cabin to the chest. Lifting the lid, he took out a flask and two glasses. He closed the chest again and crossed to the table, where he bent and placed the glasses on the top. Unstopping the flask, he poured some of the clear amber fluid it contained into each glass, then picked one up and held it out to her. "Here’s one of the things which I enjoy from this country," he said. "Come and taste the finest cognac ever made." Judith crossed to his side and took the proffered glass. Cautiously, she took a sip. The fiery liquid slid down her throat like a noiseless sigh. It chased away the damp chill which had permeated every part of her body during the journey, and she felt herself relaxing. She BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter gazed around, enjoying the vivid colours which surrounded her. Bonami waved her to the couch and she sank down on it and leant back against the pile of cushions. She could not resist taking one of them in her hands and admiring the beauty of the silk and the rich embroidery that covered it. "So you have a taste for fine things, too!" said Master Bonami, with a smile of understanding. "While you admire my beautiful things, I’ll make sure those lazy devils outside are making ready to leave, fog or no!" He took off his hat with a flourish, revealing a mop of curls, and bowed to Judith, before turning on his heel to leave the cabin. "A question, Master Bonami," said Judith, hastily. He stopped and turned to look at her with raised eyebrows. "What of my horse?" she said. "Your horse has not been forgotten," he said. "Isaac will take it up the coast a little way and we will pick it up there, where the water is deeper and we can get closer to the shore. You’ll be safer if we leave this area as soon as possible. We have one pair of ears in our care, but who knows who else was listening in the murk, when we met on shore?" It was clear that Master Bonami and Isaac had thought of everything which could possibly lead to her discovery. Judith knew that there was only one way that her escape could have been planned and undertaken so smoothly these two men had done this sort of thing before. Probably more than once. Suddenly, she realised how odd it was that Brunetta should have been sitting in the doorway of her house on such a cold February day. Had Judith’s progress from the time of the ambush been known all the time? If de Montfort’s spies were operating in France, then it was probable that the King’s were, too especially since he himself was in France at this moment. She had been too tired, or too frightened and bewildered, to think clearly before this moment. She made a mental note to report everything to William Foville as soon as she reached him, as well as delivering the packet which she had worn around her neck ever since she had received it from the ’priest’ in Amiens. Bonami had left the cabin and she could hear his voice roaring outside, as he shouted instructions to his crew. The words themselves were incomprehensible, but the authoritative tone was clear. Suddenly, there was a lurch and a heeling motion, as the ship turned and began to move away from its anchorage. A shout from another voice and the rush of bare feet on the deck followed the sudden movement. This was followed by the squeak of the capstan turning and the rattle of the anchor chain being hauled up. A sail rattled up the mast, and the ship heeled more as a gust of wind filled it. Judith pushed aside a curtain and gazed out of the window. The fog was thinning, torn apart as the wind rose, and she could see that they were running along the inlet and out to sea. The shore receded from them as the bay widened, before it became the sea itself. As the shore slipped astern, Bonami called a short order, the ship turned and they were

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Belaset’s Daughter running up the coast. Within minutes, she could see the figure of a man standing by a horse, holding its bridle and staring in their direction. The man waved and she knew that it was Isaac, waiting as promised. He was standing on a long, wooden jetty. Behind him, Judith could see large boulders, and then a stretch of turf and scrub. A cluster of halfruined huts stood to one side, no sign of life in them any longer. The back of the wagon she had travelled in with the Hanuchins poked out from behind one of the ruins. He must have picked a precarious way to the jetty, leading the horse. She could imagine how carefully he had found his way, soothing the nervous beast and encouraging it to come along behind him. The ship seemed to be heading straight at the shore. The seabed must slope steeply at this point, she thought. As they crept ever nearer, Bonami’s shouted instructions led to them turning slowly, until they were broadside on to the jetty and very close to it. There was a gentle bump and Judith saw Isaac place his hand on the horse’s nose, stroking it gently. It pricked its ears forward, but nothing more. Men jumped from the ship, with the mooring ropes in their hands and a gangplank was run out of a place on the side of the ship, so that it was level with the deck. Two more men, both burly, appeared in her line of sight, as they trotted across it. Isaac handed over the bridle to one of them, who tugged at it, urging the horse forward. As it stepped on to the gangplank, the other man, standing behind it, clapped his hands and shouted. Startled, the horse jumped forward, the front man tugged with a will, and the whole party clattered over the gangplank and on to the deck, in a great rush of hooves, men shouting and clapping, and the terrified whinnying of the horse. Judith could hear it dancing nervously on the deck. She dared not go out and speak to it her voice would give her away instantly. She sat, every nerve tense, willing the horse to calm down and get over its fear. She could hear a man’s voice making soothing, clucking noises. The horse quieted as the man began talking softly. Then she heard the sound of its hooves as it was led away along the deck, and she relaxed. There was another flurry of orders, the thud of feet and slide of the gangplank, as it was brought in again, and the ship turned away and headed out across the sea. Now that the wind was freshening, the waves were making little slapping sounds against the wooden hull. The noise and slight, rhythmic rocking motion of the ship were comforting rather than disturbing. Judith lay back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER SEVEN

William Foville sat at his desk and stared across it at his visitor. The man, gaudily and expensively dressed in parti-coloured hose and green jerkin with gold thread embroidery, stared disdainfully back. His long, tapering fingers tapped impatiently on the arm of the chair in which he sat. A large ring, set with a dull black stone, gleamed fitfully with the movement. The man’s heavy fur-lined cloak lay across one end of the Prior’s desk, where he had flung it. "I asked where is your messenger?" he said. "As I have asked these two days past." "And I, sir," said Foville, angrily. "I ask again who you are and who sent you?" The man’s eyes flashed and he coloured faintly at the tone of Foville’s voice. "I will not be quizzed by a monk in this manner!" he said. "I am instructed to collect the packet which your man will bring and carry it on to its destination." "Which is...?" The man remained silent, holding the Prior’s gaze. It was Foville who glanced away first, shocked by the ferocity in the other man’s eyes. Who was this stranger, who had somehow entered the Priory undetected three times, made his way to the Prior’s chambers and entered each time without ceremony? Foville had had no warning to expect him yet he seemed to know all about the packet which had been entrusted to Judith. To Judith! Yet this man had not known that it was a woman who was carrying out this mission. He could not be one of the King’s men. Those who were supposed to know of the journey knew the identity of the messenger. The man was surely one of Simon’s men. Someone here in the Priory must be in contact with a follower of de Montfort. Foville determined to find out who could be so treacherous. Not one of the monks, surely, but there were so many others who worked here every day and left each evening to go to their homes in the town. "You are mistaken sir," he said to the stranger. "I am not waiting for any man to bring me either packet or message. Why you should imagine that I should be prepared to allow such things to happen in this holy place I cannot think. I advise you to leave." The stranger was obviously taken aback. He sat staring at the Prior for some moments, the earlier fierceness replaced by the shadow of thought which turned his eyes from iceblue to grey. Finally, he stood and picked up the cloak from the desk. Putting it over his shoulders, he turned to the door without another word. "You will find it quicker to go down the steps and through the church," said Foville, in his most courteous tones.

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Belaset’s Daughter The stranger turned back to face him, his face stony. "You have won this time, Prior Foville," he said. "But be careful...I do not work alone." Foville smiled. "And may God bless you, my son," he said calmly, raising his hand in benediction. The other man snorted, turned on his heel, and left. The door closed behind him almost without sound, despite the speed of the exit and the obvious anger of the stranger. William Foville sat where he was, his elbows on the desk, his fingers laced together, his thumbs pressed against his lips, as he pondered. He must find out who was betraying them. He must discover the identity of his visitor and where he was staying. Had he come from the Castle? Could there be someone who was a trusted supporter of the King among John de Warenne’s guests, yet was secretly working for de Montfort and his allies? He knew that there were many strangers in the Castle at present. De Warenne’s usual Christmas hospitality always lasted well into February. Some stayed until the start of the new year in March almost three months from the festivities at Christmas. Foville rose and went from his study into the small bedroom behind. It was simply furnished, as befitted a monk’s sleeping place, with a bed, a stool and a chest. There was a simple prie-dieu in one corner and a large wooden cross hung above the bed. On the chest lay his own cloak, its only indication of the standing of its owner in the silver clasp which fastened it at the throat. He put it on, making sure that the hood of his habit was outside, so that he could pull it over his head for protection from the cold, and to disguise his identity. Returning to the study, he took a staff from its place in the corner, near the door. It was sturdy and made of oak, roughly shaped, with a place on the shaft worn smooth where he had held it over the years. He opened the door cautiously, but there was no sign of movement outside. Nonetheless, he waited awhile, allowing his eyes to adjust from the shadows inside to the clear light of the February day. The sky was the same pale blue as the stranger’s eyes, he thought, with a shudder of distaste. The cold was damp and penetrating, with the promise of more foul weather to come, although there were presently no clouds to be seen. The wind made the branches of the trees rattle slightly as it pushed through them. He huddled the cloak closer around him and walked down the stairs, along the cloister and into the church, just as he had advised the stranger to do, but crossed from one side to the other, rather than making for the main doors. It was mid-morning and there was no-one to see him walk quickly up the side aisle and out of the little door almost hidden in the corner, where the north transept stretched out its arm. The door creaked slightly as he swung it open, but he ignored it. Stepping outside, he walked swiftly round the transept and found the track which led down to the Winterbourne and up the other side to the town. There were stepping stones across the stream at this point, and he crossed carefully, using the staff to get a firm purchase on the bed of the stream. He had to push it through a thin layer of ice, but it broke easily enough. The stream was little more than a thin trickle at this time of the year, without the current BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter which would send it rushing between its banks in the Spring, but wet feet would be worse now, in the freezing water, than in April. Foville was glad when he reached the other side. He strode swiftly up the steep hill to the town’s Jewish quarter. At the top, he swung to his right and strode in between the houses. Passing quickly along the street, he stopped at the door of the largest house. A rap, a pause, a double rap: then he waited impatiently, fidgeting with the staff he held. After what seemed like minutes, but was not more than a few seconds, the door was opened by a servant. He bent forward and whispered urgently to her. She hesitated, then dropped a swift bob and let him in. He turned as he stepped inside and glanced swiftly up and down the street, then gestured to the servant to close the door quickly. "Fetch your mistress!" he said, tersely. "I shall wait here." The servant turned and went away without answering. Foville looked about him while he waited. He had never been inside a Jewish house before. Across the room, he saw a strange little metal container, set in a doorway at an angle, with the lower end pointing out and the upper pointing in to the room beyond it. He walked over and bent closer to study it. Behind him, Belaset said, "What does a monk want with me and my house?" He turned and raised the hood, so that she could see his face. "I am Prior Foville," he said. A look of fear crossed her beautiful face and her hand flew to her mouth. "Judith?" she said, her voice trembling with anxiety. He held up his hand to reassure her. "It may be nothing, nothing!" he said. "I have had a visitor who was not welcome, asking for the packet which he knows will be delivered. But he thinks the carrier is a man, so he has not seen Judith." "It cannot be a mere nothing, Prior Foville," retorted Belaset. "Would ’nothing’ bringyou rushing to my house in person?" He looked at her, standing very upright, her hand at her throat, trying to conceal her fear for her daughter. He could not prevaricate in the face of such fear. "Listen to me," he said, trying to sound earnest and soothing at the same time. "I am indeed concerned for the safety of your daughter. I came to find out myself if you have had any word concerning her. I must also try to discover where my unwelcome visitor came from. He may be a false member of the party at the Castle, or he may have come here especially. Whatever his origins yes, I believe him to be one of de Montfort’s followers."

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Belaset’s Daughter "And where do you think he gained his knowledge of a packet which is to be brought to you?" said Belaset. "Alas," said Foville. "I fear greatly that there is a traitor within my own walls. Perhaps someone who works within the Priory and leaves each evening." "Then you had better ask some questions of these people," said Belaset. "The sooner the traitor is found out, the safer we shall all be." "There are over three hundred souls who have every right to be in the Priory each day," said Foville, coldly. "As well as casual visitors, who come and ask for a night’s lodging, and whom we cannot turn away, according to our Rule." "I see," said Belaset. "Your doors are open to any stranger who cares to knock on them, then?" Foville nodded. "Then how can you be sure that you will discover the person who has betrayed your secret?" she said. "He may have passed through Lewes long since. Your visitor just now could have come from London, or even from de Montfort’s own city of Leicester and is probably well on his way back there by now." He shook his head. "I think not," he said. "my instincts tell me that he is still with us. I think he is in the Castle. I have only to ask the Lord de Warenne who dresses in this man’s distinctive way, and I shall know his identity." "And warn him of your interest, when de Warenne mentions you have asked about him," said Belaset, scornfully. "He will be gone within moments!" He cannot leave so precipitately," said Foville. "If he does so, he will arouse de Warenne’s suspicions himself. Besides, if he is a guest, I fancy he will not be alone. Many of those enjoying my Lord’s hospitality have brought their families as well. A man cannot suddenly leave alone, without his wife complaining bitterly. No, I think our stranger will have to play a more subtle game. He may know that we have his identity, and yet be forced to stay where he is. You shall be informed of my progress. As far as I know, your daughter is safely away from Amiens, and should be crossing the Channel by now." He pulled his hood up over his head and turned to leave. Belaset stood silently behind him, as he opened the door to the street himself. Seeing no-one, he slipped out, closing the door silently behind him. He had taken only a few steps along the narrow street, when a sound behind him made him stop and turn. He thought he saw someone dodge back round the side of a house just behind him. He waited, straining his ears, and heard the sound again. A scrawny dog appeared round the corner, sniffing busily as it came towards him, then, as it noticed the man in its path, it growled and stood still. Foville thrust his staff towards it, striking the thin ribs. There was a sharp yelp, and the dog scuttled away again.

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Belaset’s Daughter Making his way back down the steep track, over the stream, and up the short slope to the Priory Church, Foville began to relax. At the corner of the transept, he turned again and looked back up the slope towards the houses clustered at the top. There was still no sign that anyone was interested in his movements. He slipped round the wall and into the side door, which he had left not thirty minutes before. Colin, the kitchen boy, looked cautiously out from the doorway into which he had pressed himself, as he saw the Prior turn and stare up the hill towards him. Twice now, he had narrowly escaped being spotted. He waited until he judged his quarry would be back inside his chambers, then ran swiftly back down the slope, leapt across the stepping stones and up to where the great church loomed up out of the flat water meadows on which it had been built. Using the same door as the Prior, he slipped inside and made his way to the statue of the Virgin. He sat comfortably on its plinth, in the space between the statue and the wall, and began to think deeply.

* * *

High above the Priory, in the Castle, Sir Roger de Tourney stalked into the main hall. His head was held high and his face faintly flushed. His lips were pressed together in annoyance. He glanced around, looking for his squire. He was sitting with his back to the hall, playing at dice with two others. One of them, spotting Sir Roger’s entrance, nudged him and whispered. The young man sprang to his feet and walked swiftly across to his master. De Tourney, divesting himself of his cloak, tosed it to the squire and waved him away. Bowing, the youth left the hall. The thick smoke from the central fire swirled in a sudden down-draught, making it even more difficult to see who was there. De Tourney, searching for Jervis FitzHugh, could see nothing for a moment. He waved his arm in front of him, impatiently, trying to clear the air. Walking forward as he did so, he stumbled over the hind leg of one of the dogs lying under a bench. The dog snarled and de Tourney kicked it, angrily. "A useful animal, a dog, especially for relieving a man’s ill-feeling," said a voice. "After all, it is less likely to strike back than another human." There was a contempt in the voice which the speaker did nothing to disguise. De Tourney whirled and glared. A handsome, fair-haired young man stared back at him, his gaze unfaltering despite the slightly drooping eyelid. De Tourney bowed hastily. "Your Royal Highness," he said. "I had no idea that you had returned from France. Is the King also in England again?" Prince Edward shook his head. "No," he said, shortly.

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Belaset’s Daughter He left the other man standing where he was and strode away from him without another word. De Tourney looked after him. What had caused the return of the King’s son so unexpectedly? He sensed that Edward had been sent back, rather than coming of his own accord, and it had put his nose out of joint. He had inherited his father’s arrogant and passionate temper, and there were frequent clashes between them as a result. Perhaps one such outburst had caused the Prince to be sent home in disgrace or was he simply pretending to be disgruntled to disguise the true reason for his sudden appearance? De Tourney reached down absently to scratch the head of the hound which he had kicked and which now fawned round him. In the glow of the firelight, the black stone of his ring shone dully. Giving the dog a last rough caress, he pushed it aside and made his way down the length of the hall to the back. As he expected, in the smaller room behind he found John de Warenne, surrounded by some of his guests. Alice de Warenne was with them, and she came forward as de Tourney entered, smiling her welcome. "We missed you, Sir Roger!" she said. "Where have you been on such a cold day? Surely not far from the Castle?" "No, madam, not far," he said. "I went to the Priory to pray for my lady’s safekeeping." "Has there been no message from Madeleine, then?" said Alice. "Not yet, madam," said de Tourney. "I know only that she is needed by her mother though why she should be so urgently required I cannot think. The messenger brought the news to us in France, and I could not refuse to let her stay when the household returned." "But you miss her sorely," said Alice, sympathetically. Indeed, madam," said de Tourney, assuming what he hoped as a suitably melancholy expression. "Alice, you’re being a cruel tease!" said her husband. "You must not keep such a secret from the poor man any longer." "Secret what secret?" said de Tourney. "Madeleine’s waiting for you in her room," said Alice, laughing. "She returned with Prince Edward’s retinue." De Tourney’s eyes blazed at her suddenly. "I must go to her and..." he checked himself and turned on his heel. Leaving the apartment, he leapt up the stairs and along the short passage to Madeleine’s rooms. He rapped once sharply and flung open the door without waiting for a reply. Madeleine was standing in the middle of the room, her head flung back as she laughed. Seated at his ease beside the fire, Jervis FitzHugh laughed with her. As de Tourney entered, Jervis sprang to his feet, his face reddening with embarrassment. There was an

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Belaset’s Daughter abrupt silence, then Madeleine smiled at her husband and went to him, lifting her face for his kiss. "Roger!" she said. "Where were you? I was disappointed not to see you pining for me." De Tourney put his arm around her and gave her a brief, hard hug. "I was at the Priory," he said. "I went to see our friend the Prior, to find what news I could gather about the movements of the King." "Did you learn anything?" asked Jervis. De Tourney shook his head. "The messenger was still on his way," he said. "And Foville acted as if he was keeping a secret from the confessional. He would not trust me, although I tried my best to give the impression that I knew all about the confounded messenger and the task with which he was entrusted." "Did you tell him who you were?" said Madeleine. De Tourney shrugged impatiently. "Of course not how could I?" he making enquiries of our host."

said. "I didn’t want him checking on my identity by

Jervis clapped his hand to his head. "Did you tell Foville that you wanted to know if the messenger had made his way home yet?" he asked. "Yes," said de Tourney. "Where’s the harm?" "The messenger is a woman!" said Jervis. "Belaset’s daughter, Judith, was sent on this trip. They are bitter enemies of de Montfort, since his men masscred most of the Jews in Leicester. Judith and her mother came to live here in Lewes, but there are branches of the same family in London and elsewhere." "Who else knows this?" said de Tourney. "All who have the confidence of the King," said Jervis. "So John de Warenne will know but how do you stand so high in the King’s estimation that you should know as well?" said de Tourney. "I do not," said Jervis, with a smile. "I listen." "Where?" said Madeleine, curiously. "At mealtimes, out hunting, during ceremonial gatherings," said Jervis, shrugging. "Squires are often ignored so thoroughly that their masters forget they exist. We may have the knack of standing still, but we are not blind and deaf, too." "But surely de Warenne and his friends are more discreet than to discuss such matters at table?" said Madeleine. "I have never heard such conversation." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "There are meals and occasions when ladies aren’t present, or welcome," said de Tourney. "Then the talk is far from discreet and as the wine flows, the tongues loosen." "Especially after a hard day’s hunting," said Jervis. "I thought such conversations were more bawdy than anything else," said Madeleine, lightly. Jervis remained serious. "At first it is," he said. "But remarks are dropped into the conversation, or two men will start their own mutterings, their heads close together. Stand near enough, and you can catch what’s being said without making your eavesdropping too obvious." "You speak as one well-practised in the art," said de Tourney, thoughtfully. Jervis bowed and grinned at him. "As you say, sir," he said, mischievously. "Hmmm!" said de Tourney, gruffly. He thought back, uneasily, to occasions when he might have said something less than discreet himself, and within range of Jervis FitzHugh’s sharp ears. The youth gave the impression that he was privy to some secret that he, de Tourney, would not wish to be put about. He decided to question him more closely, when they were next alone.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER EIGHT

Judith woke clawing frantically against the hand clamped firmly over her mouth and nose. "When I take my hand away, no noise, unless you want your throat slit!" hissed a voice. She nodded, willing to promise anything for the sake of being able to breathe again. The hand was removed, and she took in great gulps of air. The cabin was only dimly lit, but she could make out the figure of the man who had almost suffocated her. He was tall and strongly built, dressed in the rough clothes of one of the crew. His face was so close to hers that she could see the stubble on his chin, and smell his rank breath. His teeth gleamed in the dim light, as he grinned maliciously at her. A movement behind him showed where another man waited in silence. The ship was no longer moving ahead, she noticed, but was rocking gently in the swell. They must have crossed the Channel as she slept and anchored somewhere off the English coast. "Now," said the man leaning over her, in the same whisper. "We’re leaving this ship and you’re coming with us ’young master’." There was heavy sarcasm in the last two words. The two men had either been in the cabin long enough to realise that she was no man, or they already knew her identity. As if reading her mind, the voice went on. "Prior Foville will wait for you in vain, wench. There’s someone else who wishes to meet you." The man reached forward and pulled her roughly off the couch. She struggled with him and he grunted as her knee came up into his groin and found its target. Staggering back, bent over and retching with the pain, he gestured to the other man, already stepping forward, ready to spring to his companion’s defence. Judith darted to one side and ran across the cabin to the door, but she was not quick enough. A blow on the side of her head made her reel, then another knocked her to the floor. The cabin seemed to grow darker still and she lost consciousness. The man who had struck her swore softly to himself as he looked down at her. The other, recovering rapidly from Judith’s attack, limped across the floor and stood beside him. "Women’s skulls are softer than I realised," said her assailant.

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Belaset’s Daughter The other man shrugged. "At least the bitch’ll keep quiet now!" he said. "Pick her up and let’sgo. Pierre will have the boat over the side by now. It’s time we left, before some nosy swine comes to investigate the noise." His partner hoisted Judith over his shoulder. She hung, head down his back, a dead weight. His companion opened the door cautiously and looked out. Apparently, the scuffle had disturbed no-one. Together, they crept forward along the deck, the man carrying Judith breathing heavily with the effort. Half-way along, the rope ladder hung over the side. At the bottom, holding on to it, Pierre stood in the dinghy. The man carrying Judith turned, sliding her inert body off his back and resting it across the side of the ship, while he turned back again. Leaning over, he slid her down the rope ladder on her back. His partner held on to him, as he leant over as far as he could without losing his balance. It was just enough for Pierre to be able to reach up and grasp the body of the unconscious woman and lower her into the boat, to put her none too gently at his feet. The other two clambered down the ladder quickly and joined him. Pierre sat in the stern, and hoisted Judith so that she was propped against his knees. The other men sat amidships, taking an oar each. One of them pushed off from the ship and they struck out for shore, rowing awkwardly until they found their rhythm. Five minutes of hard work and they felt the keel scrape on the shingle. Still without speaking, they shipped their oars and jumped over the side, to splash through the shallow water, hauling the small boat after them. Once it was firmly beached, Pierre stood up, laying Judith back against the seat. He stepped out of the boat and faced the other two. "What happened?" he said. "Why is she in this state?" "She tried to escape," said the man who had hit her. "I struck her harder than I realised, but she’s only stunned. She’ll come round again soon, and then we’ll have to watch out she fights like a she-wolf guarding her young!" "I hope you’re right, my friend," said Pierre. "She has to ride to London with you there’s no wagon for her to lie in." A moan from the boat made them all turn towards it. Judith was stirring. She opened her eyes and gazed round her in perplexity. Seeing Pierre, she frowned, trying to remember where she had seen his face before. She sat straighter and moaned again, touching her head gingerly where it had been struck. The tall man went to her and bent over her. "Listen to me!" he said. You have the choice will my horse, in front of me?"

you ride alone, or will you ride on

"Where are we going?" said Judith. "Where is this...?" She looked around, her eyes focusing as full consciousness returned. There was nothing much to see but the pebble beach and a line of rough grass behind it.

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Belaset’s Daughter The tall man chuckled. "Where you want to be back in England," he said. "But not where you should be. You’re coming with us ’young master’, to London.If you don’t feel like making your way there conscious why, we’ll give you another little tap and take you there unconscious!" Judith’s spine tingled and she felt a flash of real fear. Gritting her teeth, she thought hard, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her head. If she made any move to antagonise these men, they would feel no hesitation in doing just as they threatened and knocking her out again. Conscious, she might be able to learn something about them. They were obviously Simon de Montfort’s men. If she found out who they were, and then found a chance to escape, she might have some useful information to pass on to Prior Foville as well as the packet which she had guarded so carefully. The packet! Did she still have it? She was about to check when she realised what such a sudden movement on her part might bring. If it was still safely hidden on her, the men might not be aware that she had it. They might assume she had a message by heart to deliver, rather than an actual packet. She nodded feebly. "I can ride alone," she said. "Right!" said the tall man, gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet. The world swam about her and she blinked, trying desperately not to show ho weak she felt. Stumbling slightly, she walked forward in the dinghy, and stepped over the prow. The tall man dropped her arm, so that she could lean forward and grasp the side to steady herself. As she did so, she felt the packet fall forward against her tunic. It was still there! She breathed deeply with relief. Her head was clearing rapidly as the evening air revived her, but she had the sense not to appear too much in command of herself. It gave her the chance to peer around, trying to find out where she was. There were still no clues, only the sense of emptiness, the beach on which they stood, and the rough scrub behind. She could see no huts or other buildings. The small group staggered up to the grass. It was a steeper slope than was apparent from the beach and they climbed up it and over the other side. In the dip below they stopped, obedient to the warning, outflung arm of the tall man. He was the leader of the party, Judith realised, and the other two men took their orders from him naturally. He turned and beckoned to Pierre. "Get yourself back on board, before you’re missed," he said. "Your friends will tie you up again most convincingly, I’m sure!" Pierre nodded sourly. "Friends is what they call themselves," he said. "The bastards tied me up so tight it makes me wonder! I’d rather come with you to London."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Don’t be stupid, addlepate!" snapped the tall man. "Every moment you’re away makes the risk of an alarm being raised more likely. It was lucky the ship had to drop anchor here, until the tide turned. Get back on board!" The other man with them laughed. "Never mind, Pierre," he said. "You only have to stay in your bonds until you return to France. Why should Master Bonami keep you after that? After all, you’re just a fisherman who heard too much for his own good." Pierre grunted and turned away. They watched him go back up the slope and disappear over the top. Behind them, there was a soft halloo. The tall man turned sharply, his body tensed, ready to spring forward. A man stood a little way from them, well muffled in his cloak, but with his face visible. The tall man strode towards him, his hand held out in greeting. The newcomer shook it warmly and slapped the other on the shoulder. "Welcome back, Guy!" he said, cheerfully. So, Judith thought, the name is Guy, is it? Guy who? She saw the other man was watching her carefully, as if he expected her to react to the name. Guy had glanced at her over his shoulder, too, and now said something in a low tone to the newcomer. She was hustled forward to join Guy and the stranger. "There are horses for all of us," he said, still sounding cheerful, and more as if they were embarking on an afternoon’s hunting than about to make a hazardous journey to London. He led the way up a rough track and rounded a large clump of bushes. Four horses stood waiting. As they approached, one of the horses whickered softly. It was a beautiful animal with a white blaze on its face and four white socks. Otherwise, it was as dark as the night gathering round them, and almost invisible. The other three horses, smaller animals, but sturdy and fit for the journey, were all overshadowed by the black horse. Guy had gone to this one and was rubbing its nose and talking to it. It was his, that was clear. Suddenly, Judith knew who he was, and the knowledge astonished her. He must be Guy de Montfort, Simon’s son! What was he doing skulking, travelling across the Channel on the same boat as her, but supposedly a prisoner? He had been left drugged by the false priest in the church in Amiens how was he here? She was so lost in thought, that she did not hear him tell her to mount one of the horses. He shook her and pushed her towards one of them. She swung herself up wearily into the high saddle and the others, mounted too, surrounded her. The man who had brought the horses led the way, with Guy’s ’shadow’ behind him. Judith came next, with Guy de Montfort directly behind her. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her back, and knew there would be no chance of escape with him watching her every move. Besides, the black horse would catch up with her in the first few strides, if she tried to gallop away from the rest.

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Belaset’s Daughter As they moved off, she concentrated instead on trying to discover where they were. The daylight was gone, but there was a full moon sailing through a clear, starlit sky. Traces of snow still showed on either side of the chalk track they were travelling along, although it was less evident than it had been in France. In the frosty air, the horses’ breath sent out clouds of vapour and joined those coming from their riders. They passed a few scattered hovels and rounded a small stand of beeches. Ahead of them, with the dark bulk of downland looming behind it, was a small church. She knew it the heavy old Norman archway sheltering the oak door confirming her knowledge, as they rode past. They had landed at Bishopstone. She was only a few miles from Lewes and heading inland, towards it. She sat, moving easily to the horses’ rhythm, and thought furiously. To be passing so close to her intended destination she must be able to get a message to the Priory somehow! Now they were riding along the ancient track which wound along, mostly at the foot of the Downs, all the way to Lewes. It was well-marked, with the chalk showing most of the way, indicating heavy use. She had ridden along it herself, several times, and knew it well. It branched into two ways at one point, and she knew that the left one curved back to Seaford, where the merchant ships from across the Channel came, through the narrow harbour entrance, with their cargoes of wine and spices. Some of the ships sailed right up the River Ouse to Lewes, with cargoes of Caen stone for building. Silently, apart from the sound of the horses’ hooves, the small party rode through the night. Judith could feel sleep beginning to steal over her, and fought against it. The headache caused by the blow she had received had almost gone, although she could feel the lump, if she put her hand to the place where she had been struck. She took a deep breath, and the cold air entered her lungs almost painfully and revived her. If she was sleepy, perhaps the others were, too. She turned cautiously in her saddle, twisting her neck round to look behind her. "I’m still here!" said Guy’s voice. "And still awake and watching your every move, never fear!" She turned back again, without bothering to answer. The track turned round a another clump of stunted trees and the moon shone on the town of Lewes. She could see the Castle, high on its mound, with the townspeople s dwellings clustered around its base, and her own house and those of the small community of Jews a short way beyond, but still at the top of a slope. Below it all, the great Priory stood on the flat land, with the stream running alongside it, and on to where it joined the River Ouse. The man in front raised his arm as a signal to halt and they did so. Guy, walking his horse alongside hers, grasped part of the bridle and forced her horse to walk with his until they reached the man who was their guide. "What is it?" he said to the guide. "Why stop here?" "We should be met here and taken to shelter for the rest of the night," said the man, in a low voice. "There should have been someone waiting here, in the trees." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "And where is this someone?" said Guy, impatiently. There was a rustling from the middle of the copse. Guy swung round, sweeping his cloak to one side and placing his hand on his sword. The guide put his arm out, to restrain Guy’s movement. The trees parted and a boy appeared, grinning delightedly. "Colin, you should have shown yourself earlier!" said the guide, sternly. Colin nodded, but continued to beam at them, obviously mightily pleased with himself. He pointed to the guide’s saddle, and the man nodded. Colin swung himself up, nimbly, and sat astride the horse in front of its rider. Then he pointed to the right and nodded, twisting to gaze up into the man’s face. "What’s wrong with him?" said Guy. "Surely we’re not to be shown our way by an idiot boy?" "No, no!" said the guide. "He is not simple, but dumb. He can hear your every word, and understand better than many, can you not Colin?" The boy nodded, glaring angrily at Guy de Montfort. "Well, prove it, by taking us to our rest in safety then, boy!" said Guy, gruffly. The man who had led them thus far gave the boy a squeeze on the shoulder. "That’s an apology!" he said. Colin still glared at Guy, but the guide urged his horse forward, and the boy sat straight again. The others followed in single file. Guy dropped Judith’s bridle and fell back behind her, as they made their way down a gentle slope and rode towards the Priory. They skirted round the left side of the dorter and passed the west entrance of the great church, then rode diagonally away from the buildings and up the slope. On her right, if she raised her eyes, she would see her own home. The frustration of her situation, coupled with her weariness, made her feel the tears prickling behind her eyes and a painful lump rose in her throat. She would not let Guy de Montfort see her cry! she thought to herself fiercely, and swallowed hard. The boy was leading them right round the outside of the town, she saw. He must be taking them to one of the manor houses along the road, she thought hazily. After another fifteen minutes’ steady riding, they were halted again by the guide’s upraised hand. She looked up and saw, as she expected, the bulk of a small manor house and a cluster of buildings beside it. They had ridden right over the crest of the hill and were down among the water meadows again, she knew. If this was to be their resting-place for the night, they were still near enough to Lewes for her to be on familiar ground. This side of the town was not so well-known to her as the side on which the Priory lay, so there was the danger of stumbling into a marshy patch, but it would be a journey worth attempting. She felt more cheerful at the thought that she might yet make her escape.

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Belaset’s Daughter They had been led into the interior of one of the buildings, a barn still half-full of hay. Colin put his finger to his lips, as he slid off the horse, in a gesture warning everybody to be quiet. He beckoned to the guide, who dismounted and followed him to the far side of the barn. The other three waited in silence, still on their horses, which began to nuzzle in the straw which lay on the floor. Guy continued to watch Judith carefully. She, in turn, watched Colin and the guide, trying to catch the meaning of Colin’s gestures, but it was impossible. The guide was obviously having difficulties also, for he shook his head impatiently and shrugged his shoulders. Colin gestured more urgently, and pointed across at the other three. Then the guide nodded suddenly and came across to where they waited. "The lad says we must stay here tonight and wait for his return in the morning," he said. "We’ll be fed by someone who will come into the barn with food and ale soon, but we must not venture outside. Not everyone in the manor is a friend." "In that case," said Guy. "We’ll protect ourselves from sudden alarms." He had whipped out a kerchief as he spoke, and tied it swiftly around Judith’s hands, then he grasped her round her waist, and threw her roughly from her horse. She tumbled helplessly and landed with a thud on the floor. Only the hay spread about saved her from broken bones. She sat up, groggily. Laughing, the other two men swung themselves off their horses and Guy de Montfort bent over her. "No tricks," he said, giving her shoulder a sharp poke. "Or you’ll be treated far worse than that!" One of the men led all three horses over to one side of the barn, where mangers contained some fodder. He unsaddled them, took off their bridles, and hung everything over a railing that ran beside one of the mangers. Wooden buckets of water stood underneath each manger, for the horses to drink from. Guy, meantime, had strolled over to where more hay lay piled in inviting heaps against one wall. He sat down and leaned back comfortably, wrapping his cloak around him. There was a movement at the door and it swung open. Colin, who had stood watching silently, ran light-footed across the floor and opened it fully. Outside, stood a manservant, carrying a pitcher in one hand and a wooden platter with bread and meat in the other. He handed the platter to Colin, who needed both hands to carry it across to Guy. The manservant followed, and placed the pitcher on the floor beside where the young man lay sprawled. Judith watched carefully, easing herself into a more comfortable position. Colin tugged at the manservant’s sleeve and the man knuckled his forehead at Guy, before turning and leaving with the boy. He looked curiously at Judith, but said nothing. Before the door had closed behind them, Guy had grabbed a piece of the meat and torn a chunk off one of the loaves. He came across to where Judith sat and squatted on his haunches in front of her.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Now," he said. "I can untie you and let you feed yourself, if you decide not to cause trouble, or you can watch us enjoy our meal and eat nothing. Which is it to be?" "Untie me," said Judith, wearily. "I have no strength left to cause you trouble, as you put it." Guy grinned nastily and put the food down in the hay, before he bent over her. He untied the kerchief and stuffed it back under his cloak. Judith rubbed her wrists and chafed her hands together. She picked up the bread and broke some off. Putting it into her mouth, she chewed. It tasted delicious and made her realise how long it was since she had eaten. It was odd to think that only that morning she had eaten with the Hanuchins in Abbeville. Now, she was back in England, as she hoped to be but in what company! The other man had come to her side and offered her the pitcher. She took it in both hands and sniffed. It was ale. She took a sip, and then a larger gulp. Ale was not a drink she had tasted often, but tonight it tasted like the finest wine. She took another good swallow and handed the pitcher back to the man. He took it without a word and carried it back to Guy. Setting it down, he helped himself to some bread and meat, then sat down in the straw beside de Montfort to eat it. "Is the meat not to your liking?" said Guy, suddenly. "Perhaps you don’t like the flavour ’young master’?" Judith said nothing. "Perhaps he’d prefer a fowl or a peacock!" the other man said. "No, no that’s not the reason for our companion’s niceness," said Guy. "Is it ’young master’?" He rose and strolled over to where Judith sat, then turned to the other man. "This is no man," he said. "This is a woman and a Jewess!" Bending, he caught hold of Judith’s cloak and ripped it from her. He flung it aside, then tried to grasp the tunic beneath. Judith ducked her head and bit him with all her force, on the wrist. He whipped his arm away with a curse, and she scrambled to her feet. The other man roared with laughter. "No man, but a fighter, my lord!" he said. Guy looked at his wrist. There was blood welling from the broken skin. He glared at Judith then, to her amazement, started laughing himself. She stood looking at him, unable to believe her eyes. He shook his head and walked past her, to fling himself down in his former place and begin eating again. "Food is better than a woman, tonight," he said. "Sleep while you can, Trubodi. And you, madam we ride to London tomorrow." He tossed the bone he had gnawed on across the barn and wrapped himself in his cloak. Trubodi had already made himself a nest in the hay and was lying curled in it like a large

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Belaset’s Daughter dog, his own cloak covering him almost completely. Judith watched them both for some moments, but neither stirred. She stood and crept towards one corner, where the straw was deeply piled. Guy de Montfort opened his eyes. "Don’t try to lose yourself in the darkness," he said. "I’m a light sleeper. The slightest rustle, or the click of the latch and I’ll hear you. Settle where you are, madam, no-one will come near you tonight." Judith did as she was told. She bent and heaped some of the hay around a hollow, then wrapped her cloak closely about her body, before lying in the nest she had made. One of the horses blew down its nose and shifted its hooves restlessly. The men breathed evenly, one of them snoring slightly. She lay stiffly, waiting for some movement from one of them, despite Guy’s reassurances. Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she slept too.

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Belaset’s Daughter

PART TWO

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER NINE

The daylight streaming in woke Judith the next morning. The manservant had come in again, thrusting back the heavy door with his shoulder, bringing another pitcher of ale, with fresh bread and meat. He placed it near to Guy, then gave his feet a kick to rouse him. Guy sat up immediately, but said nothing. The servant kicked Trubodi’s feet for good measure, and grunted with amusement when that worthy’s head appeared, his hair at all angles and a straw behind one ear. "My lord says that your guide will be here within the hour and you had best make ready," said the servant to Guy. "I thank your lord for his hospitality," said Guy. "No doubt he’ll come himself to bid us farewell?" The man reddened. "He has no wish to see your faces..." he began. "... so that we can’t see his, I presume?" said Guy. "Well, he’s a wise man, if not particularly brave." "He’s given you a safe haven for the night, and fed you besides!" said the man indignantly. Guy nodded. "He has taken that risk," he agreed. "I shall honour his wishes by not even asking his name. Tell him we’ll be glad to go as soon as the guide can take us." The servant tugged his forelock perfunctorily and turned on his heel, leaving the barn swiftly, without another word. Guy stood and stretched, then turned to where Judith lay, still cocooned in her cloak. "You see, madam?" he said. "Your virtue is still intact. It’s only in your capacity as a messenger of the King that you interest us nothing else. Now come and eat with us, we have a long, cold day’s riding ahead." The meal, such as it was, was soon completed and the horses saddled. Guy paced up and down impatiently, glancing at the door frequently. At last, there was the sound of a horse trotting up to the barn. The door swung open again and a man appeared. Cold as the barn was, an even colder gust of air blew in as he stood there, smiling at them all. He was young and handsome, and obviously pleased to be part of the journey. He looked eagerly from one face to another, then strode across to Guy de Montfort. "If you’re ready, sir?" he said, bowing slightly.

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Belaset’s Daughter "We have been ready these past thirty minutes," said Guy, irritably. The young man’s face expressed sympathy. "I was delayed by my lord’s caution," he said. "we must not be seen together so close to Lewes it could jeopardise all our plans." Guy grunted. "Your lord is right," he said, reluctantly. "But if we leave quickly, we’ll soon be too far away for it to matter." He went to his own horse and Judith and Trubodi followed his example. Leading their horses by their bridles, the three went out of the barn and mounted. The guide had already sprung into the saddle again. Swinging his horse’s head round, he led them out of the yard and back on to the road they had left in the darkness of the night before. By daylight, Judith could see that they were following a well-marked way, which vanished into the forest ahead of them. This would be the most dangerous part of the journey for all of them, she knew. The forest covered the whole of the Weald and there was no way north, other than through it. Its silence and thick growth, interspersed with grassy clearings hid bands of outlaws, as well as wild boar, stags and wolves. They would be lucky to get through without some kind of attack, whether it came from man or beast. Still, a small group such as theirs might attract less attention than a larger party, and they had no wagons with them to slow them down. Then, she thought, there was always the chance that an attack would allow her to escape. The party had reached the outskirts of the forest by this time and they were soon surrounded by it. Overhead, the trees met in a tangle of branches. Great oaks jostled for space with elm and beech. In between, the thinner trunks of ash and birch struggled upward to the light. The ground was covered with a dense mat of fallen leaves, churned to a pulp on the route they were taking, but still distinguishable as a covering of many different colours on either side. There was little undergrowth, apart from ferns growing at the foot of some of the trees and a few saplings which had sprung up here and there. At this time of the year, with the leaves all fallen from the trees, the weak winter sunshine showed their way clearly, as well as giving them something of a view through the trees on each side. All of them glanced uneasily about them from time to time, and the men had thrown back their cloaks to reveal their swords. Judith, who had never carried a sword, felt for the slim dagger which she kept concealed about her. It was there. The packet, in its pouch, despite the ill-treatment she had received, was still safe under her tunic. She had checked it surreptitiously several times already. Guy’s chivalry had done more than save her virtue, if he did but realise it, she thought. They trotted steadily along, in silence, for more than two hours. Judith’s fear began to diminish as they progressed, and she relaxed more. The two men in front, Trubodi and the new guide, began to talk to each other in low voices. She heard the younger man say

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Belaset’s Daughter something, turning his head to do so, and Trubodi laughed in response. As the young man twisted back in his saddle, an arrow thudded to the ground just to one side. His horse reared and whinnied, but its rider kept his seat and dug his heels into its flanks. Behind him, Trubodi shouted and followed suit. Seizing her chance, Judith tried to swing her horse away from the path, bending low as she did so, but Guy was too quick for her. Galloping alongside her, he grabbed the bridle and yanked the horse’s head back again. His strength was too much for her to fight and she had all she could do to keep herself in the saddle as they careered off together down the track. Guy’s tug on the bridle had wrenched it from her hands completely, and she had to grasp the horse’s mane to keep from falling off, powerless to do anything to control their headlong progress. Ahead, the trees broke on the edge of one of the clearings that were scattered through the forest. The four of them galloped straight across, keeping their bodies as flat as possible. The horses never faltered, the sound of their breathing and snorting as loud as the thudding of their hooves on the track. Judith saw Guy glance back over his shoulder as they plunged once more beneath the trees on the far side of the clearing. To her surprise, he sat upright and called to the two in front, pulling up both horses as he did so. They slowed to a walk, but the others, not hearing his shout, had continued at top speed and vanished around a bend ahead of them. Judith sat up herself, and took back the rein which was proffered her. She soothed the horse, which was still panting with exertion. She could feel its sides working in and out beneath her legs and it tossed its head nervously, making the bit jingle. They had stopped completely and Guy stroked the neck of his own horse for several moments, before speaking to Judith. "It was a bold try," he said. "But you’re safer with me, than alone in this forest. Do you know it well?" "I should have found my way," she said coldly. "Or someone would have found you!" he said, sharply. "This is no place for man or woman to wander in alone, madam, however charmed you think the life you bear." Judith said nothing, knowing he was right. If she had escaped from him, she might well have ridden straight into another group of captors, who would have treated her far more roughly than she had been treated so far. Guy had obviously been ordered to see that no harm befell her on their journey. She was, as he said, wanted only because she was a messenger for the King, nothing more. "Where are your brave follower and our guide?" she said, sarcastically. "They seem to have chosen wisdom rather than courage. And why are we standing quietly here, when there are outlaws behind us?" "Do you hear them following us?" he said. "They’re not interested the arrow was probably just because they heard movement. They would rather we were venison than human."

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Belaset’s Daughter She listened and realised that there was indeed no sound of pursuit. Guy clicked softly to his horse and led off down the track again. The forest closed round them, its silence profound. At this time of the year no birds sang and very little moved most of the animals had the sense to sleep through this dark, cold time of the year. Only humans insisted on continuing with life, despite the freezing cold. Guy made no effort to urge his horse into a faster pace and Judith was content to walk her horse quietly along behind him. She no longer looked for a means of escape. If they were going to London, she would wait until they reached the city and think what she might do then. Perhaps she could find her way to the Jewry and someone there would help her and take her to Rav Benedict and his family. They would know her and help her, she was sure, and she would get a message to her mother by some means, as well as to Foville. As they rounded a bend in the road, they saw Trubodi and the young man coming towards them on their horses. The young man looked red-faced and angry, and Trubodi had an obstinate expression on his face. Guy’s mouth curled upward in a grin as he saw them. "Ah, my brave knights!" he said. "You have protected us well. Any damsel would be relieved to know that you were with her as her guards!" He laughed and slapped Trubodi on the shoulder as they drew level with each other. Trubodi grinned shamefacedly. The young man glared at Guy, his colour still high. "We thought you were with us, my lord," he said. "Your man called out to me, when he realised you were not. Since I was in front, I could not tell immediately, because of..." "Because of your urgent need to get away," interrupted Trubodi. "How could I turn back?" retorted the young man, angrily. "The path was too narrow, and you were galloping right behind me!" "I followed your example!" said Trubodi, equally hot-tempered. "You’re the one who lives near here and hunts in this forest with your lord. How can I know the rules of the place? If an arrow comes and my guide flees, I don’t stop to question the bowman!" "Enough, both of you!" said Guy, highly amused. "Let’s get to London today and you can continue your discussion there. How much further do you judge we have to go? And what’s your name, if you can tell us?" "We have about three hours more," said the young man, sulkily. "And my name’s Jervis FitzHugh, squire to John de Warenne, but follower of Simon de Montfort." "I have heard your name before, young man," said Guy. "And I know you to be a loyal follower of my father. How have you accounted for your absence on this journey?" "I’m out searching for a lost falcon, my lord," answered Jervis, with a sudden grin. " M y feeling for my birds is well-known in the Castle no-one will find it strange, if I’m away for some days on such a quest."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Then we must continue our journey, and reach London as soon as possible," said Guy. "You may be happy to wander in this cold for a bird you’ve lost, but I’m not prepared to suffer it one moment longer than I need." There were nods of agreement, and they resumed their journey. They rode in the same order as before, Jervis leading them, with Trubodi just behind, then Judith, with Guy behind her. The horses trotted along with a will, and the miles fell steadily away. They broke out of the forest within the hour and urged the horses into a gallop. They crossed the more open landscape quickly. The sun, though weak, was sufficient to melt any remaining snow and ice and, although it meant that spray and mud now flew about them, the fear of a horse slipping on the ice was gone.

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At last they were in Southwark, trotting along the mean street, through a line of small shops. It was filthy, Judith noticed, with refuse filling the central gutter. Every now and then, they had to avoid pigs, snuffling in the waste. She could not bear to think what they found to eat there how could their owners contemplate eating the flesh of such animals? she wondered. They came suddenly to the Thames, flowing smoothly along, carrying its load of small boats and larger ships. The cries of the watermen echoed above the screams of the gulls. They were close by a wharf, where unloading was going on. Brawny men heaved great bales of fleeces down from the deck of a ship. They landed on the wooden wharf with a dull thump, then were hauled away by others and loaded on to a string of carts. Jervis led them to the left and Judith saw the great stone bridge, crossing the width of the river. Its piers contained the water, so that it foamed and bubbled in its efforts to force its way between them. On the bridge itself, buildings lined both sides, leaving only a narrow way for the constant flow of people, horses and carts to force their way past each other. This was London Bridge, she knew, the only way across the Thames, apart from using the services of a boatman. They had to go through the great stone gateway before they joined the throng passing to and fro across the bridge itself. Other riders jostled against them, wagons forced their way through, their drivers shouting and cursing, laying about them with their whips to make a passage for themselves. The little party of four had no choice but to go with the rest, there was no other way to make progress. Once on the bridge, it seemed, there was no way to control the speed at which they moved, either; that, too, was controlled by the impatient, shifting crowd. Jervis looked anxiously over his shoulder, to make sure that the other three were still close behind him. They were coming through the gate at the other end, when a carter gave Judith her chance. Standing up on his cart, he whipped his horses as they baulked at going under the

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Belaset’s Daughter gateway. Guy’s horse reared behind her, her own danced sideways nervously, and the cart separated her from the two in front. Instinctively, she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks, wheeled its head round to the left and galloped away from the bridge. She heard shouts behind her, Guy’s voice roaring above the others, but the cart still separated him from Jervis and Trubodi, and, in the general uproar, she hopred, they would not be able to make out what he was saying. She flew along Thames Street, then turned right before she reached the Fleet. Where she was, she had no idea. Her only thought was to get away from the others. Five minutes of headlong galloping took her deep into the maze of streets. A scream almost under the horse’s hooves brought her back to her senses, and she hauled on the reins, bringing the horse to a skidding stop which almost unseated her. She had almost knocked over a young girl, who stood cowering against a wall, her fist in hr mouth and her eyes full of tears. The girl’s eyes were fixed on something on the ground a bundle of rags, which suddenly moved. Judith dismounted and bent to pick up the baby, but the young girl had rushed to it and picked it up herself. She clutched the baby to her scrawny chest and backed away from Judith. Then she turned, and fled up an alley between the hovels and disappeared. Judith stood nonplussed, looking around for someone who might be able to tell her where she had ended up. The horse stood blowing clouds of breath over her. Its flanks steamed and sweat shone on its coat. Judith soothed it absently and looked around again. She must get off the street as soon as possible, although she could hear no sound of pursuit. If she could only find the Yechiel house she would be safe, she thought. She swung herself up into the saddle again and urged the horse forward along the length of the street. At the end, there was a wider street, cutting across at right angles. Caution made her ride out slowly, turning her head to both right and left, searching for one of her erstwhile captors, as they must be for her. She had obviously come to another of the main streets through the city. Here again were the jostling horses and the shouts of carters, just as there had been on London Bridge. The stench which had clogged her nostrils ever since she had entered London was even stronger here, but the travellers on the road and the high wall on the other side from where she sat astride the horse blocked her view. She tugged at the rein and the horse turned obediently to the right, moving into the stream of traffic. Slowly, she forced her way across to the other side of the street. As soon as she could, she turned off again, instinctively seeking the darker, more hidden ways for her route. Once again, she was hemmed in by the tenements lining the lanes and the horse had to pick its way carefully through the refuse. The ragged inhabitants looked at her curiously, taking in the fur-lined cloak and the good horse, but none approached her. Vaguely, Judith realised that she was risking attack and robbery, at least, by riding alone in such an area, but her weariness and dogged need to find the haven of the Yechiels house made her push any fear for her immediate safety to the back of her mind.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TEN

Guy de Montfort shouted again, pushing and shoving against the carter who had blocked his way. The man brought his whip down to right and left, beating horses and people indiscriminately. One blow landed on Guy’s shoulder and he felt the force of it through his thick, protective clothing. His hand shot out, he grasped the carter’s leg and heaved upward. The man, unbalanced, fell back into the cart and his horses reared and plunged again, neighing shrilly. Those in the crowd who had seen what happened, laughed at the carter’s discomfiture, as he righted himself and sat, scarlet with rage, on his cart. Jervis and Trubodi, hearing the uproar, had turned in time to see Judith make her escape. "Stay here!" Jervis shouted in the other man’s ear. "I’ll follow her!" Trubodi nodded once, his eyes fixed on his master. He could do nothing to help Guy, trapped as he was with the carter between them. The crowds trying to cross the bridge in both directions were adding to the confusion. Those too far away to see what was happening continued to force their way forward, pushing the people in front of them into an ever denser, wheeling mass. Voices cried out, horses whinnied. The atmosphere was changing from urgency to panic. Suddenly, it was over. The rearing, whinnying horses had clattered back a few paces and the cart had rolled back behind them. It was only a matter of inches, but Guy saw his chance and took it, squeezing past and under the gateway, into the street behind. The carter regained his feet at the same time. He stood for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. Voices around him shouted impatiently for him to move, and several hands held out the reins which he had lost in the struggle. He glared around, and snatched them back, gathering them together and bending to pick up the whip again. The horses took the brunt of his ill temper, as he gave each of them a savage cut. They leapt forward on to the bridge, their rolling eyes and flailing hooves creating their own passage. Guy joined Trubodi and they made their way to the side of the street. "Where’s Jervis?" said Guy. "He followed the woman," said Trubodi. "He said I should wait for you..." "Which way?" said Guy, impatiently. "That way," said Trubodi, pointing ahead of them along Thames Street. He was annoyed at Guy’s impatience with him it was not his fault that the carter had got in their way. As though reading his mind, Guy said, "The carter arrived just in time. Perhaps we were expected what do you think?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "How could anyone have known our movements in time to make such a plan?" said Trubodi. Guy grunted. As far as he knew, only a few people were aware of the plan to kidnap Judith his father, Hugh Dispenser and William Monchesny, who had arranged for them to be guided to London. He frowned heavily, trying to work out who could have betrayed them, then shrugged. Perhaps the carter had been a coincidence after all, unless Jervis FitzHugh...? He felt Trubodi’s hand on his arm and looked up. Jervis was riding along the street towards them, his face glum, letting his horse walk at its own pace. As he drew closer, he shook his head at them, and lifted his shoulder resignedly. He stopped the horse beside them. "We’ve lost her," he said, heavily. "I followed where I thought she’d gone, but it’s a maze back there. If I’d continued, I would never have found my way out again." "Damn her! You were right to return to us," said Guy. "We’d better make our way to the Tower and tell Monchesny our news. He’ll be angry, but tere’s nothing else we cando. Perhaps he’ll know where to find her he knows this place better than any of us." They made their way, in silence, along Thames Street, towards the Tower. True to its name, it rose above this reeking and restless city, standing foursquare beside the Thames itself. As the three rode towards it, their spirits sank lower and lower. Guy hated to admit that he had failed in any task set for him. Trubodi, knowing this, knew also that he would be the person to suffer Guy’s bad temper. He looked sideways at Jervis, but that young man was riding along with his face closed, keeping his feelings to himself. The guard on the gateway to the Tower stared at them suspiciously and would not let them through without some evidence of their identity. "We come from the Sussex coast to see William Monchesny," said Guy, impatiently. "I’m Guy de Montfort, and I insist that you allow us..." The guard sneered. "Guy de Montfort, eh?" he said. "Well, I’m Earl Simon. Everyone knows Guy de Montfort is missing in France, because he couldn’t find his way back to Daddy on his own!" Guy leant down to the man, his eyes blazing. He thrust his hand in front of the man’s face, showing him the ring he wore. "If I am not Guy de Montfort, whoreson!" he hissed. "Why am I wearing his ring?" He struck out and the ring caught the man’s cheek, slashing across it. He staggered back, his hand over the tear, blood dripping through his fingers. Guy put his knees to his horse’s flanks and the animal trotted forward across the drawbridge. Trubodi and Jervis followed, not looking at each other or the guard, who still stood, hand to cheek, staring at

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Belaset’s Daughter Guy’s retreating back. The man’s thoughts were plain Guy enemy.

de Montfort had made an

The small party dismounted in the courtyard. Guy gestured to the other two to follow him and strode forward to the stone staircase which led into the Tower itself. A man was coming down them at the same time. He paused, stared, then gave a shout of pleasure. "Guy de Montfort you’re a most welcome sight!" he cried. He ran down the stairs and clapped his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. "Well, were you successful? How was your journey and where’s your fair travelling companion?" He glanced round with a smile of anticipation. "We lost her," said Guy, sounding aggressive in his efforts to hide his discomfiture. "We brought her safe as far as London Bridge and then we lost her. Some damned carter couldn’t control his horses and blocked the whole street. It was enough for her she was away before we could free ourselves. Jervis here tried to follow, but, as a stranger, he almost lost himself as well. So all we did after all was give her safe escort to London!" William Monchesny gazed at him soberly. "Was this carter really there by chance, I wonder?" he said, musingly. "I wonder the same thing," said Guy. "But who else could have known that we were coming to London with the woman? And what was the sense of simply letting her escape from us, when she would have no idea where to go for safety?" "Come to my Lord Hugh’s chambers," said William. "We must discuss this matter. Let your men rest after their exertions." He glanced at Trubodi and Jervis and a look of surprise crossed his face. "Who’s this young man?" he asked. "Trubodi I have seen before and know well, but the other...?" Trubodi bobbed his head and smiled at the acknowledgement. Jervis, offended, drew himself up. "I am Jervis FitzHugh, squire to John..." he began, but Guy stopped him with a gesture. "Not here!" he said in a low voice. "The name you are about to say so loudly will not have many followers inside these walls. Go with Trubodi." He turned back to Monchesny. "Lead me to Lord Hugh," he said. "I’ll vouch for the young man, and when you hear of the part that he played in today’s events, you will know why."

* * *

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Belaset’s Daughter Monchesny knocked on the great oak door which barred their way. There was no sound from the other side, but suddenly the door swung open. A manservant peered out at them, recognised at least one of the visitors, and stood aside without a word. They entered a massive, high-ceilinged room, richly furnished with wall-hangings and heavy, carved furniture. A fire roared in the fireplace set into the wall opposite the door, and a man sat forward in his chair beside it, as they came in. He stood and walked towards them, a smile on his face, and his arms out in welcome. "Guy, you’re back with us! What news of our friends and Dispenser.

our enemies?" said Hugh

"My lord," said Guy, bowing formally. "The news is not good, I regret to say. I’m sorry to tell you that we have failed to carry out your plan." He hesitated, unsure what to say next. Hugh’s face had changed and darkened. He dropped his arms, and placed both hands on his hips. Guy could feel the man’s displeasure mounting and readied himself for the outburst. Before it could happen, Monchesny stepped forward. "My Lord Hugh," he began. "Guy has done his best. The fault does not lie with him, but with someone on this City perhaps within the Tower who has betrayed us." "Well? Speak on!" said Hugh. He did not change his stance, but still loomed threateningly over them. His shadow, thrown in front of him by the flames of the fire, flickered about their feet and legs. "My lord," began Guy again. He cleared his throat nervously, then took a deep breath and stood very upright. "We came across the Channel, on the same boat as the woman Judith. We had help from the local fishermen, who bear no love for the Jews, or for the merchants and seafarers who ferry their goods to and fro. We were also helped by some of the crew on Master Bonami’s ship, who agreed to "imprison" us in the hold of the ship, for payment. When we reached this side of the Channel, we were allowed to escape from the hold, and took the woman from her cabin as she slept. We put her over the side, into a small boat, and rowed ashore. Then we were escorted from there to London, staying overnight in a well-wisher’s barn. Still, Judith was with us. As we crossed London Bridge from Southwark, our party was divided by a carter, whose horses suddenly took fright. In the m l e, the woman escaped. Jervis pursued her, but was unable to find her, so I decided we should come to you and tell you what had happened. We have no idea where she is..." His voice tailed off. Hugh Dispenser was looking at him with a smile on his face. The smile grew broader, until a chuckle started. Finally, Hugh threw back his head and roared with laughter. The others gaped at him and then at each other. What was so amusing about this story of failure? Why was he taking it so good-humouredly? "My Lord Hugh," ventured William Monchesny at last. "Will you please tell us what is so amusing?"

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Belaset’s Daughter Hugh wiped his eyes with his hand, still chuckling. "You lost her on this side of the Thames, and you don’t know where she is?" he said. "You’ve lost your wits as well, both of you!" He looked at the two puzzled faces. "This is the City of London," he said, pityingly. "Judith is Jewish. Now where a Jewess go for safety, here in the City of London, but to the Jewry?"

would

"But where in the Jewry?" said Guy. "It doesn’t matter where," said Monchesny, smiling with relief. "It’s a small and welldefined area. We can search it easily, with only ourselves to know whom we seek, and our most trusted men. A small party you, Guy, myself and six others will be sufficient." "I wish my man, Trubodi, to be part of any such group, and also Jervis FitzHugh. His pride is sorely dented, since he lost sight of her. He feels he is responsible," said Guy. "Agreed!" said Hugh Dispenser, promptly. He turned to Monchesny. "I leave it to you to carry out the search. Pick men you can trust, but tell them as little as possible. As far as they know, we’re looking for yet another troublesome Jew, who threatens Earl Simon’s plans. Come back to me when you have the woman." He gestured his dismissal. Monchesny bowed, and Guy followed his example. They left the room together. Outside, Monchesny led the way down the steps and along a covered walk. He flung open another door. Heads turned as they walked into the room. A group of men were seated at the table in the middle of the room, throwing dice. The fire in the room did little to remove the chill of the bare stone walls. A row of chests along one side had helmets and breastplates piled on top of them. Short, heavy broadswords hung along the wall. Crossbows were stacked in another corner, leaning against the wall, with the lethal bolts which were fired from them ranged beside them. Seeing who it was, some of the men started to rise, but Monchesny waved them back down again. He strode over to the table and sat on the end of the bench. The men on the other side moved closer together, so that Guy could join them on that bench. Monchesny placed his forearms on the table and leant on them, as he looked at the men. "Who would relish a hunting trip?" he asked. "Where?" said a voice. "In the Jewry," said Monchesny. There was a roar of approval and voices clamouring to be included. Monchesny held up his hand for silence. "We need only four of you," he said. He pointed to a group at the far end of the table. "You four," he said. "Have you finished your duties for today?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "Aye, sir," said one of them, a burly, older man, with an air of some authority about him. "Then get yourselves ready and meet us at the main gate in ten minutes," said Monchesny. He stood and walked out. They could hear the murmur of speculation start behind them before the door had closed. "Will we find her today?" asked Guy, as they walked together. "Most likely, but if not, we’ll look again tomorrow," said Monchesny. "We must make a start today or tonight, rather." He glanced up at the sky, which was just beginning to show the red streaks of sunset. "We can spend at least an hour looking," he said. "Coming in the night will startle the Jews more than coming by day. In daylight we would be seen and word spread before we were near the Jewry. These people have a way of sending messages which is speedier than any I know." He broke off to hail a boy crossing the yard in front of them. "Go and find two men called Trubodi and Jervis FitzHugh and bid them join us at the main gate, boy," he said. The boy looked mystified. "Where do I find them, master?" he said, timidly. "In the kitchens or the stables, I should guess," said Monchesny, carelessly. The boy ran off. Guy laughed. "If Jervis has indeed been forced to spend his time in either of those places, we shall see some ruffled feathers, when he joins us," he said. "Master FitzHugh has a very high opinion of himself." "Then it’s time he was shown how small he is and how large is the world," said Monchesny. He called to another lad and sent him to the stables in search of their horses. As they stood waiting, Guy looked around him. The size of the Tower was amazing. King Henry had added to the buildings, he knew, but just the Conqueror’s Tower was enormous. It gleamed above them, the white stone making it loom larger still in the twilight. "It does impress, doesn’t it?" said Monchesny. "Indeed it does," returned Guy. "But impressive appearances can sometimes mask unseen weaknesses." Monchesny laughed and slapped his shoulder. "Now who can you have in mind?" he said.

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Belaset’s Daughter "The same person as you, I imagine," said Guy. "It’s no secret that our King’s formidable appearance masks a weak and indecisive mind. Why else would he go running off to France for support from Louis?" Monchesny looked around. "It’s never wise to speak such thoughts too loudly," he said. "Even here there will be ears which belong to those with different ideas." Guy looked his surprise. "Surely you check who comes into these walls?" he said. "We do as far as we’re able," replied Monchesny. "But think do people in Henry’s camp?"

we not have our own

It was true, Guy knew. Yet, somehow, he had not thought that the reverse might also be true. Now that he considered it, he saw how likely it was. The carter on the bridge, his own drugging, other incidents too small to notice on their own: how else could they occur, except by someone finding out what the movements of the other side were likely to be? Sometimes it was possible that their plans were overhead by chance, but sometimes the knowledge could only have been gained by some traitor among them deliberately passing on what he had heard. The clatter of hooves roused him. The lad was bringing their horses, and behind him came Jervis FitzHugh, already mounted. His colour was high and his brows drawn together in a frown. As he drew level with the two men, he jerked at the reins, so that this horse tossed its head and jingled the bit. He halted, and sat with his back arrow straight, looking down his nose at them both. "Sir William, I present to you Jervis FitzHugh, who escorted us from Lewes," said Guy, formally. Jervis bowed coldly. "Master FitzHugh," said Monchesny, equally formally, but with twitching lips. "I trust you have been well looked after?" "I have received food and drink, Sir William, although under somewhat coarser conditions than those in which I normally receive them, I thank you," said Jervis, still very correct. "I regret that the temporary nature of our quarters did not permit us to treat you more courteously," said Monchesny seriously. There was a muffled snort from Guy. "Your regrets do much to redress the situation," returned Jervis graciously. Guy laughed out loud, and Monchesny could not resist a broad grin. Jervis looked at them in disgust, then gazed into the distance, over their heads.

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Belaset’s Daughter Luckily, at that point, Trubodi joined them. He seemed to have fully recovered from the exertions of the day, and sat his horse as though he could barely restrain himself from digging his heels in and galloping off at top speed. He looked eagerly at Guy. "Where to now, master?" he said. "Wait until the others are here, and let Sir William tell us all," said Guy. Monchesny pointed to where the four foot soldiers were approaching them across the courtyard. The men looked ready for anything, in their leather jerkins and iron helmets. Their short swords were at their sides and each man had a dagger stuck into his swordbelt. They marched in step and drew up smartly, on the command, in front of Monchesny. He looked them over and nodded approvingly, then looked up at the others. "Here’s the plan," he said. "The Jewry is, as you know, a small space of a few streets only. One hour should give us time to search every house, if necessary. We’ll approach the area quietly, so as to avoid notice. That means it would be better if we didn’t all arrive at the same time. I want Guy, Trubodi and two of you men to go to the north side; the rest of us will go to the south. We’ll sweep round the outer street, then meet in the middle, by coming in at each end. Keep watch for anyone trying to slip away, specially from houses which have already been searched, to warn other families." He paused and Guy placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have something to add to your plan, if I may," he said. The other man nodded and Guy looked round the group. "We’re looking for someone who we know has a message for the King," he said. "It’s a woman. Under no circumstances is any harm to befall her is that clear?" There was a murmur of surprise from the foot soldiers. Monchesny nodded briskly. "Nothing will happen to her, when she is captured," he said. "She’ll be escorted straight back here and lodged for the night. Any man with any other ideas will be severely punished. Before we start, are there any questions?" There was no response. Satisfied, he divided the four soldiers the sergeant and one other with Guy and Trubodi, the other two with Jervis and himself. He turned to the sergeant. "I trust you to guide our friends to the far side of the Jewry," he said. "Once there, search every house and their synagogue thoroughly. Take no excuses and leave no house, until you are satisfied the woman is not there. They will curse you, but remember they cannot harm you with their words and it is not their way to use weapons. We’ll meet outside the house of their leader, Benjamin Yechiel, whose house I will search myself. One group should have the woman with them by then."

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Belaset’s Daughter He nodded curtly at them, then led off towards the gates. The others trotted silently behind him, with the foot soldiers running one beside each horse. They went under the arch and across the drawbridge. Once more, they headed down Thames Street, passing again the entrance to London Bridge. Guy looked down it, quieter now that darkness was coming, but still with some traffic on it, hurrying across before the way was barred by the great gates, which were closed each night. A short way past it, Monchesny held up his arm for them to halt. He turned in his saddle and spoke in a low voice, but one which the group could all hear. "This is where we part," he said. "Guy and Trubodi, the sergeant and two of his men will take you round past the Black Friars and into the Jewry from the north. We’ll start just here, and sweep round and up until we reach the top, then we will come back down the middle and meet you there. Good luck!" He urged his horse on and Jervis followed, making a cheerful salute to the others, his injured pride apparently forgotten in the excitement of the moment. "And good hunting to you, my lord!" said Trubodi to his master. Guy smiled wryly, knowing it was no slip of the tongue.. He squared his shoulders and gathered up the reins of the horse more firmly. "Well, sergeant, we are in your hands," he said to the man beside him. "Lead us to the first house, and let’s hope that this job will be finished quickly and easily!" The sergeant looked at him. "You have no stomach for this, I think, sir?" he said, shrewdly. "No, not much," said Guy. "I prefer to fight openly, in battle, with both sides equally matched. I find no excitement in frightening people who think themselves safe in their homes." "But these Jews..." began the other man. "These Jews are also families and people who have done me no harm," said Guy. "Why should I harm them? Still, we must find the woman who spies for Henry." "And who is a Jew," said the sergeant. Guy nodded. "Yes," he said. They went down Thames Street a little further, then turned right, along the outside of a high wall which bordered the Black Friars’ house. Following it until it ended, they turned right again and entered the first street of stone houses. They were in the Jewry.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In the narrow streets of the Jewry, the horse walked forward, its head drooping with fatigue. The rider on its back leaned forward in a similar posture, leaving the direction of the beast to the young man who led them, his hand on the bridle. He halted them before one of the largest houses in the street. Judith jerked awake at the cessation of movement, and straightened up wearily. She could see nothing but the solid wooden door at the entrance of the house, flanked by windows with metal screens in front of them. She looked around. There was no sound in the street, now that the horse was still. Other houses stood on either side of the one they had stopped at, all equally forbidding. The daylight was going fast, and the narrowness of the street made the shadows even longer than they would have been outside. As well as the silence, there was another marked contrast to the raffish, bustling places she had been brought through to get here. There was little rubbish in the street, and no children, or livestock to snuffle at her feet. The young man who had brought her here shifted from foot to foot, whether from cold or impatience she could not tell. Through the haze of her fatigue, she focused on him. "Are we there?" she asked. He nodded and held out his hand. "I have no money left to give you," she said. "I should have known!" he said. "Another fool, in debt to them! And now going even deeper!" He jerked his head towards the house as he spoke, then spat contemptuously, before turning on his heel and stalking off. Judith watched him go, noting the frayed cloth of his cloak and the worn shoes. She would have given him any money she had, to reward him for bringing her safely to this place. "Wait!" she called. He stopped, then came back to her, slowly. She reached inside her cloak and found the knife which she had kept with her throughout her journey. It was small and light, with a long tapered blade, sharpened to a lethal degree. The young man’s eyes widened as he saw it. She held it out to him by the blade. "Here," she said. "I have nothing else of value to give you, so I do not fear being your first victim. I am not in debt, just without coin upon me. Take this as payment, with my gratitude."

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Belaset’s Daughter He stretched out his hand towards the knife hesitantly. The hand wavered, within inches of the handle, before he withdrew it again. A red flush crept across his face as he looked up at her. She held out the knife further. "Well," she said, impatient to be rid of him. "Take it!" Slowly, he raised his hand again, and this time took the proffered handle. He looked at the knife intently, then back at Judith. Shaking his head, he thrust the knife back at her, so that he almost cut her hand, then turned and strode away, his gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. Judith stared after him, then shrugged her shoulders and dismounted. Approaching the door of the house, she rapped sharply. There was a pause, then the door was opened by a manservant. He eyed what he thought was a young man, wrapped in a rich cloak, with no great interest. "Yes, master?" he said, civil enough, but no more. "Is this the house of Rav Benjamin Yechiel?" asked Judith, speaking as much like a young man as she could manage. Even so, the servant looked at her oddly. "It is," he said. Then, after a moment of indecision, he stood aside. "Enter and welcome," he said. Judith touched the mezuzah fixed to the right lintel of the doorway as she entered. The servant, seeing the gesture, smiled with sudden warmth and led her into a small room on the right. "Rest a moment, while I tell the master you are here," he said. "Your name, please?" "Tell him that I am from Lewes in Sussex, and I bring news of his son’s betrothed," said Judith. "My name and news are for his ears alone." The servant bowed and withdrew. Judith sat down beside the fire which was blazing in the hearth and threw back the hood of her cloak. In the silence and warmth, she sat thinking about the events of the day. Her head nodded forward and she jerked upright again. The door opened suddenly, startling her awake, and a small man bustled in. His beard was streaked with pure white and his hair fell to his shoulders. He wore a yarmulke perched on the back of his head, its shape almost hidden in the mass of hair which flourished around it. His energy radiated into the room and he almost ran to Judith. "Judith, it is you!" he said, gleefully. "I was almost sure it was, before I came in." His expression changed to one of anxiety, as he took in her obvious tiredness and the travel-stained cloak and dusty hose. "Come, come," he said, his arm around her as he raised her gently from the chair in which she sat. "you are worn out. Come and eat, then some sleep, and in the morning you can tell us your story." "I must tell my story now," said Judith, weakly, as she was helped to her feet. She leant heavily on Benjamin’s arm, despite the difference in height. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "No, not now," said Benjamin, waving away the very idea with his other arm. "Sleep eat explain , in that order!" To her mortification, Judith burst into tears. Benjamin soothed and patted her, as he led her upstairs and into another room as warm as the first. Here was a bed, with a chest at the end of it. Another fire burned brightly, and heavy shutters barred the window. She was set gently down on the bed, while Benjamin disappeared, leaving the door open. She could hear him calling for Dorcas, his wife, and a woman’s voice answered faintly. A conversation between the two was carried on, in voices too low for Judith to hear what was said. In any case, her weariness would not be denied this time. With a sigh, she collapsed sideways and was asleep immediately. Downstairs, Dorcas and Benjamin continued their conversation. "It is Judith, I assure you my dear," he said. "But how does she come to be on our doorstep alone?" said Dorcas. "I had no word she was coming." Benjamin’s face creased into a frown. "I cannot tell," he said. "She was exhausted and in no condition to tell her story. She burst into tears as soon as I spoke kindly to her." Dorcas sighed in sympathy. "The poor girl!" she said. "I must go to her..." She left the room and went up to where Judith lay sleeping. Seeing the utter exhaustion in that sleep, Dorcas gently lifted the girl’s legs onto the bed. Judith groaned slightly, but did not stir. Dorcas covered her with a fur from the chest and left her to wake in her own time. Downstairs, she returned to Benjamin, her face full of concern. "You were right, she is worn out," she said. "We must wait for her story." "Whatever has happened to her, she is safe here with us," he said. "we can send a message to Belaset and tell her..." He broke off and listened intently. There was the sound of hooves outside, and shouting. Even muffled by the thick stone walls, it was clear that there was some kind of disturbance going on. He went to the window and peered out cautiously. Two houses away, there were soldiers at the door, struggling with an elderly man, who was obviously trying to prevent them entering his house. Another man sat astride a horse, urging them on. Finally, the old man was pushed aside and reeled back against the doorpost, as the soldiers forced their way past him. Benjamin turned back to Dorcas. "There is a search going on!" he said. "It might be Judith they are seeking we hide her!"

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must

Belaset’s Daughter "How can it be?" said Dorcas. "What can Judith have done that involves soldiers? She is a woman!" "And travelling in men’s clothes!" said Benjamin, grimly. "We cannot take a chance. She has been involved in something, that’s certain." As he spoke, he hurried his wife back upstairs to where Judith lay, oblivious to all that was happening. Benjamin strode into the room and shook her by the shoulder, urgently. She opened her eyes and stared at him, then started up, with a look of fear, as she saw the expression on his face. "Judith," he said. "You must come with us to a safe place. There are soldiers searching the Jewry might they be looking for you?" She nodded her head, mutely. "Come with us, " Benjamin repeated. "We will hide you quickly!" He grasped her arm, pulling her to her feet. Dorcas darted forward and snatched up the cloak which Judith had discarded as she lay down. She flung it round the girl’s shoulders. The three hurried downstairs again and turned toward the back of the house. As they did so, the door at the back opened, and a young man ran in, slamming it shut behind him. He stood with his back pressed against it, breathing heavily, but smiling triumphantly at them. "Aaron!" cried Dorcas, joyfully. He strode forward and hugged his mother, hard. Benjamin slapped his shoulder, with a look of relief on his face. "We thought you might be caught by the soldiers," he said. "Not I!" said Aaron, cheerfully. He threw of his hood, and a mop of black curls fell forward over his face. Judith felt her stomach give a strange little lurch. This was Aaron? This was the earnest youth she remembered? And she was betrothed to him he was seeing his life companion clad in men’s clothes, exhausted and travel-stained. Ah, well, he would never see her looking worse than this, she thought. "We must hide Judith!" said Benjamin, urgently. "I am going to take her..." "You will take her nowhere," said Aaron, firmly. "I will take her to Milk Street, while you delay the soldiers. They will be here very soon." He turned to Judith. "Come with me, and keep close behind me," he said. "But how can we go anywhere?" said Judith, in bewilderment. "Surely, the soldiers are in every street? We cannot leave here." "Not by the door," said Aaron. "But under the house!"

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Belaset’s Daughter He darted into the kitchen, and Judith followed. There were two other servants there, apart from the man who had let her in. Aaron gestured to him and together they dragged a heavy settle to one side. Then, on one knee, Aaron levered up a flagstone from the floor. A dark pit gaped under it, with a ladder just visible to one side. The manservant, still without speaking, took a burning branch from the fire, and handed it to Aaron. Taking it, he climbed swiftly down the ladder. Judith followed, as quickly as she could. No sooner had her head sunk below the level of the floor, than the manservant lowered the flagstone back into place. It fell to with a soft thud, and she could hear the settle being dragged back into position. She felt her feet touch the earthen floor of the passage and turned round. Aaron, the torch held high, had already begun to walk away from her, along a dank, odorous tunnel. The flickering light added to the horror of the walk, as it lit damp, stained walls, oozing with slime. The smell was of the cesspit and she breathed as shallowly as possible, to avoid inhaling the noisome reek of it. She noticed that they were walking along a brick-lined way, which seemed to be of great age. She saw a movement and looked down, to see a rat scuttling away from the light, across her path. Horror and bile rose in her throat and she fought them both down, mastering the urge to retch at the sight of the rat and the stench of ordure. She concentrated on Aaron’s back in front of her, and hurried as fast as she could, thankful that he was setting such a pace. After no more than five minutes, he stopped and waited for her to catch up with him. he pointed upwards and she gazed up and saw another entrance above them. For the moment she could not see how they were to get to it, until the torchlight showed a series of iron rungs set in the wall, leading to it. Giving her the torch, Aaron climbed nimbly up them and rapped a signal on the underside of the stone covering the exit. Nothing happened immediately, then there was a strip of light visible, which gradually became wider, as the stone was lifted up. A face peered down at them, framed in tousled red hair. The a brawny arm grasped Aaron and pulled him up, out of the hole. he leaned back in, and Judith handed up the torch. He held it so that she could see her footing on the rungs, then held out his hand to her, as she reached the top. When she stood safely beside him, he threw the brand on the fire which burned in this room, then helped the man who had let them out replace the stone over the passage entrance. This room was some kind of study, Judith could see. There was a large desk, with a sloping top, covered in writing materials. The walls were bare and whitewashed, with candle burning in brackets. A heavy curtain in rich velvet broke the purity of the whiteness and covered the doorway, she guessed. It was warm and cosy and quiet. Her host was dressed in a long gown, made of some rich stuff and edged with fur. The state of his hair was explained as he ran his hands through it, making it stick up more wildly than ever. He shook his head at Aaron, in mock despair. "And who are you escaping from this time?" he said. "Leading another astray with you, I see!"

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Belaset’s Daughter "Soldiers," said Aaron, briefly. "This is my cousin she is in danger of some kind, but I know no more than you at the moment. I arrived home just as the search for her began, and offered to bring her to safety. I hope I did not presume too much, in bringing her here?" The other’s face had grown serious, as Aaron explained. He pursed his lips, then shook his head slowly. "You did not presume at all!" he said, emphatically. "We are all for Henry here, as you know." He turned to Judith with a kindly smile, and put out both hands to her. "Whatever you have done, you had good reason to do, I am sure," he said. "Tell me what you can, and then what you need. I will do my utmost to help you and to keep you from de Montfort’s grasp." Aaron stepped forward and put his arm around Judith’s shoulders. "Judith," he said. "This is my good friend Gregory, from whom I have no secrets, and in whom I trust utterly. Tell him what he asks you will have no cause for regrets." Judith looked at them both and considered. Certainly, she needed help. She knew noone in the City, save the Yechiels; she was in danger of being recaptured by de Montfort’s men; and Aaron trusted this Gentile sufficiently to bring her to him. Gregory himself had said that he was for the King, before knowing who she was what else could she do but trust him? She took a deep breath. "Master Gregory," she began. "I am a messenger, sent by William Foville, Prior of St Pancras in Lewes, to King Henry, while he was in France. I was to receive a message from the King for Foville. De Montfort’s men have had me in their grasp, but, as you see, I have managed to elude them and find my way to Aaron’s family. My one desire is to return to Lewes as quickly as possible, so that I may deliver the King’s message to Prior Foville." She paused, uncertain what to say next. Gregory looked at her, rubbing his face thoughtfully. "So," he said, at last. "You need help to get out of the City again and back to Lewes. Do you know the way?" She shook her head. "No," she said. "And I would not know who, or where, to ask." "In that case," he went on. "You will also need a guide. Well, there is no point in starting out now, and you must be hungry and tired. I suggest we all have something to eat, then the two of us and Aaron, if he will " he said, hurriedly, forestalling that young man’s interjection, "will start out in the morning, as early as we can." "But the soldiers..." said Judith.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Tush, madam, even these soldiers will never dare look here, on Church property!" said Gregory, exchanging an amused glance with Aaron. "Church property?" said Judith, bewildered. "Tell her where she is, my friend," said Gregory to Aaron. "You said we were in Milk Street," said Judith. "And so we are," he answered. "In a house rented to Gregory by one William Foville, Prior of St Pancras, Lewes, to whom the property belongs." "Now do you understand why Aaron brought you here?" said Gregory. She nodded dumbly, too amazed by what she had heard to answer. "I wonder," said Gregory, slowly. "How trustworthy is that ship’s captain, who was so ready to take you across the Channel." "He was a friend of my helpers in France!" protested Judith. "But with whom else was he friendly?" said Gregory. "Was he there by accident, or by design?" "How could he have known that I would be taken there and by those people?" she said. "It’s not impossible that you were allowed to get away from the ambush that, in fact, you were never meant to be captured there at all. And once driven to take shelter in Abbeville, what other part of the coast would you be taken to, if not the nearest?" "So everything might have gone exactly as somebody had planned," interrupted Aaron. "Until Judith escaped on the bridge." "Correct!" said Gregory. He turned to Judith. "Did they find the message?" he said. She shook her head. "It is well hidden," she said, with a wan smile. "I have memorised it." "They have the means of getting into the mind of anyone, as well as searching the person by more conventional methods," said Gregory. "There is a package for them to find," said Judith. She put her hand inside her tunic and drew it out. It was a small pouch of soft kid, drawn tight at the mouth. From the tie, a small seal dangled. "And yet they did not find that?" said Gregory. "I was not searched," she said. "Guy de Montfort took great pains to assure me that I was safe from him and his companions." "Strange," said Gregory, musingly. He stared at the floor, obviously thinking hard, then looked up, with a determined expression on his face. "There is something very odd here,"

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Belaset’s Daughter he said. "I cannot yet understand everything that has happened to you, other than to know that it is far more complicated than it appears. One thing I am certain of you must not linger here in London, but must return to Lewes with all speed, for your own safety, at least. Possibly there is more to this message than we can know." "I cannot tell you the message," said Judith. "And I do not want to know it!" said Gregory. "The fewer that know, the less chance there is of it reaching the wrong ears." He turned to where Aaron stood waiting, warming himself in front of the fire. "We will have horses ready as soon as it is light," he said. "We will make our way back to Lewes with all speed but we must be careful crossing the bridge, in case there are soldiers posted to watch all travellers. If we leave early, we can get all the way to Lewes within the day. Meanwhile, eat and rest here. I will make arrangements." He hurried from the room.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWELVE

Slowly and quietly, Gregory opened the massive oak door and peered round it. The street appeared devoid of life, in the grey light of the dawn. Nothing stirred, but the cold was enough to sting his lungs, as he took a deep breath of relief. He turned to Judith and Aaron, waiting anxiously behind him, and nodded. The three well-muffled figures slipped out of the house. Gregory led the way along the street, to where it intersected with West Cheap. He held up a hand to halt the other two, and looked carefully in each direction. Again, there was nobody to be seen, far less to challenge them. They walked quietly and swiftly along the street, past the empty shopfronts, barred and shuttered at this hour. The silence was unnerving. Compared with the bustle and noise of West Cheap in its normal daytime guise, this was eerie. Involuntarily, Judith shivered, and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. Gregory crossed over to the other side of the street and darted down a side alley. He was so swift that the other two almost overshot the turning. It was still shadowed down here, the rising sun’s feeble rays not likely to penetrate for hours yet, if at all. Squinting to see, Judith could just make out the figure moving in front of her, still walking briskly almost, indeed, trotting in his haste. A faint suspicion stirred in her mind. Where were they being taken? What about the promised horses? She dismissed the thought. Aaron trusted this man, and Aaron knew him. She knew that no Jew would betray another, so Aaron would not betray her. In any case, she was his betrothed: the whole idea was ridiculous! They were going downhill, she realised. It must mean that they were heading toward the river. Once across, they would be much safer than on this side, and then they could make good time, as Gregory had said. He had stopped, she saw, and was waiting for them to catch up with him. When they did, he was smiling at them, and gesturing to a boat, which lay rocking at the water’s edge. In it sat a man so muffled as to be unrecognisable. His hood was pulled well forward, shadowing his face. His hands, wrapped in cloths, gripped the oars. Again, Judith felt uneasy. Something was wrong, but she could not say what. Aaron seemed quite happy, putting out his hand to shake Gregory’s, and expressing gratitude. "Are you not coming with us?" said Judith. Gregory shook his head. "Here is your guide," he said, pointing to the boatman. "Horses have been arranged for you on the other side of the river. The signal was sent last night, whilst you were eating."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Our thanks to you, old friend," said Aaron. "You have put us both in your debt." "It was for my own selfish pleasure," said Gregory, cordially. "I have no wish to lose a good friend. I hope that you and Judith will soon be with me again, but in happier circumstances. Until then goodbye, and God protect you both!" He stepped forward and held out his hand, to help Judith into the boat. She was in and seated in the stern, before Aaron followed. The boatman stood and pushed off from the shallow water, helped by a parting shove on the prow from Gregory. He stood, one hand upraised in a brief wave of farewell, as they drew away from him. The boatman rowed skilfully out into midstream, then let the current take them along for a while, resting on his oars. He faced them, but said nothing, simply gazing down into the bottom of the boat. He began rowing again, and they moved rapidly, the combination of the man’s vigorous rowing and the current making them shoot along through the water at speed. They were rowing upstream, Judith realised, away from the City and towards Westminster. "Where are you taking us?" she asked. The man shook his head at her and made no other answer. "Answer her," said Aaron. "Why are you taking us so far from the City before we cross to the other bank?" There was still no response, other than the shake of the hooded head. The man continued rowing doggedly, his rhythm unbroken. Judith felt Aaron move beside her, and put her hand on his arm. "Not here," she said, quietly. "Wait until we are safely on dry land again. The further we get from the bridge, the safer we are." He sat down again. "I hope you’re right!" he said, grimly. Their silent companion had been glancing to his side occasionally, to check their progress. This time he looked across, then stared intently, as though to make sure that this was the place he was seeking. As he leant forward, a breeze lifted the hood away slightly and Judith could see his profile. She gasped and he hurriedly turned back again. "I know you!" she said. "Aaron, this man is one of those who brought me to London. He was with Guy de Montfort!" Aaron sprang forward in the boat and ripped the hood back. The young man made no attempt to stop him, but grinned at him and carried on rowing. Judith, fearful of upsetting the boat, could do nothing but grip the seat on which she sat, as they rocked violently in the middle of the river. "You are upsetting the lady," said Jervis FitzHugh. "And if you do not sit down again, you may well upset us all!"

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Belaset’s Daughter Aaron knew he was right, and backed away again, to sit down beside Judith. Jervis began to row across the current, turning the boat towards the opposite bank. As they drew nearer, they could all see three horses, apparently hobbled, cropping contentedly at the grass. There was no sign of anybody near them. As the boat bumped on the muddy shoreline, Jervis shipped the oars and leapt nimbly out. He landed on the edge of the shallows, and gave the boat a single, powerful jerk, so that it was firmly grounded. "Walk to the prow," he said to the other two. "A jump will save you getting wet feet!" Judith and Aaron did as he instructed and landed safely beside him, on the muddy bank. As soon as he was on dry land again, Aaron lunged towards Jervis, his arm drawn back, ready to strike. As soon as his arm came forward, Jervis grasped his wrist in a vicelike grip. "I appreciate your wish to protect the lady," he said. "But you should listen to me before you knock me unconscious, do you not think?" Aaron wrenched his arm away. He stood beside Judith, glowering at Jervis, who smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment. "Well," said Judith. "What is your story? The last time we met, you were in the company of Guy de Montfort. Now we find apparently that you have decided to help those who are for the King." "No sudden decision, lady," said Jervis. "I have always been on the side of the King. I spend an inordinate amount of time pretending to be that which I am not it is pleasant to undertake a task for which I need no disguise." "But you were disguised, or concealing your identity, at least!" cried Judith. "Would you have stepped so meekly into the boat, had you seen me at the oars?" said Jervis. "You know you would not. We should have wasted considerable time, trying to convince you of my allegiance, there on the riverbank. You would have known who I was as soon as we landed here, had not the wind decided to help out earlier." He turned to the horses, still unconcernedly cropping grass, and bent to relieve them of their hobbles. "Come, my lady," he said, straightening and handing reins to Judith. "If we are to reach our destination today, we must start now." "Mount, Judith," said Aaron. "We have no choice but to trust him neither knows the way to take."

of us

"But how do we know that he is taking us back to Lewes?" said Judith, still standing firmly on the ground. "You don’t," said Jervis. "As Aaron says, you will have to trust me. I can only assure you that we are going to Lewes, and I am taking you to Foville. Perhaps, when he greets me, you will believe that I am an ally and not an enemy."

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Belaset’s Daughter He swung himself up and into the saddle of one of the horses, then waited while the other two followed suit. Turning the horses away from the river, they set off southwards. Judith twisted in the saddle and looked back. The sun had risen, and she could see the great bulk of Westminster Abbey dominating the other side of the Thames. She looked the other way and saw St Paul’s. Two great monuments to a religion preaching brotherly love, sheltering the hatred of man for man. They were now crossing part of the great marsh which lay on this side of the Thames, criss-crossed by smaller streams. Since neither she nor Aaron knew the safest route, they had no choice but to follow along in single file behind Jervis FitzHugh. He seemed to have some idea of the way, although the lightness of his touch upon the reins indicated that he was trusting his horse to make sure of safe footing, rather than trying to guide it himself. The land stretched out on either side, almost as far as they could see. To the left, on the horizon, they could make out the huddled shapes of the houses of Southwark, and the shape of London Bridge. It was still misty, and the moisture in the air quickly beaded their clothes. The damp seemed to penetrate even through Judith’s fur-lined cloak, and she shivered, drawing it about her more closely. The silence was oppressive, and the awkwardness of their progress made any attempt at talking impossible. Their voices would carry, they knew, if they called to each other, but they could not hear if they whispered. They rode on in gloomy silence, and Judith, placed between the two men, found herself drifting into a daydream, lulled by the slow pace of the horses and the rhythmic sound of their hooves, muffled slightly by the reeds and mud through which they travelled. Suddenly, Jervis’s horse stumbled, as its hoof plunged into a deeper hole. It began to flounder, and Jervis dug his heels into its sides, and turned its head, in an effort to free it. Judith’s horse danced sideways in fear, and she pulled hard and desperately on the reins, to make it halt. The beast stopped after a few paces and stood, trembling, and tossing its head. Behind her, she heard a gasping cry, and turned to see Jervis, his horse hopelessly trapped and being sucked down into the bog. The poor animal rolled its eyes, but made no sound. Jervis had freed his feet from the stirrups, and raised his legs high, swinging himself round in the saddle, so that he faced them. Beside her Aaron, still mounted, pushed past her. "Keep away, both of you!" gasped Jervis. "I am almost free!" But they could see that he was not. Aaron urged his horse forward, gently, and threw the reins forward, over the beast’s head. As they flew towards him, Jervis put out his hand, and managed to grasp them. Holding the mane, Aaron tugged at his horse, to make it back off. The beast seemed to understand what was required of it, and backed away from its struggling mate with a will. Despite the weight of Aaron on its back, it managed to make some progress, and hauled Jervis off the back of his horse just as it began to sink faster.

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Belaset’s Daughter Jervis was dragged on to the relative safety of the path and lay, exhausted by the struggle, dropping the reins he had clung to so fiercely. Judith dismounted carefully, and went to him. Aaron followed suit, giving his own horse a thankful caress on its neck, as he walked past. On her knees, Judith looked up at Aaron, then her eyes widened in horror, as she saw what was happening to Jervis’s horse. She clasped her hand to her mouth, and Aaron turned to see. The horse which Jervis had been riding just a few moments ago had now almost disappeared. Only the top of its head was visible, with its ears and the tuft of mane. There was a final stomach-turning gurgle from the mud, and it was all over. The bog heaved once more and the horse was gone completely. There was nothing to see. The three stayed where they were, too shocked to move. Judith could not turn her eyes away from the patch of marsh where it had happened. She fought off the nausea she could feel rising in he throat, and swallowed hard. Tears came to her eyes, and she brushed them angrily away. The movement broke the spell. "We must go on," she said to Aaron. He looked at her, his eyes also full of tears. Then he nodded, and bent over the still form of Jervis. He had begun to stir, after lying so still that Judith thought him unconscious. He groaned slightly, then rolled on to his back, opening his eyes. "Are you injured?" said Judith, anxiously. Slowly, he shook his head. "I don’t think so," he said, weakly. "But my arms are almost pulled from their sockets. Give me a moment, and I will try sitting up." Aaron bent towards him, holding out his arm. "Here!" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "We will help you to sit. If there are no bones broken, you can ride with me." Jervis tried to stretch out his arm towards him, but cried out with the pain. He shook his head. "My arms will not obey me for now," he said. "You will have to lift me on to the horse I cannot do it myself." Aaron changed his stance, and bent further, to pick Jervis up. As he lifted him, Jervis quietly fainted. Aaron placed him carefully across the horse, face down, in front of the saddle, then mounted the horse himself. He nodded to Judith. "It will be easier for him thus," he said. "He will not notice the bumps." "But we have no idea where to go," said Judith.

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Belaset’s Daughter "We know we must go south," said Aaron. "It is enough for now. We can use the sun as a guide, and, when Jervis comes round, he may feel able to guide us himself again. If not, at least we will be away from this place." Sadly, silently, they began again to cross the marsh, knowing nothing more than that they must move southwards, away from London. The day brightened, and they could see a path clearly marked in front of them. It wound its way, narrow but firm, between tussocky, coarse grass, where water flashed in the sunlight. It was going to be one of the first spring-like days of the year. Despite the horror so recently past, Judith felt her spirit lift slightly in the brightness. She looked about, straining to see somewhere which might offer shelter, however temporary. They walked forward steadily, the horses picking their way. The marsh was still all around them. There was grass, reeds, mud, water; nothing else. Occasionally, a bird flew overhead, but there was no other movement, apart from themselves. There was a damp, stagnant smell of rottenness. At last, in the distance, they saw some trees on a small rise. Imperceptibly, the ground firmed on either side of the path they had been following and they could feel the greater effort necessary for the horses to walk, as the slight upward slope began. Aaron urged his horse forward, until he was riding alongside Judith, instead of behind her. She gave a great sigh. "I shall never go into that place again, Aaron," she said, her voice breaking. "Nor I!", he answered. He reached across and touched her. "It was not your fault," he said. "But I am the reason why he had to go into the marsh in the first place," she said. Aaron shook his head. "There is no gain in trying to decide who is to blame. You would never have been in London in the first place, if Guy de Montfort had not captured you, and FitzHugh himself was one of the party who took you there," he said. "Do you believe he is for Henry after all?" said Judith. Aaron looked down at the still unconscious young man. "I think he is for Jervis FitzHugh," he said. "Whoever pays the most, buys his loyalty until a better price is offered." They were very near to the shelter of the trees. There were scarcely more than a dozen of them, forming a small coppice. The bare branches of February gave little protection, yet they felt safer once they had walked the horses in between the sturdy beech trunks. Aaron swung down, and slid Jervis’s inert body off the horse. He propped him against one of the trees, where he lay like a puppet without a puppet-master, his head slumped to one side, and his arms lying limply on either side of his body. Judith slid off her horse, rather than dismounting, and Aaron caught her. She leant against him for a moment, grateful for his strength, and felt his arms tighten around her. They stood together, both BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter finding comfort in the other’s nearness. As she raised her head to speak, Aaron bent his and kissed her firmly on the lips. She felt herself responding to the warmth of his mouth on hers and the odd tightening in her stomach came again. It was some moments before they separated. "Well," he said, smiling at her. We are betrothed, after all!" "And we have not yet had time to greet each other in a fitting manner," agreed Judith. "I think we have now?" said Aaron, his black eyes fixed on her grey ones. She nodded. "Yes, Aaron, we have now," she said, softly. Keeping an arm around her, he turned to survey their surroundings. The ground sloped away again slightly, on the other side of the trees. On their right, the stream widened slightly, into a small river. The path which they had followed thus far led across it from this side of the slope, and followed its course over what were more properly described as undulations in the landscape, rather than hills. "I think we must keep following the path until we reach somewhere with people in it," said Aaron. "Then we can get food, at least, and perhaps some help for FitzHugh. Now that the ground is firmer, I will lead the horse, with him on its back, to give the poor beast less weight to carry." They set off again. The ending of the marshes, with their grim atmosphere, and the memory of what had happened there, was a relief. The river chuckled past them, the sun shone and the birds sang. Now they could travel side by side, and both felt less anxious. The kiss had made them aware of each other in a different way. Judith had expected to feel some embarrassment, but there was none. It had seemed natural to be kissed now it seemed natural to discuss what they should do next between themselves. She welcomed the opportunity of sharing the decisions, and the relief of no longer struggling along on her own, unsure of whom to trust and whom to suspect. They were feeling the extreme fatigue that comes after a crisis. They breasted the next rise, and stopped by another coppice, as they saw what was on the other side. There was what looked like a well-used road in front of them, leading to a cluster of buildings to their left, about half-a-mile away. Aaron looked across to the right and Judith saw him stiffen suddenly. She leant forward and looked beyond him, to see what had caused his reaction. Coming towards them was a long column of riders, interspersed with carriages. The sun glittered on shields and weapons, as well as the armour of the front riders. The sound of hooves reached them, growing rapidly from a faint rumble to a louder beat, as the column came nearer. It seemed endless literally dozens of horses, then carts, then people on foot. There were several carriages, such as those which were used by ladies, with rich hangings , and beautifully-caparisoned horses to pull them. As they drew nearer, Judith

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Belaset’s Daughter could see that some of the riders, particularly those riding beside the carriages, were gorgeously dressed and carrying only the lightest of weapons. She gasped. "It is the King!" she said to Aaron. "King Henry is back from France but going? Where are we?"

where is he

She looked around in bewilderment. "They are heading towards that," said Aaron, pointing to the buildings on their left. "It must be a nobleman’s dwelling." Judith shook her head. "It is not fortified," she said. "No nobleman would live there. I think it must be a monastery or priory, such as the one in Lewes, which has William Foville as its Prior." She gripped Aaron’s arm in sudden excitement. "We must join them!" she said, gesturing at the riders passing in front of them. "If I can get my name before the King why, we are safe!" "If we simply gallop out, we shall be attacked," said Aaron. "And we cannot, in any case, because of our unconscious companion. We had better watch them, and, if they do go wherever that is," he nodded in the direction of the buildings," we can follow later and ask for shelter ourselves." "We shall be safe if we approach them slowly now," argued Judith. "We are two horses and three people one obviously sick, or in trouble. If we come out of these trees slowly, with one arm upraised in greeting, surely they will not see us as a threat? There are scores of them." Aaron shrugged. "If you think so," he said. "I do!" she retorted, and urged her horse forward out of shelter. Aaron followed, every muscle tensed, ready for instant action although what that might entail, he could not fathom. He and Judith both raised their right arms and waved them slowly. A sudden shout from the procession below them indicated that they had been seen. A group of riders detached themselves from the rest and came cantering towards then, drawing their swords as they did so. Aaron and Judith stopped the horses where they were, and waited. They could see that the group consisted of five men, all in light chain mail and helmeted. They held short, heavy broadswords in one hand, while the other held the reins. Judith, slightly in front of Aaron, could feel his tension coming in waves behind her, and willed him to keep still. The burden his horse carried was clear, as he stood beside it, one hand on its reins. The riders drew close and circled them, peering at them to make sure that they presented no danger. Judith raised her chin and stared back at them confidently. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "It s Belaset s daughter, by God!" said a voice. She turned to look at the rider who had spoken her name. He was a tall man, lounging easily on his horse, as though part of it. Pale eyes looked back at her, beneath the helmet, above a purposeful mouth. "Sir Roger de Tourney!" she said. "I am greatly relieved to see you." "But how come you here?" said de Tourney. "Were you not returning to Lewes from Amiens?" "That was my plan, Sir Roger," she said wryly. "But someone had other plans for my future. I was diverted to London and..." She looked round at the rest of the group. "...and I shall tell you the rest in private," she finished. De Tourney nodded in understanding. At that moment, Jervis stirred and moaned. De Tourney looked at him and then blinked, and bent closer. He straightened and looked harder at Judith. "It will be of great interest to me, to hear what you have to tell me," he said. "Meantime, we must escort you and your companions to shelter. The King stays in his chambers at Merton Priory tonight, and we will all find lodgings, food and warmth there with him. The monks will no doubt see to your friend. They are skilled in such matters." The other four riders had neatly positioned themselves behind Judith and Aaron’s horses, as they had been speaking. Now, guarded discreetly, but guarded nonetheless, they rode down the slope to join the column making its way along the road. The tail end was nearest to them, and the usual rabble of kitchen and stable boys pranced, shouted and fought its way along in the footsteps of their elders and (sometimes) betters. De Tourney took them along until they reached a cart, on which they laid Jervis, who seemed to have sunk into oblivion again. He was left in the charge of a fat, comfortable woman, who clucked in concern over him, as soon as he was placed near her. Once relieved of him, the other two were taken at a canter up the column towards the front. They passed other riders, similarly equipped to their escort, then the closed carriages which carried the noblewomen and their companions, then more riders, and then there came the cluster of gorgeously dressed men on horseback. Their armour gleamed, their surcotes were gaudily embroidered, their horses were clad in the same colours as their riders. Pennants fluttered about them, carried by eager squires. In the centre, laughing and talking, was a fair man, handsome despite the slightly drooping eyelid. Henry III, King of England, was enjoying himself, riding through his kingdom in the early spring sunshine, surrounded by friends and full of confidence.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They passed under the great gateway of Merton Priory and entered a maelstrom of noise and bustle. Travelling with the King’s entourage had seemed noisy enough, especially after the silence of the marshes, but here in the middle of the crowded courtyard it was deafening. Judith’s horse, knocked by another, snorted and Judith patted its neck soothingly. She sat tight and looked around her, wondering what she and Aaron should do. A movement caught her eye, and she looked to her left. De Tourney was standing up in his stirrups, gesticulating at her. She could see his mouth opening and shutting, but the sound of his voice did not reach her, let alone any words. Realising this, he waved at them to come in his direction. It seemed an impossible thing to do, but Judith began urging her horse forward, forcing people out of her path. She glanced behind her, and saw Aaron struggling along in her wake. It took several minutes to reach de Tourney, but they were beside him at last. He grasped Judith’s arm and, leaning towards her, shouted in her ear. "Go with my manservant," he said. "He will guide you to your quarters. I have told him to place you both near to me." She nodded and mouthed her thanks at him, but he waved her to go on with a smile. The servant, a beefy young man, with the biggest forearms she had ever seen, already had hold of her bridle and was gesturing to her to dismount. There was nothing for it but to do so in the middle of all the upheaval. Once down on the ground, with Aaron following her example, she grasped the back of the servant’s cloak and felt Aaron do the same to her. Thus linked, the three of them began to edge their way to the side of the courtyard. It seemed to take another age of pushing and shoving, easing past men and horses, ducking where necessary to avoid outflung arms, weapons and feet. All around her, Judith could hear scraps of conversation and shouted commands. She was deafened and bewildered. At last, they reached the wall in safety, and their guide opened a door and walked into the building. The heavy oak door banged shut behind them and the silence was as shocking as the noise had been. For a moment, there in the gloom, with the sudden total silence making her ears ring, she felt suffocated. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she saw that the passage stretched some way in front of her, and the manservant, some paces ahead, was smiling and beckoning. The oppressive feeling lifted and she stepped forward with more confidence. Aaron gave a great sigh of relief behind her. She put her hand out and he squeezed it once, then let it go again. The manservant led them up a flight of winding stone stairs, then stopped and opened another heavy oak door at the top. They entered a large, light room, with windows all

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Belaset’s Daughter along one side. Judith walked across and looked out , to find herself gazing straight down into the courtyard they had just left. The chaos showed signs of lessening, as horses were led away and men left to find their own quarters. The King had already gone, she noticed, and there was no sign of any of the nobles or their ladies. Just the soldiers and the young squires mingled with the ostlers and servants. As the ostlers tried to make sure that all the horses in their charge were safely stabled, the servants were equally frantic in their efforts to unload the contents of the wagons. Still, tempers were calming down, as more room became available, although here and there a sudden quarrel flared up. Arms were raised, faces darkened, and then, more often than not, a peacemaker would step in and resolve matters. Meanwhile, the squires were kept busy ordering the ostlers about, while the soldiers made their contribution to the noise by giving each other orders. Behind her, the manservant coughed discreetly. She turned back to him. "Do you wish me to convey any message to Sir Roger?" said the man, civilly. "I think not, other than my most grateful thanks," said Judith. "And that I await his instructions." The man nodded and turned on his heel. He glanced at Aaron and hesitated. "No, I have no message," said Aaron. "But I am glad to have made his acquaintance." The servant left them, closely the door quietly behind him. For a few moments, Judith and Aaron stood looking at each other. "Well," he said, at last. "Now what do we do?" Judith shook her head. "I cannot tell," she answered. "We can do nothing, until we know what Sir Roger wishes. It may be awkward for him to have us here or it may be of benefit." "Of benefit, surely!" said Aaron. "Now you can tell him what has happened to you how you were taken to London by Guy de Montfort and..." "And how Jervis FitzHugh was first with de Montfort, and then acting as my rescuer on the Thames?" said Judith. "Why not?" said Aaron, his face reddening suddenly with temper. "Because," said Judith, slowly, " we do not know two important things." "One was Jervis for de Montfort or for Henry?" said Aaron. Judith nodded. "And two?" he asked. "We must ask ourselves the same question of Roger de Tourney." she said. "He was surprised to see you, Aaron." Aaron shrugged.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Perhaps because he had never seen me before," he said. "Or perhaps because he expected you to be someone else," said Judith. "Like Jervis FitzHugh." Aaron was nonplussed for the moment, then nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "You could be right but how will we find out the truth?" "By watching and listening and trying to be everywhere at once," said Judith. "And by finding out what they have done with FitzHugh." "I can do that, but what can you do?" said Aaron. "You are a woman in a monastery. You might also be in danger. Now that I am here, there is no more need for you to take the risks that you have been taking." Judith sighed impatiently. "This is no time to be playing the gallant!" she said. "I have been picked for this task, and I have managed very well so far. As for being a woman in a monastery so far, only you, Jervis FitzHugh and de Tourney are aware of my sex." "What of the manservant who showed us here?" said Aaron. "I do not think he noticed anything odd about me," she said. "If he did, well, he is in de Tourney’s household and de Tourney can deal with him." They both jumped as the swift rat-tat-tat sounded on the door. Moving quietly, Aaron opened it slightly and peered out, then flung the door wide. Sir Roger de Tourney entered, then stood with his back to it, listening carefully, hand on sword. At last, satisfied that there was no-one behind him, he closed it behind him, and leant against it, surveying the room. He studied everything the windows, the fireplace, every piece of furniture, and the floor. At last, he turned his attention to Judith and Aaron. "Well," he said. "This should be fairly comfortable for one of you. But what shall we do with you, young man?" He turned to Aaron, with a smile. "I shall stay here also," said he, firmly. For a moment, de Tourney’s face hardened, then he was all affability again. "As you wish," he said. "I am sure we can arrange for food to be brought for two, as easily as for one." "We are to be kept in here?" asked Judith. De Tourney gestured airily. "For your own safety," he said. "And for how long?" said Aaron. "Well," said de Tourney. "Until we have decided what to do with you." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "You phrase yourself oddly, Sir Roger," said Aaron. "We are not your prisoners. M y understanding is that Judith is on your side on the King’s side, perhaps I should say." He stood waiting, watching for de Tourney’s response. He saw the other man’s fingers twitch, as his arm moved towards his sword. The tension between them was palpable. Judith, watching both men, was afraid of what would happen next. She moved suddenly, deliberately breaking the moment of threat, and saw them both pull back from each other’s unspoken challenge. "Be careful, my young hothead," said de Tourney, softly. "You are a stranger among us. Make sure of your friends and your enemies, before making clever comments." He turned to Judith. "I shall arrange for some food to be brought up to you," he said. "Meanwhile, I shall be with His Majesty shortly, when I shall explain that you are here, and in what circumstances. No doubt, he will wish to express his joy at your safety. He may also have further plans for you, since you are among us. The presence of your companion may be seen as useful, or not: the King will decide. I bid you good day." He nodded to them both, then left the room. Before closing the door, he put his head round it again. "The food will have been cooked in the priory kitchens," he said. "So you need have no fear of poisoning." He smiled widely at them and shut the door. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Judith turned to Aaron. "You will have to learn to mask your feelings better than that, if you are to help me," she said. "What do you mean?" said Aaron, angrily. "The man was gloating openly at our predicament!" ""And your reaction has now told him what he needed to know," said Judith, coldly. "He knows that we have our suspicions about his loyalty. You have managed to make us both an enemy, Aaron!" "He was already your enemy!" said Aaron, stung by her tone. "That may have been," said Judith. "But it was hidden enmity, and offered a degree of safety to me, because he was not sure how much I knew of his activities. Now we are a confirmed threat, and he will do his best to rid himself of us, as soon as he can. We must leave here!" "What about Jervis FitzHugh?" said Aaron, suddenly. "How safe is he? Where is he?" "We cannot worry about him," said Judith. "He is being looked after by others, and no longer our responsibility. The risks he takes are his own business. If his loyalty is to the

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Belaset’s Daughter King, he will have more friends here than enemies. If not, de Tourney will look out for him." Once again, someone knocked on the door, and Aaron opened it. Outside stood a manservant, bearing two bowls of steaming stew. Beside him, with a large ewer of wine in one hand, and two tankards in the other, stood Jervis FitzHugh. Laughing at their stunned expressions, he walked into the room and set the ewer and the tankards firmly on the table. The manservant followed, placed the bowls on the table in his turn, bowed, and withdrew, closing the door behind him. "Close your mouths, the two of you, before something unpleasant falls into them!" said Jervis, gaily, enjoying the effect his appearance had had on them. "Jervis how did you get here?" said Judith. "We saw you unconscious..." Jervis wagged a finger at her. "You saw me with my eyes closed," he corrected her. "I was not unconscious by the time they placed me in the wagon." "What happened to you, after we left you?" said Aaron. "I was about to ask the same question!" said Jervis. "You would seem to be almost prisoners." Aaron nodded. "We are," he said, grimly. "De Tourney suspects that we are privy to his true allegiance." "And tell him why he thinks that," said Judith, crossly. Aaron shrugged. "Judith thinks I was too open in displaying my own feelings," he said. "But I was worried about her safety..." Jervis snorted with laughter. "Worry about yourself, first!" he retorted. "Judith is used to taking care of herself she will not thank you for your gallantry." He turned to Judith, his eyebrows raised. "I think Aaron is having to learn a great deal about me in a very short space of time," she said. She laid her hand on Aaron’s arm. "I know and appreciate your concern for me, Aaron," she said. "But I have taken care of myself by avoiding trouble. It is not a man’s way but it has kept me safely, for most of that time."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Until recently," said Aaron sharply. "Even you cannot pretend that you were safe, when de Montfort’s son kidnapped you." She flinched. "No I may have been foolishly trusting," she said. "You do not have to remind me, Aaron..." Jervis interrupted, before a full-blown quarrel could erupt. "This is no time to start a feud!" he said. "We are not safe here, that’s certain." "But are we not in the King’s household, protected by his presence?" said Judith. "We are in his household, but it is a large one. There is room for those who would harm him to move undetected." said Jervis. "I have often been unsure of de Tourney’s precise allegiance but no longer. We must leave here as soon as possible. Somehow, I must get a message to someone whose loyalty is not doubted, so that the King may be told that my suspicions were correct." He went over to the door and tested the handle. It turned smoothly, and he opened the door a few inches. Still it made no sound. Satisfied, he closed it gently and turned back to them. "Eat and drink now," he said. "You can trust the food I saw it ladled from a communal pot, and I have followed it with the wine ever since. I am going to find our horses. Do you remember the way out of here, back to the courtyard?" "Yes," said Aaron. "Meet me there in ten minutes," said Jervis. "Avoid everyone else they may be in de Tourney’s pay. If you have to, knock down anyone who gets in your way." Before they had a chance to object, he was through the door and closing it softly as a whisper behind him. "Well," said Judith. "I suppose we had better eat. It may be a long time before we get another meal." Dubiously, they tried a spoonful each of the stew. It was thick and good, with herbs and dumplings, and a generous sprinkling of root vegetables, mainly turnip and carrots. The meat was tasteless, but at least it was not gamey nor was it pork, to their relief. For the sake of their health, they knew they could safely ignore the fact that it was not kosher, but eating pork would have been beyond both of them. They finished all the stew, and gulped some of the wine. it was thin stuff, probably what the brothers had themselves. The good wine would be served to the King and the Abbot of course. It was well-known that the princes of the church did not expect to have to obey the vows of poverty which bound their fellow-monks, any more than they did the vows of chastity or obedience.

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Belaset’s Daughter Feeling stronger and more cheerful, with full bellies, and warmed by the wine, despite its shortcomings, Judith and Aaron left the chamber. Even though it had held no real security, each sensed the other’s reluctance to leave. Judith felt for Aaron’s hand with her own and, comforted by the warm grasp, straightened her back and lengthened her stride to match his. Together, they ran back down the spiral steps, trying to make as little noise as possible. As they rounded the last corner, they paused. Aaron, on the step below Judith, poked his head round the side of the wall. The passage was empty. There were not more than a few steps between them and the open courtyard. They both took the last few steps in one leap, and sped along the passage. Judith could feel her heart beating rapidly with fear, and hear her breathing shaking with the force of it. She stood behind Aaron, as he opened the door quickly, then followed him out. For a few moments they stood, uncertain where to go, and waiting fearfully for someone to cry out their presence to the rest of the people bustling about. Nobody took any notice of them. Judith suddenly saw Jervis, coming towards them, leading three horses in casual manner, as though he was simply going about his duty. He had found a cloak somewhere, and had hidden his curls under an equally nondescript hat. She nudged Aaron. "There’s Jervis," she said. "Walk towards him, as if you have every right to be here. We will mount and be out of here unseen by any of de Tourney’s servants, if our luck will hold for just a few more minutes." Aaron nodded and, without speaking, did exactly as she had suggested. They reached the horses, and mounted them. Judith noticed that they were not the horses they had ridden into the Priory, but fresh-looking beasts. Best not to ask how Jervis had acquired them, or the saddles and bridles with which they were furnished. They rode quietly towards the gatehouse, with Jervis slightly behind her and Aaron beside her. To the casual onlooker, they were two young men of the King s party, accompanied by a manservant, going for an exploratory ride in the surrounding countryside. But underneath their placid exterior, all three were tense, waiting for the shout which would raise the alarm behind them.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Judith was convinced, afterwards, that the few seconds it took for the three of them to ride through the gatehouse and into the road were the longest she ever endured. The skin between her shoulders crawled and she could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck prickling. She looked nervously across at Aaron, who rode with his back as straight as it could possibly be. His lips were pressed firmly together, and he looked directly in front of him. On the other side, when she looked that way from under her eyelashes, she could see that even Jervis FitzHugh looked solemn for once. Then they were out and riding back along the road which they had travelled with the King and his court, less than two hours earlier. She eased her aching shoulders, and let the reins slacken in her hands. The other two kept their upright carriage, but she slumped slightly, relief making her feel weak. They had covered about half a mile, the road still straight ahead of them, when the shout which they had dreaded sounded behind them. Jervis twisted in his saddle and looked back. Behind him, he could see a figure gesticulating in the arch of the gatehouse. An arm was flung outward, a head bobbed up and down furiously, then the man disappeared. Jervis kicked his horse into a gallop. Aaron followed his example and Judith, nearly losing her seat in her efforts to control her excited horse, was after them in seconds. Gathering the reins again, she urged the horse forward with a squeeze of her legs, rather than a kick. Unnerved by the sudden movement on either side, it needed no more urging, but thundered after the other two. She snatched a backward glance herself, to see the first of a stream of horses pouring out of the Priory gate. There seemed to be ten or more of them, although it was difficult to tell in the short time she had to look back. Then she was straining forward again, as the three of them galloped as fast as they could to escape. If leaving caused such a response, being captured would mean incarceration in a less pleasant part of the Priory such as the mortuary. The road they were on branched, and Jervis led them off to the right. She had no idea where they were, or what might lie ahead. She supposed that Aaron was as ignorant as she about their surroundings. All they could do was trust Jervis FitzHugh to lead them away from their hunters and into a safe place. At least they were still on a well-marked highway, and not wandering about in the awful marshes which had so nearly taken his life. The ground was hard under the horses’ hooves, and the grass on either side was sparse and trampled by many travellers. It was obviously a main route to the Priory but from where?

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Belaset’s Daughter There was no time for wondering: all her concentration and energy were needed to control the horse in this mad, headlong flight. If it stumbled now if any of them stumbled it would mean the end of any chance of escape. She gritted her teeth, and kicked the horse’s flanks. It responded by stretching its neck and straining to gallop even faster. She was aware of Jervis ahead of her, and Aaron beside her. The three of them swept on, the sound of the horses’ thundering hooves and harsh breathing filling the air. She was aware of her fear, of speed, of noise, and the smell of sweat and leather. Every sense was strained to its fullest pitch. In her mind there was nothing but one long wordless scream. They were passing through some kind of small settlement. Vaguely, she was aware of buildings and heard squeals from pigs, a dog barking, and the rough shouting of men, mingled with the higher pitched voices of women. At the other end of the village, Jervis turned his horse to one side, and the other two followed suit. He had stopped them in the lee of a larger house than the rest. There was nothing beyond it but the open country again, with trees scattered singly mainly oak and beech. There was no shelter to be found for three horses and riders out there. Jervis had dismounted and stood at the corner of the house. He peered cautiously round the corner, then drew his head back again. Turning, he grinned up at them, spreading his arms wide and shrugging his shoulders. "No men, no horses!" he said. "It is as calm as the Sabbath out there." "It doesn’t sound very calm to me," retorted Judith. "The whole place is in complete uproar." She was right. The shouting, squealing and barking was still going on. They stood quietly where they were, hidden by the house. The pigs stopped first, then the dogs’ barking became more infrequent. The three fugitives could hear men’s voices coming closer, then the first face peered cautiously round the side of the building. It was a young boy of about ten. "Good day, young man!" said Jervis, with a winning smile. The young man, after a doubtful pause, smiled shyly back, and disappeared suddenly. In his place, came an adult version so startlingly similar that it could only be his father. He came right round the corner and stood staring at them, hands on hips in an unsuccessful attempt to look confident. "Well, my masters," he said, truculently. "What have you done, that you must run and hide?" Jervis, drawing on his skill at getting himself out of awkward situations, spoke for them all. "We have done nothing," he said.

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Belaset’s Daughter "What!" said the other man. "Do you always take your leave of a place by being chased out of it?" Jervis shook his head. "We were not chased from it," he said. "We left of our own accord." "And the people behind you were an escort to see you safely away, I suppose?" said the man. Jervis’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "As you say, sir," he replied gravely. "And now that they are sure that we are indeed on our way, we must continue." The man stared at him suspiciously, but Jervis stared back, saying nothing. Behind him, Aaron and Judith gazed at the ground, and tried not to laugh. Jervis bowed politely, then turned back to the other two. "Come!" he said, briskly. "we have some miles to go before we may rest again." He remounted, waiting while the other two did the same. "Good day to you!" he said to the man, as he turned the horse back on to the way which they had been following. They walked the horses past the man and away from the sheltering house. The entire village seemed to have gathered in front of them. Wordlessly, the group of about fifty men, women and children gazed at the three travellers. They shuffled out of the way as the horses passed through the gap, but nobody said a word. It was a strange, blank silence, as though the effort of thinking who these strangers might be, or how they got there was too much for the brains of those who watched them. Judith rode between Aaron and Jervis, as they went single file, at a steady walk, along the track between the huts. The last one was well behind them before anyone spoke. "Will we be followed again?" said Judith. "Do you think anyone from there will take a message back to the Priory?" Jervis shook his head. "I think all they want is a quiet life," he said. "And I don’t think anyone there will think that they should take a message to anyone in the Priory. Speak when spoken to is their level, I should think." "Ye-es," said Judith, slowly. "You’re probably right. But I shall be glad when we are farther away. I think we should travel faster than this." "We need to, in any case, if we are to reach Lewes tonight," said Jervis. "Will we get there so soon?" said Aaron. "I thought we were still some way from there." "We are," said Jervis. "But not too far for three good riders on three good horses to get there just in time to beat the gateman. Follow me!" BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter He kicked at the horse, which broke into a gallop. The other two followed his example, and the three of them raced along the hard track, as though, once again they were fleeing from pursuit.

* * *

In Merton Priory, a furious Roger de Tourney raged at his men. "How could they get away from you?" he shouted. His face, red with anger, and with eyes blazing, was thrust within inches of his sergeant-at-arms’. The man looked straight ahead, and blinked nervously. "Well, answer me, man!" roared de Tourney. "I have no answer, my lord," muttered the man. The group who had ridden with him began to slink away, leading their horses back to the stables. De Tourney let them go, knowing that the one at whom he raged would salve his wounded ego by raging at them in his turn. "You will see to your horse, and then come to my chambers!" said de Tourney, lowering his voice with an effort. He turned and strode off. The sergeant-at-arms watched him go, wishing he had the nerve to escape himself. Any mistake by one of his men met harsh punishment from de Tourney, generally in the form of a beating. Nevertheless, de Tourney was not one to bear grudges. Once the punishment was meted out, it closed the matter. Loyalty was what de Tourney prized most: failure, provided a man had done his best, could be forgiven; betraying a trust, never. Well, he had better see to his horse, then take his punishment. The quicker he was there, the quicker it would be over. He grabbed the horse’s reins, and shambled off in the direction of the stables. Once there, he kicked and cursed the others in his group, and made one whom he caught grinning look after his horse for him. Then, feeling that his ego was less bruised, he went to Sir Roger where he was not, as he had feared, soundly beaten, but subjected to a tirade, followed by a sudden fist in the face which made his nose bleed, and then dismissed. After the sergeant-at-arms had gone, de Tourney paced up and down, cursing his illfortune. He had actually had Judith in his custody, and yet she had escaped again, as she had from young de Montfort. The woman was as clever as her reputation made her to be but her companion seemed less subtle. As for Jervis FitzHugh, heaven only knew what he was about, but he was certainly more dangerous than de Tourney had thought. Not an empty-headed young gallant, simply engaged in turning Madeleine’s head with his extravagant compliments, then, but where lay his allegiance? With the King? Or with de Montfort? He opened the door and shouted for a servant.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Where is my secretary?" demanded de Tourney. "Find him and bid him come to me at once!" The man ducked his head and scuttled off. In less than two minutes there was a knock, and de Tourney’s secretary entered. The young man looked apprehensive. No doubt the servant, knowing of his master’s anger, had warned the secretary to prepare him for another outburst. "I need a message written and taken to London," said de Tourney. "Can you arrange a messenger, without alerting the whole Court?" "Indeed, my lord," said his secretary, bowing. He flushed slightly, offended that Sir Roger should think him likely to be so indiscreet. Had he not worked for this master for three years, now? "I do not doubt your ability to do so," said de Tourney, noting the flush. "But we must be careful one word of this in the wrong ears, and we will all suffer." "I understand, my lord," said the secretary, still wooden-faced. De Tourney shrugged slightly. If the man decided to take offence, well, let him. As long as he carried out his duties, and got a warning message to someone in de Montfort’s supporters, so that this Judith could be taken care of and FitzHugh, too, he decided. If FitzHugh was prevented from contacting anyone ever again, it would not matter whose side he was on. The secretary had been preparing to write. He sat at a table, with parchment in front of him, quill already dipped in the small pot of ink which completed the equipment that he carried everywhere. He looked up at de Tourney and waited. "Wait!" said de Tourney, suddenly. "Put down your pen, and listen. A written message is too dangerous. You shall go yourself, with a verbal message to deliver, and a ring to prove that you come from me." "But but where am I to go, Sir Roger?" faltered the secretary. "To whom shall I deliver this message?" His fear was so palpable that it was comic. De Tourney had a sudden vision of his secretary, a poor figure at any outdoor pursuit, and more used to sitting quietly in a warm room, poring over manuscripts this weakling, galloping across unknown countryside to deliver a message to a place full of soldiers. No, no it was impossible the fellow would be a drivelling wreck before he reached anyone with authority. Who would believe what he said then, if he was in any fit state to speak at all? "Never mind," said de Tourney. "Go from me, and forget what we have said. I must find another way." "Yes, my lord," said the man, almost tripping over himself in his eagerness to leave, before de Tourney changed his mind again. He gathered up all the writing materials, and stuffed them back into the satchel in which they had been brought. Bowing, and muttering

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Belaset’s Daughter his thanks, he backed towards the door, and opened it so quickly that he knocked his own head. Still bowing, he left the room and the door banged shut behind him. De Tourney stood undecided for a minute, trying to think who could best be trusted with such an errand. Then he had it: the sergeant-at-arms, eager to regain his lord’s high opinion, was the ideal man! He would get a message to de Montfort’s side, whatever the cost to himself, if it would wipe the slate clean. Pleased with himself, de Tourney gave a satisfied nod and strode from the room. He would send his secretary to fetch the man and then he would tell him where to go and what to say. No-one else should know of it but the secretary and his chosen messenger. The sergeant-at-arms was sitting on a bench with a large mug of ale in front of him, when the secretary finally tracked him down. He had been able to calm himself and salve his bruised ego by shouting at a stable lad who had made his horse shy unexpectedly. The horse had helped by stepping on the lad’s foot, which had amused the sergeant so thoroughly that he had felt quite like his old self. The final touch had been finding two of his good friends about to enjoy some of the monastic hospitality, happily provided by someone from the Priory kitchens. He had been just in time to join them. "Ah!" said the secretary, catching sight of his quarry. He placed himself in front of the sergeant-at-arms, who was taking a good swallow of ale. "My master, Sir Roger de Tourney, bids you come to his chambers," said the secretary. The sergeant-at-arms scowled. "I have just left your master," he said. "Then you are ordered to his chambers again," said the secretary. The sergeant-at-arms looked at his ale. It had tasted wonderful much the rough brew with which he usually slaked his thirst.

smoother than

"Do you know what this is about?" he demanded. The other man shrugged. "I am not privy to my lord’s thoughts," he said, disdainfully. "Nor would I discuss them with you if I were." He turned and walked away, not bothering to look back, as the sergeant-at-arms started from his seat with an angry oath. One of the others grasped his arm. "Do not waste your anger on him," he said. "The man would fall at the force of your breath, and you would never get the chance of a proper fight. Save your energy for a worthier opponent!" "Well, I’ll finish my ale before I go running after the wretch," said the sergeant-at-arms, crossly. He up-ended the mug and gulped down its contents without pausing for breath, then flung it on to the bench behind him. Grinning and sketching a mock bow to his companions, he swaggered away from them, back to de Tourney’s presence. The fumes of

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Belaset’s Daughter the ale, stronger than he was used to, swam pleasingly through his brain, making the world seem to rock slightly, before settling back on its normal axis. He was ready for anything that Sir Roger de Tourney might want of him, now. Buoyed up by his alcohol-induced courage, he knocked on de Tourney’s door. Sir Roger opened the door himself and the sergeant-at-arms stepped into the room. "I have need of a messenger to ride to London," said de Tourney. "I must have someone whom I can trust to deliver a message to the right man and not to blab to any other, no matter what the cost, or the difficulty." The sergeant-at-arms drew himself up. "I am your messenger, my lord," he said. "As true and brave as any you might see in this place." "And as good at drinking ale!" said de Tourney, wrinkling his nose, as the fumes reached it. "Are you in fit state to ride?" "My lord!" said the sergeant-at-arms, reproachfully. De Tourney laughed. "Well, your horse is no doubt able to cope with your balance," he said dourly. "Here is the message. Ride to London, and seek out William Monchesny. He is among those who have taken the Tower for de Montfort. Give him this message, which you will memorise, for it must not be written. ’FitzHugh is not for us. Sir Roger bids you do as agreed in such case.’" "’FitzHugh is not for us. Sir Roger bids you do as agreed in such case’", repeated the man, obediently. "It must be said with those exact words," said de Tourney. "Do you understand?" The man nodded. "It is but a short message, my lord," he said, soothingly. "I shall not forget. But how am I to prove from whom I come? I cannot simply ride up to the Tower of London and demand entry." "You are not expected to," said Sir Roger. "Show them this." He took a ring from off his right hand and gave it to the sergeant-at-arms. Set in the thick gold band was a large, black stone. The sergeant-at-arms gazed at it curiously, before placing it in a pouch slung from his belt. "You will start immediately," said Sir Roger. "I want the message delivered today, before dusk." "Am I to return as quickly?" said the man. "There is no hurry once the message is given," said Sir Roger. "Monchesny will make all arrangements for you to stay and rest."

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Belaset’s Daughter The man bowed sketchily, turned, staggered slightly, and left the room. Sir Roger smiled. Monchesny would know, from the wording of the message, that the sergeant’s rest was to be eternal.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Three bone-weary travellers stopped at the top of the hill, and looked across at the looming bulk of Lewes Castle. It was almost completely dark, and only the outlines of the building and the houses beneath it could be seen from up here. The gates in the town wall would be shut at this hour, and the watchman would challenge anyone trying to enter. "You have no choice but to come with us," said Judith. Jervis still hesitated. "How can I impose myself on your family at this hour?" he protested. "They will be shocked enough to see you and Aaron, let alone a complete stranger and..." He tailed off in embarrassment. "...and one who is not Jewish?" prompted Judith. "I thank you for your wording," said Jervis, stiff with formality suddenly. Aaron chuckled. "You have no need for awkwardness," he said. "Judith’s mother will be so grateful to you for bringing her daughter back in safety, that she will love you instantly! Is that not so, Judith?" "She will indeed," said Judith, wryly. "And she will be even more grateful to be allowed to feel that I need looking after by a man or two like any maidenly young woman." "Ah, well," said Jervis, in mock resignation. "How can I refuse the opportunity to make a mother so happy?" "You cannot," said Judith. "Especially as the gates to the town are closed, and our houses are the only ones outside the walls." "True enough!" said Jervis. "I am convinced. Let us greet your mother, then, and restore her daughter to her!" He make a mocking flourish with his hand and urged his horse forward once more. The other two followed suit, and they trotted along the ridge and then down the slight slope toward the few houses where the Jewish community of Lewes had settled. Judith took the lead as they entered, and the horses were slowed to a walk. Making as little noise as possible, they arrived at Belaset’s house without attracting any attention. It was dark and shuttered. Judith dismounted, whispering to the others to do the same. Then, giving the bridle of her horse to Aaron, she turned and knocked on the wooden shutter to the right of the

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Belaset’s Daughter door. It was not a loud knock, but it beat a distinct rhythm. After a pause, she repeated it, and Jervis realised that she was giving a recognised signal to any listener. Only seconds after, there was the sound of bolts being drawn back from the other side of the door, then of a key turning in a well-oiled lock. The door was pulled open and Belaset herself stood on the threshold, holding up a dark-lantern. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry of joy, as she saw her daughter. Standing aside, she beckoned them through the doorway. Leading their horses, they filed in and through into the yard behind. Belaset closed the door behind them, locking them all safely in again, and pushing home the bolts. They roused a stable boy to deal with the horses, and returned to Belaset. She stood in the middle of the room, her arms outstretched to Judith, her eyes full of tears. "My daughter," she said. "You are safe you are safe!" She could say no more. The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Judith went to her and they hugged each other, hard. Aaron looked at Jervis, who was taking a sudden interest in his foot. "Perhaps we should leave them for a while," he said, in a low voice. Jervis nodded, still without raising his head. Soundlessly, they began to back out of the room, but Judith had seen them, and released her mother, to come to them. "No, no!" she said, smiling though her own eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You must not go away before I have had a chance to praise your bravery and thank you for your guidance." Belaset was right behind her, wiping her eyes on a kerchief. "Certainly not," she said. "And you must eat...!" She was interrupted by a chuckle from Judith. "Now I know I am home!" she said. "My mother is insisting on providing food!" The teasing broke the tension of the moment. Belaset left the room, and they could hear her chivvying the servants calling for the maid to bring some hot food for her daughter and her guests, without delay. Hurriedly plates and cutlery, all of silver, were placed on the table. A bowl of hot water and cloths were produced, and the three washed their hands and dried them. By this time the food had appeared, and Belaset returned with it. She stood behind a chair and gestured to Aaron. "Will you say the blessing, Aaron?" she said, gently. He spread his arms and closed his eyes, repeating the ancient Hebrew words for them all. "Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth," he said.

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Belaset’s Daughter "And who brings Thy children safely home," added Belaset, devoutly.

* * *

In the morning, they gathered in one room to discuss what they should do next. When Judith appeared, dressed in a long gown instead of her squire’s clothes Jervis, perched on the edge of the table, raised his eyebrows and nodded in admiration, but had the sense to say nothing. He swung one leg thoughtfully for a moment, before opening the discussion. "Sir Roger is a problem which only we can solve," he said. "Only we know of his treachery." "As far as you are aware," interjected Aaron. "And he is more than a problem he is a danger, especially to all of us, since he knows that Judith is a messenger for Henry, and that we are with her." "How can he be such a danger for Jervis?" said Belaset. "Surely, he cannot risk harming someone who is for the King. He will show that he is not." "Not if he claims that Jervis’s absence was in order to take Judith to de Montfort’s people in London," said Aaron. "Jervis left Lewes under a false pretext, and Sir Roger has only to reveal the ’true reason’ for his absence." "And who would believe a squire’s word against that of Sir Roger de Tourney?" said Jervis. "We have to find some other way of dealing with Sir Roger one that preferably does not directly involve any of us." He stood upright. "In the meantime," he went on, in a brisker tone, "I must bid you all good-day and return to the Castle, showing proper annoyance at the loss of my falcon!" He smiled wryly at them all, and sketched a mock bow. Then, his face serious again, he stood in front of Belaset. "Madam," he said, "I knew little of your people until a few short days ago. I see that I have been misled by our priests and leaders. You are strong and courageous, and as kind and true as any that I know. I hope that you will all permit me to think of you as my friends." He took her hand and bent over it. Belaset, her eyes full of tears, patted his shoulder, as he straightened up. "Now, now," she said. "You are carried away by the emotion of the moment. Our peoples do not mix easily. We are friends for now, shall we say?" "For longer than that," said Jervis, firmly.

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Belaset’s Daughter He pulled his cloak around him, bowed to them all, and left the room. A few moments later they heard the sound of his horse, trotting up the street towards the town gate. Nobody moved until the sound had faded completely. "Well," said Judith, leaning her forearms comfortably on the table. "We must decide what we are to do next. I must arrange a meeting with Prior Foville. Aaron, what do you plan to stay here for a while, or to return to London?" "I feel I must return to London as soon as possible," said Aaron. "My family will be worried about me, and I fear for them. The last time we saw each other, it was with soldiers drawing nearer to the house." Belaset clasped her hands together. "Is there no way we can get a message to them, to assure them of your safety?" she said. "Then you could at least rest for a day or two, before returning." "Showing myself to them is the best way of telling that I am safe," said Aaron, gently. "And I must see them to set my own mind at rest. You are kind, Belaset, but I must return to London today." He turned to Judith. "Is there any more I can do to help you in your work?" he said. "There may be in the future, Aaron, but you have done enough for now," said Judith. "Go back to your father and mother. They need you more than I do now that I am safely home again. If you can get a message to us to tell us that you are all safe, it will be a great solace." "I shall do my best to get some word to you," he said. "Gregory has a way of sending messages I am sure that he can enclose something from me to let you know that all is well in London." "Gregory is a true friend," said Judith. "I shall never forget his kindness you him for me, Aaron." "Indeed I shall," said Aaron. "Now I must go will you say goodbye or here, where we may take a moment longer?"

must tell

to me at the door,

His eyes said more than his words. Belaset stood, saying she would get the servants to find him some food, and left the room quickly. Why should she bother to chaperone these two, who were betrothed, and had spent several days together in any case? Besides, they were in her house, so no stranger could remark and disapprove! Before the door had closed, Aaron had taken her in his arms. Judith did not hesitate to kiss him with the same ardour as he showed. She knew that this was the man she wanted for her husband her mother had been right to urge the betrothal. She remembered her reluctance, and her lips curved under his, with amusement. Aaron drew back his head. "What is so droll?" he said, in mock sternness. "Does my kissing amuse you?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "No, Aaron," she answered. "I was laughing at myself, and my earlier reluctance to meet you. How foolish I was!" "Not foolish, Judith, never that," said Aaron, seriously. "Proud, brave and independent, I will grant you. And I will not ask you to change any of those." "I could not, even if you wanted me to," she said with spirit. "I am as you find me, and I will not become a meek submissive wife for anyone!" He stepped back, laughing himself. "No-one is suggesting it," he said. "Although seeing you in your dainty gown, instead of hose makes it look faintly possible. Nonetheless, I can see what the mere idea can do who knows what an order from a husband might unleash?" She flushed. "Well, you see then, Aaron," she said, embarrassed. "What fierce pride burns within me!" "That fierce pride is good," said Aaron. "I know it will keep fear at bay, and give you the courage to do whatever you are asked. Just promise me one thing: if you find that there is room for me to help and the chance arises for you to suggest it will you take it?" "Yes," she said, seriously. "Yes, I will." He kissed her on the cheek gently, then left the room, and she heard him walk out into the yard. The voices of servants and grooms, followed by the clatter of hooves, told her that his horse had been brought to him. There was a pause, then the sound of the horse being walked out into the street. As before, she listened unmoving, until the sound had faded away completely. Belaset came in and sat beside her. She put her arm around her daughter and hugged her. "He is a very personable young man, is he not?" she said. "Which one, mother?" said Judith. "They are both personable young men." Her mother gave her a little shake. "You know very well I mean Aaron!" she said. "I can see that you and he are drawn to each other. Master FitzHugh is a young coxcomb, without depth, by comparison." "There is more to Jervis than he is willing to let you see," said Judith. "But yes, Aaron and I are pleased with each other." "I am glad, my daughter," said Belaset. "It is time for you to be more settled in your life." "That may be but other things will not let that happen just yet," said Judith. "I must continue to be a messenger, until this whole matter is settled. Then I can settle, too." She stood up and patted her mother’s shoulder. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "I must deliver the message I was given at once," she said. "Then I can at least rest for a while." "Will you be asked to do more, then?" said Belaset, fearfully. "I had hoped that this was all just to deliver this one message." "I fear it will not be the end of it," said Judith. "Now that I have been entrusted with such a matter once, and carried it out, they will use me again. You know the King thinks of us as his possession. We have no choice but to do as he wishes. In any case, I cannot resist the chance to hurt de Montfort’s cause. It is only just that our family should have some revenge for the loss we have suffered at his hands." Belaset sighed. She could not help agreeing with her daughter, and it was understandable that she should feel such bitterness toward the de Montforts but this was not a proper way for a woman to behave, surely? "Why not let Aaron take your place?" she said. "I presume you told him what you were about and he must be able to do something like carrying messages as well as you..." "If not better," Judith finished for her. "Yes, he could be very useful, but it was I who was entrusted with delivering the message I have for Foville, and it is I who am known to him. Besides, Mother, you know that I have never been someone who mopes by the fireside, complaining and wringing my hands, waiting for a man to solve the problem!" It was true, and Belaset knew it. Her only daughter was exactly like her father fierce, determined, and wanting to take matters into her own hands. "Very well, Judith," she said, resignedly. "I cannot stop you if your heart is set on continuing. But promise me this you will ask for Aaron’s help if you need it. And at least suggest to the King’s men that he could be useful to them." "I will suggest it," said Judith. "But I think it may have already occurred to them." She left her mother sitting with a puzzled expression on her face, and ran to collect her cloak an make her way to the Priory. Although she had sent no message asking to see him, she was sure that Foville would be expecting her. Somehow, he would know of their arrival yesterday. She was able to slip into the Prior’s lodgings unobserved. The early morning service was over, and the monks were about their various businesses. As soon as she knocked, the door to Foville’s rooms flew open, and he stood aside, ushering her in. She hurried past him and stood waiting in the centre of the room. "Well," he said. "You have arrived back safely, although by a somewhat roundabout route, I hear?" "Indeed," she said. "I have had more adventures than I bargained for, but, as you say, I have arrived safely in the end. May I know who has kept you informed of my journey?" "I see no reason why you should not be told, since you have met them both," said Foville, with a considered air. "Gregory Rokesly sent me a message that you had been BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter brought to his house, and Jervis FitzHugh told me the rest of the story a few minutes ago. I am surprised you did not pass him on your way here." "I have passed no-one," said Judith. "Perhaps he is elsewhere in the Priory, or left by another gate." Foville shrugged. "It is not important," he said. "But your message from the King is you for me, I believe?"

have a package

"A package containing nothing but old parchment, and a message in my head," said Judith. "What!" said Foville. "If there is nothing in writing, then how am I to know you have remembered it correctly?" "If the King of England is content to trust my memory, why not you?" said Judith, tartly. This man, with his beautiful features and false poverty always irritated her. He would never be able to accept that someone who was not a Christian might be worthy of respect and trust. Still, she reminded herself, she was not doing any of this to earn the good opinion of Prior Foville, but to bring some kind of comfort to her mother and to satisfy her own need to damage de Montfort’s cause. "The message is short," she said. "It is simply this: Prepare for the King’s arrival, and his advisers. He expects to be here within three months." Foville stared at her. "The King plans to come here?" he said. "Why?" "As I told you," said Judith. "It is a short message. The King does not open his mind to me, as yet." She could hear the sarcasm in her voice, and so did Foville. He reddened, but bit back a sharp retort with an effort. Why should he waste his time trading insults with this Jewess? She was unimportant just a messenger, as she had reminded him herself. He inclined his head, coldly, and opened the door for her again. "There is no need for me to detain you, now that your job is done," he said. Judith said nothing, but walked past him. The door was shut behind her and she was down the steps and out of the Priory completely before her anger had cooled again. Thank goodness she would not have to deal with that man ever again! She would sit at home and forget the whole thing, she thought, grimly. Let them all get on with it, without her she was not going to risk her life for them any more! Lifting her head, she set back her shoulders, and breathed deeply, as she walked back up the hill, towards her home. She would become a dutiful daughter, and behave as a betrothed woman should, she thought to herself. Her mother should have no more reason to worry about her. She nodded to herself, satisfied with her plan. The effort of walking

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Belaset’s Daughter up the steep slope was having its usual effect, making her blood sing through her veins and lifting her spirits. She looked about her, conscious that the first signs of Spring were visible. There were catkins showing on the hazel trees, the snow had really gone from here, and the first snowdrops were showing. It was impossible to stay disgruntled in the circumstances, she decided.

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Belaset’s Daughter

PART THREE

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Aaron was woken by a ray of sun striking through a gap in the wooden shutters, on to his face. He opened his eyes suddenly, fully awake in an instant, every muscle tensed and ready for swift movement. Then as he realised he was in his own small chamber, he relaxed, and stretched, yawning. He lay flat, his arms linked behind his head, thinking of the pleasures of the day to come. It was April, at last. Spring was in full spate, and even here, in the Jewry, its presence could be sensed. It was in the changed light, the early sunshine, the beginning of warmth, and days already lengthening. This was the time of the year when people felt more energy, when even the most troubled felt a lifting of their spirits in spite of themselves, sometimes. As for Aaron, his spirits were so high, he almost laughed aloud with sheer delight. Today, he would see Judith again. She had arrived the evening before with Belaset, part of a small band of Jews who had travelled together for safety. Today, he and Judith would be married in the synagogue at the corner of the Jewry. The ketuba, giving written agreement of the contract between them, would be given to Judith, and the marriage ceremony would take place, in front of both families and as many friends and wellwishers as were able to squeeze in. There would be feasting and music for the rest of the day and then, at last, they would be alone together. A sudden surge of energy and excitement made him leap from his bed. Hurriedly, he poured water into a bowl, and splashed it over his face and chest, then rubbed himself dry briskly with a rough cloth. He threw on a loose robe for comfort and left the room, running down the stairs and into the hall humming a tune under his breath. A servant was sweeping the floor with a rough broom. He looked up and grinned at Aaron, then nodded his head. "A happy day for you and this house, Master Aaron," he said, pausing in his work. "Mazeltov!" "My thanks, Ralph!" said Aaron, clapping the man on the shoulder. "I am happy, indeed, and I wish the entire household to enjoy themselves today, and share in my happiness." "Thank you, master!" said Ralph, bending to his task again willingly. It was the same throughout the house. Everywhere Aaron went, the servants were bustling about, preparing for the day to come. In the kitchen, the cauldrons bubbled on the fire, and room was filled with steam. The cook shouted at everyone else in the kitchen and, for once, no-one shouted back. In the rooms upstairs, Belaset and Dorcas, having

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Belaset’s Daughter dressed themselves in their finest gowns, got in each other’s, and Judith’s way, as they tried to help her dress in her wedding finery. Later, Benjamin went in search of Aaron, and was horrified to see him still wandering about in an old robe. "Aaron, my son," he said. "You are to be married soon, and here you are, still wandering about in a dream. Come you must prepare!" "I only have to change, Father!" said Aaron. "It will take but a moment." "No, no!" said Benjamin, grasping his arm, and hustling him upstairs again. "It is not simply a matter of changing from one robe to another. You must be barbered and dressed properly, to look your best for your bride!" "My bride already knows how I look," protested Aaron. "Then do it for your mother!" said Benjamin. "Do you think she would like her son to be married looking as though he had come straight from his rest?" Aaron laughed and gave up. It was not just for his mother, he knew; his father was equally determined that his son should look as handsome as possible, and part of a prosperous and successful family. The Yechiels had a certain standing outside the Jewry as well as inside and Benjamin had every intention of emphasising that standing. By noon, they were all ready. The men walked together through the streets to the synagogue at the corner of the street. Inside, the rabbi waited on the dais in the centre, ready to greet the young couple as they met in front of him. All around, heads covered in their prayer shawls, stood most of the men of the community. At the back, the screen which separated the women was in place, on this special occasion. There were glimpses of movement through the fretwork, and a buzz of excited conversation came through, as the women waited and watched. As Aaron walked towards the rabbi, Judith appeared from behind the screen with Belaset beside her, and made her way through the assembled men. He was glad that she had not chosen to wear the all-enveloping cloak which some brides hid themselves in. Instead, she had covered her hair completely, with a white head-dress, as a sign that she was no longer unmarried. The couple met before the rabbi, with their parents. Belaset was Judith’s witness, and Benjamin was Aaron’s. There was a hush, as the rabbi held up his hand, and began to intone the first blessing, for the betrothal ceremony. Solemnly, the ketuba was handed to Aaron, who placed it in the hand which Judith extended towards him. Then he placed a ring on her finger. Taking a cup of wine from a steward, the rabbi waited while a shawl was placed over both Aaron’s and Judith’s heads, signifying the tent from the days of wandering in the desert. Then, raising the cup of wine, the rabbi sang the seven blessings of the marriage ceremony. As the last beautiful note rang round the synagogue, there was a shout of "Mazeltov!" from everyone, and the men surged forward, to hug the bride and groom, and congratulate them. They left the synagogue as part of a noisy throng, and made their way back to the Yechiels’ house. The women joined the crowd, some dabbing their eyes, as they BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter remembered their own marriage ceremonies, then joining in the chattering and laughter again. The house door was flung open and the wedding party streamed in, to begin the feasting which would continue for the rest of the day. Tables had been set up in the hall, and the amount of food placed on them was staggering. Before the eating began, there was the washing of hands, and the blessing over meals to be recited, then everyone sat down. A cauldron of chicken soup was ladled into bowls and passed round. Great loaves of bread were cut, and chunks passed along to each person. Wine was poured into goblets and then down throats. Spit-roasted meat followed the soup, then came the sweetmeats. The conversation grew louder and louder. Aaron looked at Judith, seated on the other side of the rabbi. She was gazing down, chewing slowly, lost in thought. As if she felt his eyes on her, she looked up suddenly, straight at him. Their eyes held, and it seemed to him as if everyone else faded from the room, along with the noise and the heat of so many people in one place. In the middle of it all, a servant came running to Benjamin’s side, and whispered urgently in his ear. He nodded and got up at once, leaving the room to talk to somebody outside. Judith, catching the sudden movement, glanced up. She was seated in such a way that she could see who was on the other side of the door. It was Gregory Rokesly. He had obviously arrived in a hurry, and was gesticulating and talking to Benjamin with an air of urgency. She saw Benjamin’s lips move as he asked one short question, then he nodded quickly, and Gregory left. Benjamin came back into the room, and banged on the table with his goblet for silence. "My friends," he said. "I am sorry to bring the feasting to an end so abruptly, but I am told that there is a mob heading this way, intent on doing us all great harm. We must leave at once." A murmur of alarm arose, and one of the women cried out. Benjamin held out his arms as though to calm them all. "Come," he said. "It is not unusual, alas, for us to suffer at this time of the year. Next week is the Christian festival of Easter. Their day of mourning coincides exactly this year with our Passover. As before, someone is spreading false witness against us. The man who has just told me of this assures me that we will be safe in the Tower, if only we will go there immediately." Judith looked across at Aaron. He shook his head at her, warning her to say nothing. The rabbi, who had remained seated between them, decided it was time to stand up and take charge. "Benjamin, you are right," he said, gravely. "We must gather our belongings and take our families to the Tower, as we have had to do before. We must move quickly, but as calmly as possible. There must be no panic. You all know what to do." He turned to Aaron.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Aaron, this is a strange way to end your wedding feast. Take care of your wife and her mother. A blessing on you all." There was no time for anything more to be said. The food was abandoned on the tables, and people filed out silently. In the street outside the house, they dispersed quickly, anxious to get to their homes and collect whatever they could carry with them to the Tower. Benjamin took Aaron to help him collect whatever they could carry in the way of ledgers and documents. He took him into a small room at the back of the house. There was nothing in it but a small table, a stool, and upright chair with arms, and a chest. Benjamin went swiftly to the chest, and unlocked it, using a key which was hanging round his neck. He took off the cloth which covered the contents, laid it on the table, and began piling the scrolls, single parchment leaves and small packets on to it. Aaron helped him, wordlessly. "These are the very things that the mob will seek to destroy," said Benjamin. "Anyone who has borrowed from me will be eager to know that the record of our transaction no longer exists." Aaron nodded, still piling the contents of the box on to the cloth. It was a sizeable mound, but, between them, they managed to tie the corners of the cloth across, so that everything was safely contained inside it. "I will take it," said Benjamin, lifting the bundle from the table and swinging it across one shoulder. "Go and find Judith and Belaset, and take them to the Tower. Your mother and I will follow with the servants." Aaron hesitated, then, gripping his father’s shoulder, he ran from the room. He could hear Dorcas calling to the servants to hurry. She had made sure that the fire was out in the kitchen, and then gathered everyone around her, counting them to be certain that no-one was being left behind. He crossed to the hall, and found Judith, still in her wedding finery with the fur cloak on top. Belaset was with her, her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. "You are to come with me," he said to the two women. "I will take you to the Tower. My father and mother will follow, with the servants." "Is there nothing we can do to help?" said Belaset, anxiously. "It seems so wrong, just to abandon everything like this." "There is nothing else to do," said Aaron, gently. "The mob will be here soon, and we must be safely away, before they reach here. They will burn and pillage, and anyone in their way will be beaten and even killed. And if you are a woman..." He did not need to finish the sentence. "Come now," he said. "My father will have fewer people to worry about, if he knows we have left already." He knew it was the way to get Belaset to leave. She sighed, shrugged, and followed him, as he left the house, and led them down the street. They turned left, and found themselves

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Belaset’s Daughter joining a crowd of others, all heading for the Tower. Judith walked close beside Aaron, and whispered to him. "Are we really safest in the Tower?" she said. "The Baron’s men are there. They were trying to take me there when I escaped, in February." "I know," said Aaron, keeping his voice equally low. "But there is no choice. Since you were never taken inside, there’s a good chance that no-one will recognise you." "What about Guy de Montfort?" said Judith. "Will he still be there?" "Not very likely, unless he is visiting," said Aaron. "Earl Simon has been in Kenilworth for these past weeks, nursing a broken leg. His sons have been either with him, or sent to fight the Lord Edward in Gloucester, I hear. Guy is probably much happier being a soldier than a messenger or spy for his father. I think we have nothing to fear." "But we might have plenty to learn," said Judith, suddenly. "If we are actually inside the Tower, we may have the opportunity to overhear all sorts of interesting things, which the King would wish to know." She forgot her anxiety, as the full possibilities of this new situation came to her. Eyes sparkling, she looked ahead, towards the gatehouse, which was now looming up before them. Aaron, looking at her, saw the change in her bearing, and felt a mingled rush of love, admiration, and some anxiety of his own for this strong-willed woman to whom he was now husband. It would be useless to expect Judith to settle down so soon and be happy as a good wife and, please God, a mother. He would try to protect her from harm as much as he could, he decided, but he would never be able to persuade her to let him look after her. Well, he had not wanted a dull and submissive wife, he thought. They were almost at the gatehouse, when a man darted into the crowd and grabbed Aaron’s arm. Looking down, Aaron recognised Hubert, one of Gregory Rokesly’s menservants. The man pulled at his arm, urging him out of the crowd and to the side of the street. Clasping Judith’s hand, who in turn grasped her mother’s arm, Aaron followed him as he led them up a side alley. As soon as they had rounded a corner, and were out of sight of the Tower, he stopped. "My master has bidden me take you to him, for your safety," said Hubert. "You and your family will be safer away from the Tower." "But we were told we would be safer in the Tower!" said Belaset. "And what about Benjamin and Dorcas?" "We have already found them and they are being taken to safety by others from Milk Street," said Hubert. "I was sent to find you, as they told us you had already gone on ahead. I was lucky to catch up with you before you entered the gatehouse. I would never have been able to get in and get you out unseen." "What will happen to the rest of us?" said Judith.

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Belaset’s Daughter Hubert opened his mouth to answer, when Aaron held up his hand for silence. In the distance, as they listened, came a swelling roar. It was the sound of running feet, and men’s voices, shouting. Then there were screams, and more shouts of glee, this time. Belaset’s expression changed from puzzlement to horror, and she clapped her hands across her mouth. Her eyes, wide and frightened, looked at Aaron. He grasped Hubert by the shoulder, and shook him, roughly. "Quickly!" he said. "We must get the women to safety. Milk Street is not far we make it, if we hurry!"

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"Milk Street will not be safe," said Rokesly’s man. "We must go further than that out of the City and as far as Westminster, my master says." "Lead on, then!" said Aaron. "We will be behind you. Go as fast as you can but me, where are we making for?"

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"My master bid us meet him by the Abbey walls," said Hubert. "I know the place well." He set off, walking swiftly, then breaking into a trot, as the sounds of the riot grew louder. They ran along small alleys, some with stone houses backing on to them, some lined with rough hovels. They seemed to be the only people in this part of London, although it was clear that the mob was only a few streets away. The shouting of men’s voices, the sound of wooden staves being thumped on something solid, the occasional clash of steel, was a continuous accompaniment to their progress. Sometimes, there was a strangled cry, cut off suddenly in mid-breath and, again and again, they heard the high, terrified screams of women. Then another sound rose above the rest the crackling sound of fire. Their guide suddenly veered to the right, taking the small group with him. Ahead of them, a veil of smoke was drifting across the street, and they could smell burning wood and, in gusts, the sicklier smell of roasting flesh. Then, their guide turned sharply to the left, and they were making their way up West Cheap. Their breathing, already made difficult by the effort of running, became even more ragged. Running through the smoke, they began coughing and choking, as it seared into their lungs. Belaset staggered, and tried to pause, but Aaron grasped her arm and urged her forward. At last, they were through the smoke, and the air was cleaner. St Paul s loomed suddenly on their right and they ran the full length of it. The noise faded behind them, and they came to the City wall at the Ludgate. Hubert brought them up close to the wall itself, and motioned to them to crouch down against it. They were all too exhausted to speak, but leaned gratefully against the solid stone, panting for breath, and feeling their hearts beat painfully against their ribs. The manservant leaned towards Aaron. "We must pass unnoticed through the gate," he said, in a low voice. "Then we can cross the Flete Bridge and so make our way to the Abbey." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "How hard will it be to get through the gate at this hour?" said Aaron. "Not very I’ll wager the watch’s interest will all be elsewhere," said Hubert, nodding grimly in the direction they had come. "They’ll be trying to see what s happening from up there on the top." Aaron said nothing. He could imagine what the men might see from their vantage point the burning houses, the bodies of his people lying in the streets. He glanced at the women. He was lucky that Judith and Belaset were with him and safe but where was the rest of his family? How many of them would they see again? This was not the first time that the Jews had been the target for a massacre some excuse could always be found to inflame the passions of the so-called ’Christian’ crowds, especially at thistime of the year. He turned his mind deliberately to the problem of getting all four of them through the gate and away, unseen. He had no doubt that the servant’s assumption that the watch would be looking elsewhere was true. Outside the gatehouse was where the danger might really lie. It would take only the smallest movement to catch someone’s eye, and they would become the prey themselves running this time through streets unknown to any of them. He rose to his feet. "We are going through the gate, across the bridge, and straight along the road on the other side," he said to Judith, helping her to her feet. He turned to Belaset. "Are you alright, now, Mother?" he asked her. She smiled at the term. "Yes, Aaron," she said. "I needed only a short rest, just to regain my breath. Have we much further to go?" He shrugged. "I am not entirely sure," he said. "But Gregory has arranged a good and safe place for us all to meet, I have no doubt. As long as we follow Hubert, and do exactly as he says, we shall make that meeting-place safely!" They crept along the base of the walls, until they reached the gate itself. At this time of the day, it was wide open, despite the rioting. It was an indication, as nothing else could be, that the mob was acting with the full knowledge of authority, and that no attempt would be made to control whatever might befall the hapless Jews. The four refugees crept through the City gate and down the other side of the wall. The smell of the Flete told them it was not far off. At this time of the year, the water-level was at its highest, but still the bridge was built high enough to stay dry at all times. Swiftly, they crossed one at a time, and sped into the shelter of a group of shacks on the other side. When they were all together again, Hubert set off at a fast pace. They were taken through an area of poor hovels, much like the ones in the City and then, suddenly, they

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Belaset’s Daughter were passing the properties of the rich. Great stone walls cut off their view, but now and then a drive or a gate gave them glimpses of the splendid palaces which lay behind them. They slowed to a walk, and gazed around them in amazement. "Who lives here does the King?" said Belaset, in awe. "No the King normally lives in the Tower, when he is pleased to be in London," said Hubert. "These are the palaces of his court, and of the Princes of the Church, such as my Lord Bishop of London. They are magnificent, are they not?" "Indeed they are," said Judith. "And yet the people who own them are not content. They would have more power such as the right to rule the country, instead of their King!" She sounded so fierce, that Aaron could not help laughing, despite their predicament. "No-one here disagrees with you, Judith!" he said. "So save your anger for a proper occasion. You need all your energy to get to safety with the rest of us!" "We are almost there see!" said Hubert. They rounded the end of the Bishop of London’s estate, and there, in front of them, lay the Abbey of Westminster. It rose from the flat, marshy island on which it was built, its towers reaching for heaven, its golden stone gleaming in the sun. Beside it stood the heavier bulk of the Great Hall, built by the Conqueror almost two hundred years before. But the Abbey was Henry’s pride, and his monument to his hero, King Edward the Confessor, as he had been called, in recognition of his saintliness. Henry had caused a beautiful memorial to be raised over Edward’s tomb. Now he was having installed the stained glass windows of which he was so fond. The sun glinted on the glass here and there, too, and sparkled on the Thames, flowing behind it all. All this glory to a Christian saint, thought Aaron, wryly, built with money borrowed from, or obtained by heavy taxes on people like his father. The thought of his father spurred him into movement, and he led the little group of weary people down the hill towards this place which, if all had gone according to plan, should be their sanctuary for the moment, too.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They walked swiftly down the slight slope towards the Abbey. Here there was a bustling crowd of people going about their various business. Some were monks, clad in the long, rough habits of black cloth which proclaimed them to be Benedictines; some were in the brown habit of the Franciscans. All were tonsured and their sandalled feet showed beneath the hem of their rough woollen habits as they walked. Other men who passed to and fro were mounted on horses, or carried in chairs. They were richly dressed, contrasting with the flaunted poverty of the mendicant friars. Merchants, on their way to meetings and discussions, thought Judith, looking at the scene with interest. A noise of hammering from overhead made her look up. There was another entire community up there, she saw. Dozens of masons and other builders clambered over the walls and towers of the Abbey, using the wooden scaffolding which had been built precariously against the facade. She was so fascinated by these new surroundings that she almost forgot the reason for being there. A nudge in her side from Aaron brought her back to earth. "There’s Gregory," he said. "Down there, at the side of the door." She looked in the direction he had indicated and there, indeed, was Gregory Rokesly, waving at them with every appearance of casual enjoyment at greeting some friends. They walked towards him, and he hastened to meet them. "My dear friends!" he cried, jovially. "How pleasant to see you again. I trust your journey caused no problems?" Linking his arm through Aaron’s, on one side, and Judith’s on the other, he began marching them briskly away from the Abbey front, and towards one of the houses which stood opposite. All the time, he chatted on about a party he had attended, who was there and who he had missed, the food, the wine, and so on, in endless detail. Belaset, walking on the other side of Judith, gazed at the ground and listened with mounting amusement. This young man was obviously a past master at dissembling, she thought. No-one seeing them would think that they were fleeing from certain death, or that they had anything more distressing to think of than what might, or might not, be prepared for their next meal. They had arrived at one of the largest of the houses. Gregory gestured to his servant and the man hammered on the front door for them, which opened immediately. Once inside, with the door firmly shut behind them, Gregory’s manner changed abruptly. "Oh, my friends," he said, sadly. "I am so grieved at these terrible events. I came to you knowing only that there was trouble coming. The mob has been organised for some

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Belaset’s Daughter weeks, and has burnt and pillaged the houses of several of those loyal to the King. Even Duke Richard’s palace in Isleworth has been put to the torch. And now, some evil person has raised the old tale against your people of sacrificing children for the Passover feast. In their present state of excitement, it was enough. I heard that they were on their way to the Jewry only just in time." "Why did you prevent us from going into the Tower, Gregory?" said Aaron. "You would not have been safe there," said Gregory. "I learnt that de Montfort had returned at the beginning of this week. I said nothing to you, because I saw no reason why you should be harmed by such a move. I thought it was simply de Montfort meeting with those who have had charge of the Tower in his name these past months. It appears that it was more than that. We must talk of it later." "Surely, we must talk of it now, if it means that there is something which the King should be told," said Judith, stepping forward. "He has called a meeting of his Council in Oxford, has he not?" "True," said Gregory. "And he is already aware of the movements of the de Montforts and their followers. Indeed, he is moving against de Montfort’s son, Simon the younger, who has stormed Northampton. The Council meeting is over." They had been standing just inside the front door all this time. Now Gregory led them upstairs and into the hall, where a cheerful fire burned, despite the increasing warmth of the day. As they threw off their cloaks, they stood revealed in their wedding finery, and Gregory shook his head. "What a strange way to begin your married life," he said to Aaron and Judith. "It is not as great a tragedy as it might have been," said Judith. "At least we are together, and my Mother is safe here with us." She smiled across at Belaset, then looked back at Gregory. "Is there news of Benjamin and Dorcas?" she asked, anxiously. "Indeed there is!" said a voice from the other side of the hall. Another door had opened, and both the Yechiels stood there. Aaron strode across to them, and enveloped his mother in a great bear hug. Laughing and crying at the same time, she clung to him, while his father stood, wiping his eyes with one hand, and patting his son’s broad back with the other. Belaset, equally overcome, joined the little group and was hugged, kissed and cried over in her turn. Judith, standing back a little from the rest, blinked the tears away furiously. "Well," she said. "We have been very lucky to have escaped. Gregory, this is the second time you have saved Aaron and me, and now you have saved our family as well. We can never repay you!" "It is not a question of repayment," he said. "You are all my dear friends, and friends do not help each other in expectation of reward, do they?" BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter There was nothing that Judith could say in response to such generosity of spirit. Instead, she kissed Gregory on the cheek. He smiled and nodded at her, understanding her awkwardness, and saving her further embarrassment by crossing the hall and shouting for someone to come and repair the fire. "Now," he said, as the others disentangled themselves and wiped their eyes. "We must decide what we are to do next." "We cannot return to our home," said Benedict. "At least, not for some time." "Father," said Aaron. "I doubt if we have much of a home. They had fired the Jewry, as we were coming out of the City. We had to walk through the smoke, and we heard the sound of the flames." "I know," said Benjamin. "But something will be left, even if it is only the stone walls and the floors. I will not be driven away by a mob such as this. We have returned before we will do so again." He looked so grimly determined that no-one dared say anything to contradict him. "In the meantime," said Gregory, breaking the silence which had fallen. "You will stay here, and recover. This house is the house of a good friend, who is away on other business for some weeks. I must return to Milk Street, and try to find out the extent of the damage." "Let me come with you," said Aaron. Gregory shook his head. "It will be safer for all of us, if you stay here, and I go with my manservant," he said. "I am well-known as an inhabitant of Milk Street, and, since I live in Church property..." He looked at them all uncomfortably. "...you are known to be a good Christian," said Aaron. "You are right, of course it stupid of me not to realise that I would be a problem rather than a help."

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"I understand your wish to do something," said Gregory, kindly. "But you will help most by becoming invisible for a few days. As soon as the Jewry is safe again, and the mob has forgotten its fury, I will let you know. It will take some days, as you know. When Easter comes, there are full bellies and sore heads from celebrating the end of Lent, rather than any religious fulfilment, but that will be the time when the threat to your lives will diminish. Until then, you are all most welcome to enjoy the hospitality that I can offer you here." He looked again at their clothes. "You wear no badge or hat?" he said. "We were celebrating in the Jewry, and in my Father’s house," replied Aaron, shortly. "There was no need to announce our Jewishness, to warn others."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Aaron," said Benjamin, placing his hand on his son’s arm. "He asks only for your own safety." "Indeed," said Gregory. "If you have not brought such indications with you, there is no need why anyone should have noticed your presence as anything unusual in these parts. This means that apart from a goodly degree of fine dressing you can pass through the streets without danger. Are any of you likely to be recognised?" They all shook their heads. "We seldom leave the Jewry, especially my wife," said Benjamin. "As for Belaset and Judith, they are from Lewes, as you know, and seldom visit us. Aaron has travelled most, I warrant..." Aaron opened his mouth, but shut it again, as he felt Judith give his wrist a warning squeeze. He had been about to remark on her travels, she knew, and it was better not to bring them to everyone’s attention again. Besides, who knew what other ears might hear? "... but usually from the City over London Bridge, I think?" finished Benjamin, turning to his son. "Yes, Father," said Aaron. "So," said Gregory, in a satisfied tone. "You will not be forbidden the streets, or the Abbey. And there is a small garden at the back of this house, where the ladies may like to sit. It is sheltered enough to be pleasant even this early in the year." Judith could not help chuckling. "Gregory," she said. "You sound so like the genial host, that it is as though we were visiting you for sheer pleasure!" "I hope it will bring you some pleasure, my dear Judith," he replied. "You must have time to recover from your experiences today and to enjoy the company of your new husband!" To her annoyance, Judith felt herself colouring like any green girl. She, who prided herself on her maturity and calmness in the face of danger: to react so naively, and so like every other newly-wed! Gregory’s sly teasing had the effect he had hoped for on all of them. There was a burst of laughter, and the tension which had been so palpable in the room, eased suddenly. After all, it was true they were all safe, and, even better, all in one place. There was no need to fret about each other’s safety, or even, for the moment, worry about the future. Gregory was right, and they should concentrate on relaxing and putting the dangers of the last few hours behind them.

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Belaset’s Daughter Gregory, riding back towards Milk Street, could see the black pall of smoke hanging over the Jewry. He entered the City through Ludgate, but with more ease than the others had left by the same route. He dreaded what he might see as he made his way back to his house, situated as it was, so close to the Jewry. It was not long before his worst fears were confirmed. Turning a corner, with Hubert walking at his horse’s head, he saw the first of many bodies he was to see during that sad journey. It was a man, sprawled mercifully face down in the street. Although they were thus saved the sight of his face, what they could see was terrible enough. His back was a mass of bloody weals, and his clothes were in tatters. It looked as if he had been stripped and beaten to death by the mob. One leg, obviously broken, lay at an odd angle. The back of his head was stoved in, and, a few feet away, lay the yellow bonnet which he had been wearing, now muddy and soiled and obviously trampled on. Beside him, Hubert had clutched the horse’s bridle so convulsively, that the beast’s head was pulled downward. It snorted, and tossed his head, then stepped sideways nervously, upset by the smell of blood, and by the smell of fear coming from the two people with it. Gentling the horse, then urging it on, Gregory continued down the street. The number of bodies to be seen increased. Glancing up a narrow entrance, Gregory looked away again hurriedly, feeling the bile rise in his throat. There were bodies piled grotesquely in a heap, as though sheer numbers had jammed them together. But they had been massacred, and then someone had set light to them. Wisps of smoke still rose from them, and blackened faces looked back at him. As well as the terrible sights which met his eyes, a dreadful smell was assailing his nostrils. Hubert, pale and silent, stumbled along beside him. The horse, growing more restless with every step, was becoming difficult to control. Gregory stopped and dismounted, and took the bridle on the other side from his servant. Together, they walked forward, Gregory with his hand across the horse’s nose, in an effort to calm it down. It came with them reluctantly. The stench grew almost unbearable, as they reached the beginning of Milk Street. The Jewry was just on the other side of West Cheap or, rather, what was left of it. As Benjamin had said, the stone walls and floors remained, but smoke billowed everywhere. Gregory’s eyes were smarting, and tears ran down his face from the effects of the acrid smoke wafting across their path. Now and then, there was a gap in the smoke, through which he could see into the Jewry itself. Bodies, looking like heaps of cast- off clothes, lay everywhere. Strewn among them lay animal’s bodies and parts of bodies. Pig’s heads had been thrown in the street, and even dogs lay among the pitiful remains. On the doorpost of the house nearest to him, which had somehow escaped the flames, Gregory could see a cross daubed, no doubt, in pig’s blood. Furniture, flung into the street in fury, as the mob rampaged through the houses, was still burning. Sudden licks of flame darted out of windows and doorways. There was no sound other than the occasional hiss and pop, followed by the noise of something falling. No sign of living humanity existed: the Jewry had become a massive funeral pyre. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Alone at last, and surrounded by his books, Gregory could allow himself to think what he should do next. The massacre, and its aftermath, through which he had ridden only a few hours earlier, had shocked him into a daze of horror. Other riots and attacks on the Jews which he had witnessed had been bad enough: but he had never seen such total destruction of place, or such pointless, witless murder. The people who had done such things must have been fed some kind of story by a consummate rabble-rouser, which had whipped them into a blind frenzy of hate or fear. Only one man combined the force of personality to command the attention of the populace with a manic hatred of the Jews. Simon de Montfort’s hand was in this somewhere, thought Gregory, and he was determined to find out where. A soft tapping on the door penetrated his consciousness. "Who is it?" he said, hearing the despondency in his voice. The door opened. Hubert, who had returned with him, stood in the doorway, a steaming bowl of broth in his hands. "I thought, master, a little food...?" he said, uncertainly. Gregory beckoned him in. "You are a kind and thoughtful fellow," he said. "And you have suffered as much as me, if not more. Put the bowl here, on the table, and tell me of your own experiences. How did you find the Yechiels?" He gestured to the servant to sit down, and the man perched on the edge of a stool. He clasped his hands tightly together, and furrowed his brow as he gathered the details of the journey in his mind before speaking. He knew that Gregory would want as full a description as possible. "Well, Master Gregory," he said, after a pause. "I was on my way to the Jewry, when I realised that most of them were going the other way, towards the Tower. So I stood at the corner, just before the gatehouse, scanning the faces in the crowd. It was lucky that I caught sight of Master Aaron, just in time. I managed to work my way across and grasp his sleeve. A minute later and he and his party would have been through the gatehouse and into the Tower. He recognised me and came after me, when I explained that you had sent me. His womenfolk came with him." Gregory nodded. "Yes," he said. "That was fortunate for all of us. Go on." "We came along the side of the Jewry, just as the mob reached it and began their attack," said Hubert. "We saw the smoke, as they set fire to the houses, and we heard..."

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Belaset’s Daughter His voice faltered, but he swallowed and went on. "We heard them attacking everybody who had not escaped in time," he said. "We heard the women screaming, master, and..." He shook his head, silently. His eyes, fixed on Gregory’s face, glistened with tears, and his mouth worked. Gregory leant forward. "You could not have helped," he said, urgently. "You did the right thing, to keep on your way, and you saved my friends by doing so. Do not reproach yourself." Hubert looked down, and his knuckles went white as he strove to control himself. "You are very understanding, Master," he said at last, in a low voice. "But I shall never forget that screaming, as long as I live!" "Neither of us will forget this day," said Gregory, grimly. "Nor should we. If such sights and sounds can fade from our minds, we would be as inhuman as those who started this awful thing. But we can do our best to help those who have escaped, and to try to prevent such actions happening again in this City." Hubert looked up again and gazed at Gregory with respect. "Let me have a part in this work, Master Gregory," he said. "And I shall ask for nothing more." "You shall play your part," said Gregory, firmly. "I shall remember your words, and your bravery today. Finish your story." "We came out through Ludgate," said the servant. "And made our way across the Flete Bridge and through Westminster, until we met with you outside the Abbey. It was strange" he said musingly. "Once we were through the gate, no-one was about. It was as if we had stepped into a different land. The silence was almost as unnerving as the noise had been." "I know what you mean," said Gregory, with a nod. "It was strange to wait there at the Abbey, after we had taken the rest of the family to safety. Everyone around me was going about their business, and nobody knew why I was there, or what had happened in the City. I thought they would have heard." "Perhaps they had," said Hubert shrewdly. "Perhaps they knew, but did not want to know." A sudden thunderous knocking at the front door of the house broke the silence. Gregory and the servant sat frozen with shock. The sound of running feet came towards them, and the door burst open. A frightened maidservant stood there, her hands to her mouth, and her eyes wide. As they stared at her, she was thrust roughly aside, and two men burst into the room. Without speaking, they grasped Gregory and Hubert roughly, and hauled them to their BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter feet. As they struggled to free themselves, more men appeared. The terrified maidservant was knocked roughly aside, and lay where she fell, curled into a protective ball. Overwhelmed, Gregory and his servant were dragged from the room and out into the street. There, astride his horse, and looking remarkably unruffled, sat William Monchesny. He looked down at Gregory with a triumphant sneer. "Well, Master Gregory, we are pleased to find you at home!" he said. "You are cordially invited to the Tower." "Your cordiality seems a little forced, Sir William," said Gregory, standing stiffly upright between his captors. Monchesny grinned. "My men are eager to have you accept the invitation," he said. "They are sure that you will have an interesting tale to tell." "Why should that be?" said Gregory, coolly. "Because, Master Gregory," said Monchesny. "Someone saw you with your friends, on your way to Westminster in the most amazing hurry. Now why should that have been, I wonder, when all the excitement was here on your doorstep?" He gestured to his men, and wheeled the horse round. The party began to make its way to the Tower, marching briskly. A man marched on each side of Gregory, and his servant was similarly guarded behind him. Night was falling swiftly, and they walked along through increasing darkness. The emptiness of the streets was in contrast to the usual evening bustle, and there were no parties carrying torches to light the streets. The clanking of the soldiers’ short swords, the horses’ hooves, and their own swift breathing were the only sounds. In the dark, one of the men walking beside Gregory’s servant slipped on something on the ground. The man saw his chance. A push sent the soldier completely off balance, a kick to the other side doubled up the other man, and, before anyone in front could work out what was happening, Hubert was running. Unlike the soldiers, Gregory’s servant was familiar with the streets and alleyways. He ran at top speed toward the river, doubling back as the opportunity presented itself. Behind him, he heard the angry shouts of the soldiers, and then Gregory’s voice, yelling encouragement. There was the sound of a blow, and Gregory’s voice stopped abruptly, but Hubert ran on without a pause. He would go back to Westminster, and to the house where the Yechiels were waiting. Somehow, he would find a way to free his master. Somehow, they would get a message to the King. He reached the river and, without hesitating, waded into it and struck out. There had been no further sounds of pursuit, he realised. He turned his head towards the river bank, and trod water, listening with all his might. The shouting had faded, perhaps muffled by the houses between him and the others. No, he decided, it had stopped. They were not

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Belaset’s Daughter searching for him. Perhaps Gregory was the prize they sought, and they thought that a manservant was not worth wasting time on. Well, he thought, striking out strongly, he would prove them utterly wrong. Gregory, his heart thumping, was held firmly in the grip of his two escorts. The others had started to run after his servant, but came back within a minute. "It’s no use running after him," said one of them. "He knows this place far better than any of us." Monchesny grunted. "You’re probably right," he said. "It’s this fellow we need, not his servant. He’ll causeno problems too intent on saving his own skin to bother about what happens to his master." He chuckled and nudged the horse back into a walk. The small party of men continued on their way to the Tower. Since the men fell automatically into a march, apart from their hands on his arms, Gregory found he could ignore them and think instead about what he might be able to do. Hubert, he knew, would make for Westminster, and tell the Aaron and the others what had happened. If the man got there without mishap, a message would no doubt go to the King, in time, telling what had happened in the City, and how he himself had been taken. Meanwhile, he would have to see what plans there were for him would he be imprisoned, or was he being taken to his own execution? Somehow, despite the fact that the latter was a real possibility, Gregory felt so dazed by what had already happened to him that his brain refused to feel any fear for the future. It was as if all his emotional strength had already been used up b y the events of the day. They were through the gates of the Tower now, and into the courtyard beyond. A man ran up at Monchesny’s shout, and led away his horse. Gregory, still surrounded by four men, and led by Monchesny, was taken across the courtyard and into the main door of the great White Tower. Immediately, they were in the hall. The noise and movement of the horde of people inside was like a physical blow, after the eerie silence around the Jewry. Gregory blinked in the leaping flames from the fire, and the blazing torches which, thrust into holders, lined the walls. As they entered, heads turned in their direction, and the noise died away, as the men stared at this richly-dressed young man, guarded by soldiers, who had been brought into their midst. A voice rang out from the other end of the hall. "Well, Monchesny," it said. "You have had a successful hunt, I see! Bring your quarry closer." Monchesny, grinning, gestured to the guard to remain where they stood. Then, placing his own hand firmly on Gregory’s shoulder, he propelled him forward. The crowd made way for them, so that by the time they reached the high table, they were almost processing through two rows of curious men. Gregory felt himself flushing beneath the stares, and held his head high. He caught one or two whispers, a muttered curse, and one BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter man spat into the rushes that covered the floor as he passed. At last (it seemed), they reached the speaker. Monchesny bowed. "My Lord de Montfort," he said. "This is Gregory Rokesly, who warned the Jews of our coming..." "...and spoiled, your fun, eh?" said Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester. Monchesny tightened his lips. "My Lord," he said, with another bow. "Had we not ordered the men into the Jewry, the whole City might be ablaze by now." "Ah?" said de Montfort, leaning forward. "Do you say so? And how do you know this?" "We were brought word of the plan, my Lord," said Monchesny. "I can tell you all you wish to know, but is this the place?" He let his voice trail away, and looked de Montfort directly in the face for the first time. The Earl looked back thoughtfully, then nodded. "I take your point, Monchesny," he said. "We will discuss this in my chambers. Let us have Master Rokesly here bedded down for the night, and we will continue this conversation in ten minutes’ time." He rose from the table, and the rest stood up with him. "Hugh," he said to the man on his left. "You would like to hear the details, I have no doubt?" Hugh Dispenser smiled. "I should indeed, Simon," he said. Waving to the rest to be seated again, de Montfort turned and left the hall, with Hugh Dispenser following close behind. Monchesny waved two of the guards forward, and delivered Gregory to them. "The dungeons, Sir William?" said one of them. "No, no," said Monchesny. "There is a room in the Tower especially prepared for him where he will be able to see how very effective we are at stopping Jewish plans stopping them, dead, you might even say!" The guards smirked. "I know just the room you mean, Sir William," said the elder of the two. "Best view in the place, although the quarters themselves are not the standard Master Rokesly is accustomed to enjoy!"

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Belaset’s Daughter "A little hardship sharpens up the mind and, in any case, it may not be for long," said Monchesny. "Take him there, and I will come and see that he is ’comfortable’as soon as I have spoken to Earl Simon and my Lord Dispenser." He stood watching as the guards hustled Gregory back through the crowd. Now that they knew why he was there, the curses and spitting were open. He arrived at the main door again with gobs of saliva in his hair, on his face, and on his clothes, and feeling the bruises from the jostling he had endured, despite the growled warnings from the guards during their progress. Somehow, the worst part of it was having his arms so tightly held that he was unable to wipe his face. He felt as though he would never be clean again. Outside the building, they wheeled sharply to the left. One of the guards shouted across to a young lad, and a torch was brought to them. Then he was bundled into a smaller side door. It took them inside the base of one of the four smaller towers at each corner of the main structure. Stone steps spiralled up into the gloom, lit only fitfully by the flames from the torch which the guard held above his head. They were so narrow that the three were forced to go in single file. Gregory climbed in silence, gritting his teeth as he scraped his shin painfully against an unexpectedly steep step. The guard in front also went up in silence, but the man behind, unable to see so clearly, stumbled and cursed. "Slow down, damn you!" he said, finally, to the other. "How can I see where to put my feet, with you running ahead with the only light?" The man in the lead stopped suddenly, so that the other two cannoned into each other. "Do you want to lead, then?" he said, knowing that there was no chance of anyone changing places on this stairway. He turned and waved the torch back over the other two, who instinctively ducked. "Get on with it!" grumbled the other guard. "But just take a bit more time I’d get back down on my own two feet, then fall down on my back."

rather

The first one turned back to his task, and they began to climb again, though at a slower speed. It seemed to Gregory that they climbed for another ten minutes at least, and all three were breathing heavily by the time they finally came to the top of the staircase. A door barred the way, but the guard flung it open without hesitation. They were not, as Gregory had expected to be, actually at battlement level. The room, which was indeed small, was right up at the top of the Tower itself. There was nothing above his head but the struts and covering of the roof. The light of the torch showed a bare floor of flagstones, just large enough for a man to take two good steps in either direction. The window, which was at chest level, was uncovered, and the chill of the night penetrated. His two guards shivered, then turned without a word and left, taking the torch with them. He was left alone. Cautiously, he stretched out a hand, and leant forward until he touched the wall. Then, taking the step which brought him up to it, he turned and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, with his legs drawn up beneath him for warmth.

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Belaset’s Daughter The darkness, which had seemed absolute, was not. The moon was shining through the window, at an angle, lighting this place with its peculiar, silvery glow. He was grateful that he would not be condemned to wait in the pitch dark. Nevertheless, it would be a long night.

* * *

Hubert hauled himself out of the river, and lay, panting, on the bank. He could feel the mud seeping into his hair, and the dank smell of it filled his nostrils, but he was too exhausted to care. He listened with all his might, trying to hear if anyone was about, but the silence was absolute. As he regained his breath, he sat up cautiously. The moon that shone into Gregory s prison showed Hubert the bulk of the Abbey, looming up on his left. He rose to his feet, and shook himself, feeling the water stream off him, and wiped his face with his hands, to clean off some of the mud. Walking as softly as he could, he went towards the Abbey. If he could just get back to the Yechiels, he felt, somehow, that they would know what to do. The streets were deserted, but still Hubert went cautiously. An apparently empty street could still have many eyes watching it. By now, the news of the massacre must have reached Westminster, and anyone looking or acting oddly would be noted. Walking along in the moonlight, soaking wet, he was an obvious candidate for close scrutiny. It only needed one person to report having seen him to some officious busybody in the Abbey, for trouble to start. He had reached the door of the house where the Yechiels had been given shelter. First, he walked on past, without pausing, straining every nerve to take note of any possible followers. There was no-one he could hear, and, when he turned and retraced his steps, there was no-one he could see, either. Not even the tiniest flicker of movement showed the presence of anyone but himself in the little street. He rapped sharply on the door and stood waiting, impatient for the door to open. As soon as it did, he put a warning finger to his lips, and slipped inside. The girl who had opened the door, closed it quickly after his entrance, and turned to face him with frightened eyes. "Where have you come from?" she whispered. "You are soaking!" "The river is always wet," said the man. "The river?" she said. "Did you fall into it?" "No, no!" said Hubert. "I jumped and swam but Master Aaron, and let me tell them my story." BOSON BOOKS

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get Rebbe Yechiel, and the young

Belaset’s Daughter The girl hurried off. Standing there alone, Hubert could hear the muted sound of people talking. These people had been through experiences which gave them no cause to celebrate and when he told them what had happened, they would be even more cast down. But they would help somehow, he knew instinctively. Benjamin Yechiel came toward him, with Aaron and Judith close behind. The maid brought up the rear, unwilling to miss a moment. "What has happened?" said Benjamin, immediately. He took in Hubert’s wet, dishevelled appearance, and the anxiety in his eyes increased. "My master has been taken to the Tower," said Hubert. "I would have gone with him, but I managed to break free of my guards. I thought if I came to you, you would know what to do." "You did well," said Benjamin. "But you must tell us everything. We thought you were safe enough, when you left us. Surely, Gregory has enough friends in high places to protect him?" "Friends in high places, Father," said Aaron. "But for the King. Earl de Montfort has the Tower in his hands, and his people are there. If someone has betrayed Gregory..." "Someone must have done," interrupted Judith. "Was he taken from his house?" She turned to Hubert, who nodded. The cold and damp were beginning to tell, and, despite himself, he gave a shiver. "Come," said Judith. "We must get you dry and get some posset down you before you tell us more." "But you must help my master, quickly!" cried the man, desperately. "He must be in danger of his life. Sir William Monchesny himself led the party, and those that he takes to the Tower are seldom seen outside it again!" Aaron put his arm around him. "Listen to me," he said, quietly. "We can think how to help your master, and you can be getting dry and warm again at the same time. Be assured, we will do everything we can but it is no help if you fall ill, is it?" The firm, soothing voice had its effect, and Hubert calmed down again. He was led away by the maidservant, to the kitchen quarters at the back of the house. The other three stood where they were, their faces drawn with shock. "Well," said Aaron. "We must find a way of getting Gregory out of that place. And we must try to get a message to the King, to let him know what has happened here." "I will go to the King," said Judith. "You cannot," said Benjamin, shocked. "You are a married woman, now."

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Belaset’s Daughter "That does not mean that my brain and body no longer work!" snapped Judith. "I am not retiring from the world because I have a husband!" She glared at Benjamin. Aaron, despite the seriousness of the moment, could not help grinning. "Judith would be the best person to go, Father," he said. "She is known to many of the King’s men, but...". He turned to Judith, who had opened her mouth indignantly at the word. "Someone is needed to be with our mothers," he said. "And they would be horrified if they thought that I had let you go to the King alone. I must find a way to rescue Gregory, or I should be with them myself." "How can I sit in this house, not knowing where you are, and not able to do anything myself?" protested Judith. "You will be doing something," said Benjamin, suddenly. "You will keep company with Dorcas and Belaset, and prepare for our return." He watched with interest. Two pairs of eyes locked and held. Judith smiled suddenly. "I see you would be masterful, my lord!" she said, mockingly to Aaron. "I will do as you say but mark, it is because you give good reason, and not because I am submitting meekly to my husband!" "I would not have you meek, Judith," he said. "But I would have you alive and safe." "I know," she said. "I should want the same for you. I know you will not take foolish risks to rescue Gregory but I wish you success. He is your dear friend, and I wish to know him better." She smiled again, but tenderly this time, and her eyes glistened with sudden, unshed tears. Aaron took her in his arms and held her close to him. Benjamin, barely controlling his own emotion, walked softly away and left them together. In the back room, all conversation had stopped. As Benjamin appeared in the doorway, everyone looked at him. He stood just inside the room, and addressed them. "Our dear friend, Master Gregory Rokesly, has been taken by Monchesny, and placed in the Tower," he said. There was a murmur of dismay. "His manservant was also taken, but managed to escape," he continued. "He has just told us what happened. He came here by swimming in the river, and walking through the streets of Westminster, until he reached us. He is a brave man, and a loyal servant. We have to think of a plan to free Master Gregory. We are very few, and I, for one, am not skilled in such acts." There was a silence, then Dorcas stepped to her husband’s side.

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Belaset’s Daughter "What can we women do to help?" she said. "We will need food and drink, and dry clothes for our return," said Benjamin. "We shall also need more food to be prepared for our journey together, as we return to Lewes. Finally, we need you to behave as though nothing extraordinary is happening, so I suggest you make ready for bed." "How much will you tell the servants?" said Belaset. "It depends on Hubert’s opinion of them," answered Benjamin. "he is Gregory’s most trusted manservant. He will know whom to trust, and who may betray us. We are going to ask him to come with us." Belaset nodded. "Yes," she said. "He will want to do that. Well, we will prepare what we can, and then try to sleep, as you ask." Dorcas linked her arm in Belaset’s. "Come, then," she said. "Let us see what we have in the kitchens. It will keep us occupied while the men..." Her voice quavered suddenly, and she cleared her throat. "...while the men do what they must!" she finished firmly, and led the way out of the room.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As Hubert came into the room, Benjamin walked over to welcome him. The man looked nervously at him, blinking and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Benjamin reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. "We need your help to rescue your master," he said. "Do you feel strong enough to join us?" Hubert nodded, eagerly, his face showing his relief. "I will gladly do all that I can," he said. "My master is a good man." "We agree!" said Aaron, heartily, from where he was seated. "And that’s why we are determined to release him from his captors. We must make proper plans. It is no use running off into the night, with only anger and determination to help us." Hubert nodded. "And how will you get in, to start your search?" he said. "There must be a way," said Aaron. "Perhaps in disguise." He paused, as a sudden thought struck him. "Probably in the same way as you came to us!" "By the river!" said Hubert. "But can we do it without being seen by a guard? All the entrances to the Tower are bound to have guards the river will be no exception." "There are ways of dealing with the guards!" said Aaron. "A knife can easily be held between the teeth for a short swim." Benjamin shuddered "Could you kill a man in cold blood?" he said. "My blood will not be cold, when I see one of those men," said Aaron. "I have only to remember what has just happened to us, because we are different from most of them there will be plenty to remind me on the way to the Tower." He looked at the others. "It might have been us!" he said, his voice choked with emotion. "If it had not been for Gregory, we might all be lying dead in the Jewry." Nobody spoke for a few seconds, then Benjamin broke the silence. "Hubert, we are only three," he said. "While I do not want to be part of a large band, I think we need at least one other man, to keep a lookout perhaps, or help us with the

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Belaset’s Daughter actual rescue. Are any of the servants here in this house trustworthy enough to come with us?" Hubert nodded his head immediately. "There is one here who is a friend of mine," he said. "I would not hesitate to trust him with my life. He looks after the horses. His name is Walter." "Fetch him," said Aaron, at once. "No wait a moment," said Benjamin. "This must be done quietly. Too much bustle will arouse the suspicions of anyone who might not be so trustworthy." Hubert leant forward. "I can fetch Walter without disturbing anyone else," he said. "He likes to be alone when he is not working. He is probably sitting in the hayloft, as far away from everyone else as possible." "Is he so surly, then?" said Benjamin, in surprise. Hubert smiled. "No," he said. "He wishes to better himself, and is trying to learn how to read and write." "A man of ambition, then!" said Benjamin. "Indeed," said Hubert. "Well, go and find him, and bring him to us with all speed," said Benjamin. "We will wait for you." Hubert was back in a few minutes, bringing Walter with him. He was a stocky man, with strong-looking arms and legs, and a shock of red hair. His eyes, a startling green, gazed at Aaron and Benjamin with curiosity, and Aaron had the distinct impression that he was being shrewdly assessed. The assessment seemed to work to his advantage, for Walter gave a short nod of satisfaction to them both, and stood waiting for one of them to speak. "Walter," said Benjamin. "We are told by Hubert that you are a fine, trustworthy fellow, who would be eager to join us in rescuing Master Gregory from the Tower." Walter grunted and nodded again. "We need someone who would be willing to risk his life, perhaps. It is a dangerous mission we are undertaking," Benjamin continued. "Makes no difference," said Walter. His voice was a deep, throaty rumble. "Then join us here, while we make our plans," said Benjamin.

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Belaset’s Daughter The four men sat together round a table, leaning their arms on the top, and speaking softly. At the end of half-an-hour, they were satisfied that the rescue plan was as foolproof as possible. Benjamin rose to his feet. "We must eat before we leave," he said. "I’ll go and arrange something." He reached the door and opened it. Just outside, Dorcas was standing, with a tray containing four bowls of steaming soup and bread to go with it. She looked at Benjamin’s startled face, and laughed. "Did you think we would let you go without feeding you?" she said to her husband. "Surely, after all these years together you would expect that!" Benjamin stood aside so that she could enter. She placed the tray on the table, and put a bowl of soup and some of the bread in front of each man, then stood back, hands on hips, as they began to eat. "Dorcas," said Benjamin. "You should have let the maid bring in the food. Why are you working like this you need sleep, to recover from today’s events." "Tush, man!" said Dorcas, briskly. "The servants here cannot prepare good chicken soup like this, and the best way to forget something bad is to be too busy to think about it. I shall not sleep until you are safe back again. Nor will Belaset or Judith, so we are all helping each other to get through this night by talking and working." "What is there to work at here?" said Aaron, surprised. "You are in a strange house, with servants to look after you." "Your mother can always find work, my son," said Benjamin, wryly. "Nowhere is properly clean unless Dorcas has seen the cleaning. Nothing is properly cooked, unless she has supervised the cooking. You should know that by now!" He winked at Aaron, who winked back, and earned a frown of mock disapproval from his mother. The bowls of soup were soon swallowed and the bread eaten. Dorcas cleared them away and took them out of the door, placing the tray of empty bowls on a bench in the hall outside. She came back into the room and went to her husband. "I know you are about to go," she said. "I know that you are risking all your lives. Good luck to all of you, and come back safely, with Master Gregory. We will be waiting eagerly for your return." She raised her face for Benjamin’s kiss, and went to Aaron for his. Then, without another word, she walked from the room and shut the door quietly behind her. There was an awkward silence, then Benjamin cleared his throat and looked around the table. "It is time," he said, gruffly. "We must leave this house as quietly as possible. Hubert will lead us to the river, where we should find a boat to ’borrow’ withinmoments. Walk in single file, and I shall be the last one, so that I can keep a sharp watch on our backs." "Father," protested Aaron. "Let me walk at the back. I am more used to handling my knife than you." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "And your young eyes are keener," said Benjamin. "Very well you will walk at the back, Hubert will lead, and Walter and I will walk between you. All of us must be alert for any danger, and warn the others in time, if we see anything. Do not hesitate it is better to give a false alarm, than to refrain because you are not sure what you can see." The others nodded their agreement. Silently, they checked that they each had a knife concealed on them, but easily drawn, then, with Hubert leading, they slipped quietly out of the front door of the house. Moving swiftly along from shadow to shadow, they reached the riverbank without encountering anyone. They stopped momentarily, while Hubert got his bearings and turned to his left, beckoning them to follow him. They walked cautiously forward along the low banks, feeling the muddy ground beneath their feet, striving to keep their balance as their feet skidded slightly where the ground was wetter. On their left, as they walked along, they saw the walls put up to guard the great houses and palaces of the wealthy from entry by wouldbe robbers, or worse. The low tide, which gave them the mud to walk along, made it difficult to find any kind of boat that could be used. Sometimes they came to a wooden jetty, built out from a back gate across the mud, until it reached the water level. Walter would wave the others down, to search among the staithes, in case a boat had been tied up there. Their first three searches were fruitless, but, at the fourth jetty they found what they were hoping for a small boat, well hidden and securely tied, underneath. It had been left high and dry as the tide ebbed and, when they groped inside it for oars, proved to be full of rope. "We are at the back of the Savoy Palace," whispered Walter. "No doubt this has been used as a ferry, to carry stone and timber for the builders. It will serve our purpose well." "Not without oars!" said Hubert, who had been searching all round as the others stood there. They searched further up the bank, closer to the Palace wall. The oars must have been taken and stored somewhere else, to prevent just such a plan as they had, thought Aaron, feeling his frustration turning rapidly to impotent anger. He had come right up against the gate which gave access to the jetty, and he could see the figures of two of the others, bending and peering as he had been himself. The third figure he could not see and he felt a sudden flare of anxiety. He began to make his way back down across the shoreline, ducking under the jetty as soon as he could, and it was this action that solved their problem. Grasping one of the uprights as he ducked beneath it, he heard a faint rattle above his head. He reached up, hoping to find a loose piece of timber that might serve and found the oars. They were neatly stowed between the platform of the jetty and the cross timbers that were set at intervals to strengthen it. He had also found the man he could not see from outside. Hubert was just a little way down the slope. Aaron hissed at him , and Hubert turned and came towards him. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter "The oars!" said Aaron, as soon as he was close enough. "They are here, above my head. Help me to get them down." The two of them began to slide the heavy things out of their resting-place. It sounded to Aaron as if the rasping noise would be bound to wake someone, but the only effect was to bring Walter and Benjamin to them, to give their aid as well. Once free, the oars were carried swiftly to the boat, which was emptied of its pile of rope in no time. Two on each side, and bending in unison, the four men half-slid, half-carried the boat into the water. It floated lightly on the surface, and they waited a moment, holding on to it on one side, to see if it was truly watertight. There was no sign of seepage, nor did it sink, so all four climbed in. Benjamin and Hubert sat in the stern, and Aaron in the prow. Walter, without being asked, had placed himself in the middle and, settling the oars in the rowlocks, began rowing expertly downriver. The tide was still on the ebb, so they had the current with the. In minutes, they were within sight of the Tower, and Walter pulled on the right oar, so that they glided softly to one side, and bumped gently against the wooden piling which lined the bank at this point. They were close to the start of the Tower walls, but no head appeared above them and no challenge rang out in the night. Walter lifted the oars out of the rowlocks and stowed them, as silently as possible, in the bottom of the dinghy. He leant forward toward Benjamin and Hubert, and spoke softly. "We will push ourselves along from here," he said. "We should reach an opening in the wall, which will be a hidden entrance to the Tower. Pray that it is open." The others nodded. Leaning back, he repeated what he had said to Aaron. Together, they began to push themselves cautiously along. Aaron, facing backwards, could see nothing, and he signalled to the others to stop, after a few feet. "I must turn around," he whispered to them. "Otherwise, I may lose my balance, if I put out my hand and find nothing to grasp." He turned, half-crouching, and settled himself on his knees. It was painful, but he ignored the pain, knowing that it would last only a short time. Again, they inched slowly along, pushing and pulling with their hands and arms, guiding themselves and moving silently along. They were moving beside the wall of the Tower now, and the rough stone scraped their hands and broke their nails, but they kept grimly on. Then, suddenly, Aaron saw a patch of darkness ahead, breaking the dull white of the Caen stone. He turned and gestured to the others, urging them on. A final effort, and they were at the entrance, with Aaron holding on to the side. Cautiously, he peered round the corner of the wall. As far as he could see, there was nothing to bar their way. Slowly, and silently, the four men edged the little craft round into the blackness of the river entrance to the Tower. In their efforts to be absolutely silent, all four held their

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Belaset’s Daughter breath. For an agonising minute, they held the boat steady, and stayed completely motionless, listening with all their might. Nothing stirred, except for the river. Aaron, still facing forward, looked about as his eyesight adjusted. Slowly, he exhaled, and breathed in, as soundlessly as he could. He could just make out a stone staircase, leading up from the water, inside the ramparts of the Tower. The walls on either side of the entrance gleamed with water. Trailing green weed hung down from about half-way up the walls and vanished below the water level. The top of the weed growth was the high water mark, he realised. The smell of the air was indescribable a mixture of river water, stagnation, and sewage, with something else mixed in that he preferred not to think about. The air itself seemed thick, and he was conscious of the extra effort needed to drag it into his lungs. They could not linger here for too long, he thought, or they would risk being poisoned by the atmosphere. He glanced over his shoulder at the others, and caught Walter wrinkling his nose in disgust. Hubert and his father were lost in the shadows, but he could imagine that they were all suffering as he was. He put his hand gently on the wall, and the boat moved forward obligingly, until, with the gentlest of bumps, it nudged the bottom of the stairs. Cautiously, he half-stood, and stepped out of the boat onto the bottom stair. It was as slimy as he had suspected, but he kept his footing, and turned, without mishap, to hold onto the prow of the boat. The others came out after him, adopting the same crouch, and stepping with an almost feminine delicacy. Once all four were safely on the stairs, Aaron had no choice but to let go of the boat. There was no way to tie it up, and, in any case, they did not plan to leave by this route. If they did, and the boat was still there, well and good. If not, and it was their only means of exit, they would have to swim for it, and take their chance of getting away safely. Still it was Hubert who led the little party. He had the most knowledge of the Tower, its buildings and its layout, so he was to be in charge, as they searched for Gregory. Even Benjamin, natural leader though he was, had agreed that this was sensible. He had never been inside the Tower, and knew nothing of the manner in which it functioned. Even Hubert’s scanty knowledge gave them a better chance of safety than someone with no knowledge at all leading them. They made their way silently up the short flight of stairs, towards a flickering light. At the top, to the surprise of three of them, they were inside a stone passage lit with flambeaux. Hubert crept forward, with the others close on his heels. The passage sloped upwards at a slight angle, until it ended at a sturdy, oak door, studded with iron and with an iron ring as a handle. Hubert drew his knife, and the others followed suit. Cautiously, he turned the handle and pushed gently on the door. The hinges were obviously welloiled, as it opened without a sound. A breath of air from the other side seeped out, oddly scented. Standing at the back of the group, Aaron sniffed, trying to place the perfume. Then he realised it was incense. He had smelled the same scent on Gregory sometimes, when he

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Belaset’s Daughter had just returned from attending Mass. They were entering some kind of church, or chapel. Puzzled, he followed Hubert and the others, through the doorway. They were indeed in a place of Christian worship. In the light of more torches, set in holders in the walls, they could see an altar, covered with richly embroidered cloth, in front of them. On it stood a cross, made in what looked like solid gold, with two golden candlesticks on either side. In front of the altar was a strip of carpet, with two prie-dieux placed upon it. There was no time to notice more. The chapel was obviously prepared for use, or why else would there be light? Hubert led them along the side of the room, to where another door had been let into the wall. This one opened equally silently, and, still moving cautiously, they went through it. A spiral staircase rose above them. Aaron realised that they must be inside one of the towers which were part of the new curtain wall that Henry had caused to be built as an additional defence, to protect him and his family from the Londoners outside. He had good cause to know how quickly they could change: the mob who cheered their King into the City one day could just as easily riot and attack the him on the next. Hubert had led them to yet another door. As he opened this one, he had to pull it inward. Cool night air rushed in they were about to leave the relative safety of the tower, and take their chances outside. Benjamin laid his hand on Hubert’s sleeve. "Where are we?" he whispered. "This is St Thomas’s Tower," Hubert whispered back. "I think my master is being kept at the top of the White Tower. We must cross the open ground here, and get into that building somehow, without being seen." "Is it possible?" said Aaron. "It has to be," said Hubert, grimly. "There is no other way and once we are inside, we shall have to trust to luck that no-one catches sight of us. We cannot go back you saw that the chapel is ready for use. Someone must be expected within minutes. Let me leave first, then come across one at a time, as you are beckoned. Do not follow on too quickly, one after the other. It will make for too much continuous movement. We do not know how many guards there are, or where they are keeping watch." The others nodded their agreement. Benjamin held the door open, and Hubert slid through. They saw him run quickly down the stairs outside, then across a patch of open ground, and into the shadow of the looming bulk of the White Tower. Here, he apparently vanished, then they saw his arm, outlined against the white stone, waving at them. Obediently, Benjamin made the same journey, watched anxiously by Walter and Aaron. He moved quickly and silently, and Aaron felt a flash of pride in his father. There was a pause, but no challenge came from a guard, and the arm waved again, beckoning Walter on his way to join the other two. Now Aaron could see that they were all huddled together, in a corner of the wall. A longer pause, and Aaron, waiting in the doorway, was just beginning to wonder if something was wrong, when he saw the signal. Taking a deep breath, he closed the door gently behind him, and ran down the stairs and across the

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Belaset’s Daughter ground towards the others. As he arrived, he could that the corner into which they were huddled was deeper than he had realised. Even he was able to squeeze in beside them, and lean in the shelter of the walls. It became darker. The moonlight, which had helped them so much thus far, vanished behind a cloud. Hubert’s voice whispered close to his right ear. "We must find a way of getting into the building," he said. "There are four towers, but he has most likely been taken to Maud’s Tower." "How can you know that? We might have to try them all," said Benjamin. "There are four of us," came Walter’s voice, from his other side. "We cannot take one each," said Benjamin, firmly. "It is too much of a risk, to search an unknown building alone. We must stay together, for our own protection." "If we part now, we might never meet again!" said Aaron, promptly, in agreement. "We must find Master Gregory and return to Westminster in one group. My father is right together we can all protect each other. Two smaller groups double the risk of discovery." "I still believe we should try Maud’s Tower first," said Hubert, insistently. "It is the most likely and we shall know it, because it is the only round tower. If I am wrong, we may have to search the rest of the building but let us try that place first." There was a silence, while all four thought it over. "Well," said Benjamin, in a resigned tone. "I cannot think of a better plan. All four together will take the longest time, unless we find Master Gregory at our first attempt, but it is by far the safest way." "I agree," said Walter, suddenly sounding confident. The other two murmured assent. So they set off. The moon reappeared and showed them each other’s faces, and the anxiety that showed in their expressions. Slipping down the side of the wall, trying to make as little sound as possible, they searched for an entrance to the White Tower. They found it after searching two sides of the great building. After some anxious minutes, with all four straining every sense in an effort to be forewarned of any danger, Hubert suddenly stopped and held up his arm. They were at the foot of an extension to the wall they had been walking beside. Looking up, they could see the top of an arched doorway. Hubert slid his head round the corner, and could see where the steps began, leading to the door. They had found one entrance and it was guarded. "That’s the end of your turn, then, you lucky scoundrel!" said a rough voice. "And just the start of mine!" "I should feel sorrier for you, were I not so pleased for myself!" said the man he was relieving. "Did you leave any ale in our quarters?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "I did!" said the second man. Although I cannot vouch that it will be there long. I’d get to it quickly, if I were you, before they change the guard on the prisoner!" Hubert turned round quietly and faced the other three and shook his head, gesturing that they should retreat again. As they turned to do so, the first guard continued speaking. "Well, at least we need not fear the gullet of Sir Roger de Tourney’s man any longer!" he said. Aaron froze suddenly, and put up a hand to stop the others, as he listened to the rest of the conversation. "...a very unfortunate accident," the man was saying, with a chuckle. "How could we know that a sergeant-at-arms would be such a poor horseman?" "And an even worse swimmer!" said the second man. They both laughed. "It’s not often a man can enjoy such sport in his killing, and know that he was only obeying orders!" said the first one, with a sigh of contentment. "We’ll never know what the fool had done to deserve such an end, but I am glad that I was chosen to help him on his way!" Aaron began to move swiftly back the way they had come. The other three followed, wondering what had caused his sudden interest in the conversation going on above them. They turned the corner again, and were back at the place they had started from, before Aaron stopped to explain. "Sir Roger de Tourney is with the King," he said. "Jervis FitzHugh had long suspected him of treason, and we found his suspicions were correct, when we were at Merton. That was why we had to escape. It looks as if Sir Roger sent one of his men to Monchesny to warn him that Jervis is for the King, and not for Earl Simon. If Jervis’s true allegiance is known here, they will try and kill him!" "Well," said Benjamin. "We can do nothing about it now. At least we have found it out. First, let us find Master Gregory, and get him to safety. You must try not to think of anything else for now, my son." "You are right, Father," said Aaron. "But we must warn Jervis as soon as we can." "Your friend Jervis is fifty miles away," said Hubert. "My master may be just fifty feet from us, and in equally urgent need of our help. Come we must go round the other way, and hope that there are no more guards." He led off, and the other three followed behind him. Again, they went through the nerve-racking experience of walking along in the moonlight, outlined against the white stone of the building. It was impossible to hide, for there was no cover. Still, their luck held, and they had gone down two side of the Tower once more, when they saw the curved wall of Maud’s Tower looming ahead of them.

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Belaset’s Daughter Hubert edged forward around the curve and stopped. There was a guard at the entrance to the tower, watching by a small door. He was sure he was right Master Gregory was being held in this place. He backed off again to where the others stood waiting. "There is a single guard at the entrance to the tower," he murmured. "We have to dispose of him. I am willing to use my knife for the task. The rest of you must be ready to go past me and into the tower as quickly as you can, in case the disturbance brings anyone else." "Very well," said Benjamin. "Although I rue the loss of life." "Father," said Aaron. "What else can we do? This may be one of those who was engaged in killing our people but a short while since." It was true, and Benjamin said no more. The three others watched as Hubert edged round the wall and waited for his chance. It came he sprang, the guard half-turned at the noise, and Hubert had his hand across the man’s mouth to stifle him. The knife did its work quickly: with a faint gurgle as his throat was slashed across, the man jerked once and was dead. Hubert lowered him to the ground and stood over him. Aaron, running past with the others, shook him by the shoulder, and Hubert came out of his trance and ran with them. The door gave easily under Benjamin’s hand, and all four were inside the tower in seconds. Aaron could hear Hubert giving great, shuddering sighs, as he fought against the reaction to what he had done. "You did well, Hubert!" he said, encouragingly. "It was for your master remember that." "I will remember," came Hubert’s voice, shakily. "I will remember everything that is happening tonight, for the rest of my life." "Hush!" said Benjamin. "There may be other guards, waiting above us. They will hear us speaking." "No," said Hubert, in a firmer voice. "There is no other way into or out of this tower, but by the door. There is nothing here but the room right up at the top of the tower, and my master will be there, if we have chosen aright." Aaron spoke up. "If that is so, we need one of us to stay here and make sure that no-one else tries to come in, while we are climbing. We need must avoid surprises as much as possible. Father..." "I agree," said Benjamin. "I have no objection to staying here as a guard. I was not looking forward to the climb let your younger limbs and wind undertake the task. It is unlikely that anyone will open the door while we are here unless they discover the man we have killed."

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Belaset’s Daughter "They seem to be too confident to patrol inside the grounds," said Walter, suddenly. "We have seen no-one walking about since we entered the Tower." "Let us begin, then," said Aaron. "We have no light, but the stairs should be easy enough to follow." They began to climb, with a few stumbles, and some mutterings under the breath from all three. As they followed the spiral round, the moon shone through the small windows which were set in the wall. These were interspersed by even smaller arrow slits, and the eerie light shone even through these, sending a single beam through to lie on the edge of the stone step. Down below, Benjamin listened as the soft footsteps and breathing fade into silence, and leant more comfortably against the wall to await their return.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY

Gregory started awake, knowing he had heard something, but uncertain what it might have been. He was half-sitting, half-lying, and his neck ached from the angle at which it had been held as he dozed. He felt his ears stretching, with the effort of listening. The sound came again a soft chink of metal on metal. He struggled to his feet and rubbed his hands over his face, angry with himself, for having slept in such circumstances. Now he waited, ready to attack if it would mean his escape from this place. The noise had changed to a scraping sound, then in the moonlight, he saw the door of his prison begin to swing inward. "Gregory?" whispered a voice he knew but someone playing a cruel trick?

could not believe he was hearing. Was

"Gregory?" came the voice again. "It’s me, Aaron Yechiel. Are you there?" It was true, then. "Yes!" he said, and was shocked at the tremor in his voice. The door opened wider. Aaron came striding in, followed by two others. The moonlight showed him Walter’s red thatch, and he would have known Hubert’s gait and stance anywhere. "How are you here?" he said. "What’s happening?" "There is no time to explain," said Aaron. "We must get away from this place with all speed. My father is waiting at the bottom of the tower come!" He caught Gregory round the shoulders, gave him one hard squeeze, and hustled him towards the door at the same time. Needing no further bidding, Gregory allowed himself to be bundled out of the room, and the four of them began a swift descent of the stone stairs. Round and round, down and down, they half-ran, half-jumped, until their heads were spinning. Once Gregory all but missed his footing, but felt a hand grasp him from behind and steady him again. In a fraction of the time it had taken to climb the stairs, they were at the bottom. Benjamin was ready for them. "Here he is!" said Aaron, exultantly. "Hubert was right to bring us here first." "Thank God you are safe," said Benjamin, fervently. He felt for Gregory’s hand in the darkness, and shook it, hard.

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Belaset’s Daughter "We cannot stay here, congratulating ourselves," he went on. "Let us hope our good fortune holds. I think we must try to go back the way we came in. If the boat is still there, well and good: if not, we must swim for it." "The main gate is nearer," said Gregory. "Can we not rush it, in a body, and force our way through?" "Why cause a disturbance, when we have not done so, so far?" argued Benjamin. "At the moment, no-one is aware of our presence. If we are lucky, we will be away from here, before our one mischance is discovered." He nodded to where the guard’s body lay. Gregory glanced at it, then back at Benjamin. "You are right," he said, and closed his mouth firmly. These friends had risked their lives to get to him and free him. They had found a route which had allowed them to reach him undetected, and they would get him out of this place completely, if he trusted them, (and God, he thought) to lead him. "Come, then," said Hubert. "We must return through St. Thomas’s Tower, if we are to leave by the same route." He led them back the way they had come. Now that Gregory was with them, it was harder to use the same degree of caution, because of the relief they all felt. Still, thought Aaron to himself, as he padded along behind his father’s familiar bulk, they were not safe yet, by a long way. As though to confirm those thoughts, Hubert suddenly halted. Behind him, the others stopped and waited, wondering what had caught his eye. Then they all saw it: across the space between the White Tower and the entrance to St. Thomas’s came a short procession of men. At the front walked a small boy, carrying a cross, which he held high above him, as a guide. Behind him came a priest, hands folded in front of him, and his head bowed, as if already in prayer. His tonsured scalp gleamed in the moonlight, and Aaron felt an hysterical urge to laugh at the sight. The sight of the next figure was enough to still any such desire Simon, Earl de Montfort strode along, an expression of piety sitting oddly on his features. He wore a long, furred robe, which parted with each stride, showing the jewelled belt beneath it, and the apparent lack of any weapon. At his rear came two more men, unknown to Aaron, but one was certainly known to Gregory and Hubert. William Monchesny was accompanying his leader to midnight Mass, by the look of it. The other man could only be Hugh Dispenser. As the procession entered the door of the smaller tower, Hubert slumped against the wall. "Now what can we do?" he said. "They have blocked our way and trapped us here, without even knowing they have done so!"

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Belaset’s Daughter "How long will they be in there?" said Benjamin. "Not long, it is true," said Gregory. "But how long will our good fortune stay with us?" "We must wait and take our chance," said Benjamin. "It is too great a risk," said Aaron. "We cannot simply stand here. We must at least cross to the tower. There must be other rooms inside it the chapel was below us, remember. A tower must have something inside it at the upper levels, even if it is only store-rooms." Before anyone could respond, he was away from them and running swiftly across the open space, into the doorway of St. Thomas’s Tower. Hubert ran next, followed by the others, until all five were safely inside. Aaron was right. A stone staircase, just like the one they had climbed to rescue Gregory, spiralled up from where they all stood, crowded together. They climbed up it without a word, waiting until Aaron, still in the lead, should find a door which might have behind it some kind of shelter for them. Anything was better than standing outside in the moonlight, even if they had to wait on these stone steps they were climbing. There was indeed a door, which Aaron’s fumbling hand groped across. He felt the cold stone give way to the warmer feel of wood and stopped short. Behind him, Walter ran into his back, his halting had been so sudden. "There’s a door here," whispered Aaron. The others waited, while he felt for some kind of handle. He could hear them all breathing behind him, someone his father, he guessed panting more heavily than the rest. At last, his fingers found what they were seeking. The rough iron ring turned easily in his hand, and the door began to open. He eased it away from him, holding his breath in a mute effort to will it into opening silently. There was only the faintest of creaks, and then it was as wide as he could push it without stepping forward. A faint, musty smell came out to meet the group. The room was not one which was regularly used for anything other than some kind of store. A small window, such as the one which had lit Gregory’s prison, gave sufficient light here for them to make out bundles and chests, stacked around the walls. Aaron made way for the others, who stepped in behind him. Benjamin was the first to walk across the room, and to reach out and touch the bundles. His hand felt the roughness of some kind of woollen stuff, then canvas, then heavy cloth with a thread which scratched his palms slightly. "I think we have found something comfortable to rest on, while we wait," he whispered to the others. "It feels like wall-hangings and even carpets. It must belong to the King, for him to use when he is in residence."

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Belaset’s Daughter Whoever owned it, it gave some welcome comfort to the five men. They all sat and leant gratefully against the rolls of material, which felt soft and yielding after so long on their feet. "Leave the door ajar," whispered Aaron. "We need to hear when they leave the tower again." Hubert had been in the act of closing the door completely, but he obediently left a small gap. It should be enough for them to hear any movement, but not to attract the notice of anyone glancing up the stairs for some reason, even in the light of the moon, which was shining over everything once more. They waited in silence. Occasionally, someone shifted their position to a more comfortable one, or gave a soft sigh, but there were no words exchanged. It seemed as though they sat there for hours, but it could only have been about twenty minutes later that they heard the sound of people walking beneath them, as the small procession left the building. As soon as the door below them was closed, they were on their feet again. Quietly, they made their way back down the stairs, and went on down into the lower reaches, along the passage and through the chapel. Gregory, who had not seen the sight before, stopped in surprise, and had to be hustled on, as they went through the chapel, and along the second stone passage, sloping down to the river. Aaron was leading them at an ever faster pace, and they almost ran along this second passage, still lit by the flambeaux which had shown them their way as they entered. Aaron found himself praying under his breath, in the hope that the boat might still be there, in the reeking inlet, where they had left it. When he saw that it was, he almost shouted with joy. The little boat must have been held in place by heaven knew what strange currents from the river. He urged the others on, with a gesture of his hand, and was down the steps and into the boat in two great leaps. It rocked violently under him, and he grasped at the weed on the wall to steady himself, as he helped first Gregory and then Benjamin to step in. They made their way past him to the stern, while Walter and Hubert stepped in after them. The little boat sank lower in the water, with the extra weight, but it was well built, and seemed safe enough still. "Push against the walls!" said Aaron, in a low voice. "We must leave as silently as we came." Three of them Aaron, Walter and Hubert pushed in unison, and they felt the boat move away from the steps. They edged their way out, and tried to round the corner of the wall. The tide, which had been in their favour as they came down river was now against them. As they came out, the stern was first to catch the flow, and swung round. Walter, who BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter was in the prow of the boat, felt the drift away begin, and grabbed at the weed. They held for a while, but he could feel them begin to tear away. "Hang on!" came Aaron’s whisper behind him. "Just for a moment!" Walter struggled desperately to find some weed which would hold, or to find a projecting stone. It was no use: the wall had been too well built, and the surface was as smooth as the mason could make it. There was nowhere for him to get a purchase, and his grasp slowly slid down the weeds, until he was gripping only water and the last fronds. They were out on the river, where anyone might see them, if they glanced down from the Tower walls. There was a moment of fierce activity in the boat, then the oars were out and the blades in the water with barely a splash. Hubert and Aaron, side by side, began rowing as hard as they could. Slowly the boat began to edge its way upstream. Walter sat down hard, panting with exertion, and feeling the sting in his palms where something had scratched them among the weeds. In front of him, the two backs bent forward and straightened in a kind of mad, rhythmic dance. They made a sort of progress for about three minutes, then the shout they had dreaded to hear rang out. They had been seen. Now that the worst had happened, there was, at least, no more need for caution and silence. Aaron and Hubert rowed even faster, sending the oars splashing into the water, and swinging them in a great arc, through it and out, before bending forward again to repeat the stroke. There were arrows now, dropping into the water on either side of them. "Duck, duck!" gasped Aaron, and the three others crouched down. The moon, which had been an ally until this moment, now became an enemy, lighting them clearly for their attackers to see. Still, the boat staggered forward on the river, despite the tide and the number of people in her. They were almost out of range, when Aaron saw a sight that he would never be able to forget. Curving through the air came an arrow. He saw the metal head, glinting in the moonlight, with the long shaft of wood behind it. As he watched it came straight towards them, and buried itself in Benjamin’s back. He screamed once, and fell forward at his son’s feet. He coughed, and Aaron felt the wet heat of his father’s blood drenching his hose. In his horror, he froze, gripping the oar as if he would break it. Gregory leant over Benjamin, looking to see where the arrow had penetrated. He looked up at Aaron. "He is still alive," he said. "Do you hear me, Aaron he is alive!" He raised one hand, and shook Aaron roughly by the shoulder. "Row," he said. "Quickly, we must get your father to the house row, Aaron!" Aaron stared at him, dazed, then literally shook himself, and began to row again. Hubert, who had stopped also, matched his rhythm to Aaron’s, and rowed without a word.

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Belaset’s Daughter The attack had ceased, once they were out of range. Presumably, orders would be given for a search party to leave the Tower and hunt them down especially if the guard had been able to identify them. How long they had to reach the safety of Gregory’s house in Westminster, none of them knew. All that was certain was that Benjamin was badly wounded, perhaps dying, and that there was nowhere else for them to go. Aaron seemed to have become an automaton. On and on he rowed, never breaking the rhythm, apparently with inexhaustible strength. Hubert struggled grimly to keep up with him, unwilling to break their progress by asking someone else to take over. He felt as if his heart would burst, but still the relentless pace went on. At last, Walter said, "Pull right, we are there!" The sound of his voice seemed to bring Aaron from his trance. Together, he and Hubert adjusted their efforts, so that the boat swung across the river, and bumped against the mudbank on the Westminster side. Walter leapt out, and Gregory and Hubert followed, splashing into the water. They ran to the prow, and helped Walter heave the boat further up the bank. Aaron spoke then, in an oddly normal voice. "I shall stay here with my father," he said. "You must go and get something for us to carry him on, then we will take him to my mother. She will know what to do." "Walter and Hubert will go," said Gregory. "I shall stay here with you. You cannot wait here alone with a wounded man." "He is my father," said Aaron. "Who else should wait with him?" "Your friend," said Gregory, gently. He nodded at his two servants, and they trotted off along the riverbank. He watched them until they disappeared, then turned back to Aaron and Benjamin, who had not stirred or made a sound after that one cry. The wounded man still lay where he had fallen. His head, which had struck Aaron’s foot, lay there, twisted to one side. His eyes were closed, but still, as Gregory leant over him for the second time, a faint whisper of air came from his lips. Gregory sat back, on the bench beside Aaron. "We will have to just wait, and hope that no-one comes along before Hubert and Walter," he said. "I think it would be wrong to try to move him, until we have to." "Is he still alive?" said Aaron, choking on the words. "Oh, yes!" said Gregory, more cheerfully than he felt. He doubted that Benjamin would survive, but did not voice his fear to Aaron. The young man just nodded his head, then sat, slumped on his seat, waiting. Gregory, too, was silent, thinking of what had happened. He knew it was useless to feel guilt, yet it was because of him that Benjamin had been placed in such danger.

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Belaset’s Daughter "It was not your fault," said Aaron, surprisingly, as though he had read Gregory’s thoughts. "Thank you, Aaron," he said, moved beyond measure that Aaron should think of him under the circumstances. Aaron looked down at his father. The arrow which had pierced him protruded from his back, just below the shoulder. Aaron shuddered, and stretched his hand towards it, as though to pull it out, and then drew back again. "We should not touch him at all, should we?" he murmured, half to himself. "No, not yet," said Gregory. "Wait just a little while now, Aaron, and the others will return, I am sure of it." Again, they sat in silence. At last, there was the sound of running footsteps again, and Hubert and Walter reappeared. Over his shoulder, Walter carried a stretcher. Hubert was behind, and, behind him, came Belaset, clasping a small sack. Swiftly, she came down the bank to the boat, and looked in. "Ah, poor man, poor man!" she said, in tones of deepest pity. "Can you help him?" said Aaron. Belaset nodded reassuringly, then bent to feel Benjamin’s neck for a pulse. It was there, but faintly. She felt round the place where the arrow had penetrated, then underneath, to see if it had passed right through his body. When she found it had not, she pursed her lips. Gently, she moved the arrow shaft, then more strongly. There was no sound from Benjamin. She looked closely, and saw there was no more blood welling from the wound, despite her efforts. Standing, she turned and beckoned to Hubert and Walter. "I think we must try and get him on the stretcher face down," she said. "I cannot remove the arrow under these conditions the light is too faint, and I cannot take the chance of causing further injury internally." Turning back to Gregory and Aaron, she went on. "If you two will help lift him, we three can place him on the stretcher gently, without too much disturbance to his wound. Aaron, we will lift him away from you first, then you must bend down and help us lift him right out of the boat. Can you do that?" Aaron nodded, mutely, and waited as they eased his father’s head gently away from his foot. As soon as he felt the weight lift, he slipped out his leg and stood, awkwardly, stiff from keeping the same position for so long. Bending, he felt under his father’s chest, and raised him gently. At the same time, Gregory grasped Benjamin’s thighs and raised them. As they lifted together, Belaset slid her arms under Benjamin’s waist. He moaned and sighed, in a far-off, weak voice, but they had him in their arms, and carried him gently up the bank. Hubert and Walter were waiting, with the stretcher between them, and the other three lowered Benjamin on to it. They let his right arm dangle over one side, for more comfort, and Belaset turned his head, so that he was able to breathe as easily as possible.

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Belaset’s Daughter The four men took their places, one at each corner, and, with Belaset walking beside Benjamin’s head, they set off at a brisk pace for Gregory’s house in Westminster. It was a journey undertaken in complete silence, apart from the sound of their hurrying footsteps and laboured breathing. Mercifully, it took less than five minutes to reach safety, and the door was opened wide as they approached it. They passed straight through, into the back room, where they laid Benjamin, stretcher and all, on the table. Belaset bent over him once again, her face absorbed. She placed the bundle she had been carrying on the table, and opened it. A sharp-bladed knife lay there, with some small pots of ointment, and bundles of herbs. A small pile of clean rags completed the contents. As she reached for the knife, Judith entered, carrying a bowl of steaming water, which she placed beside Belaset. "The fire must be built up again," said Belaset, turning to Gregory. "And I shall need as much light as you can spare. I must remove the arrow, before the wound can fester. It will be better to do it while he is unconscious the pain will be unbearable." "It shall be done," said Gregory. He went out of the room, with Walter in tow. Hubert began piling logs on the fire, and building it up again, until it blazed, the flames leaping almost up the chimney. Soon, Hubert and Gregory returned, bearing lighted torches, which they placed in holders round the room. For good measure, Gregory had ordered another servant to bring in the table candelabra, with candles already lit and in them, and these were placed at the end of the table, out of harm’s way, but close enough for Belaset. Taking a deep breath, she plunged the knife blade into the fire. She held it there for a few moments, then pulled it out, and examined it. It glowed red at the tip, turning to black further up the blade. Satisfied, she came back to the table. "Hold him still," she said, and waited as Gregory and Aaron held his legs and his head. Then she cut quickly, widening the wound, and revealing the layers of flesh beneath. Probing, she found the arrowhead, and eased it out. As she did so, Benjamin jerked once, and that was all. Quickly, the arrow was cast on the floor, the knife was laid on the table, and Belaset dipped a clean rag in the hot water, and gently bathed the place where the arrow had been. It was clean, she could see, with no pieces of cloth or any other foreign bodies to cause trouble. She breathed a thankful sigh, and bent to her task again. Folding another piece of rag into a pad, she bound it into place, tying strips over and under Benjamin’s shoulder. In a few minutes it was over and Benjamin was still breathing. All they could do now was to make him as comfortable as possible and wait for him to regain consciousness.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"Gregory Rokesly gone? How has this happened? Were you all asleep?" Simon de Montfort paced up and down like a caged animal, in front of the group of men he had summoned to his chambers. They watched, scared into silence by his fury. William Monchesny opened his mouth twice to say something, but closed it again without a sound. Finally he managed to speak. "My Lord, he was released by friends who entered the Tower from the river," he said. "They killed one of our men, who was on guard. Then they entered the place where Rokesly was kept and took him away with them." "And where were the rest of the guard or did you leave just said de Montfort.

one man alone to watch?"

Monchesny cleared his throat. "The captain of the guards thought one man was sufficient, my Lord," he said, unhappily. "After all, Rokesly was being kept prisoner at the top of a tower. There were other guards on watch along the walls." "But not alert, it would seem," said Simon. "These rescuers should be with us, since they are so able!" Monchesny said, "The guards on the wall raised the alarm, and shot at them as they rowed up river, my Lord." "Too late then," said de Montfort. Monchesny spoke again. "One of them was wounded the boat."

man who shot the arrow saw him fall down into the

"Some harm was done, then," said Hugh Dispenser. De Montfort turned his back on them, and stood looking at the floor, lost in thought. Suddenly, he whirled round and stood, hands on hips, legs wide apart, and glowered at them. "Well?" he snarled. "Who can suggest the next move? Who can even tell me where we should go? The King and his soldiers have come through most of England, and all we have managed is to lose half our men at Northampton where my son allows himself to be taken prisoner and then we lose the only useful prisoner that we have managed to take here in London. Then Nottingham, Grantham, Aylesbury all bow to the King’s will without so much as an arrow’s flight or a sword’s stroke. And on he goes, across the

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Belaset’s Daughter Thames and into Kent, because we are too weak to stop him. Even Prince Edward is back in favour after such a triumphal progress!" Nobody answered. The group in front of him stared at the ground. Somebody cleared his throat nervously, and Simon looked in the direction of the sound. "Sir William Monchesny," he said, with menacing softness. "Do you have an idea, other than what you might eat at your next meal?" "No, my lord," said Monchesny, unhappily. "No, my lord," mimicked de Montfort. "Well, you will not see anything written on the stone at your feet which you find so fascinating. I suggest we all think long on our situation, and see what we might do to retrieve it. Henry is in Dover, now, and seems to have met some resistance at last. De la Hay is holding the castle, and causing havoc among Henry’s forces. Still, our losses are far the greater, and we must find a way to regain our strength in numbers before we move against him." "What about your son, my lord?" asked Hugh Dispenser. "My son is safe out of harm’s way for now," said de Montfort. "He is too valuable to Henry as a hostage, for anything to befall him. Let him nurse his wounded pride and think on his foolishness for a while!" He waved his hand dismissively at them all, and turned his back on them. It was an obvious enough signal for all of the group to turn and file out, wordlessly. The door closed behind the last one softly, as though they were afraid to rouse him again. Hugh Dispenser and William Monchesny walked back across the courtyard together. "My Lord’s anger at Rokesly’s escape was even worse than I feared," said Hugh Dispenser. "Although I fancy that the event itself was more a final straw than the main cause of his ire. He has fought so hard to persuade Henry that he does not have the right to rule alone and now even Simon must see that the King is the stronger of the two!" Monchesny grunted. Hugh knew de Montfort better than he, and even he knew that the Earl was a hard, ambitious man, embittered by his long battle with Henry a fight which he had never welcomed, but saw as his duty. All de Montfort’s efforts were to prevent Henry behaving like an autocrat, and to persuade him that he must abide by the Provisions of Oxford, which meant sharing the power and the responsibilities of government with his Barons. But Henry was convinced that he ruled by divine right, and that nobody was entitled to take any of that away from him, no matter what he had earlier agreed to, or what document his predecessor had signed. Monchesny stopped as they reached the entrance to Dispenser’s chambers, and turned to the other man. "Whatever Earl Simon decides, I’ll wager it means moving out of here," he said. "I think we should be prepared to leave London and travel South."

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Belaset’s Daughter "You may indeed have to do so, Sir William," said Hugh Dispenser. "It is a knight’s duty to fight for his lord. I, on the other hand, am charged with governing the unruly rabble who are pleased to call themselves Londoners: whatever Earl Simon decides, that will still have to be done. So I shall remain here." He smiled complacently at Monchesny and swept into his chambers, calling for his servant to come to him at once. Monchesny, a scowl on his face, watched him go. Hugh Dispenser could afford to be lofty now, he thought sourly, but he had been as nervous as the rest of them a few minutes ago, under the angry gaze of an irate Simon de Montfort. He turned on his heel, and went to vent his ill-humour on whoever crossed his path. A stable lad, making his way across the yard and whistling cheerfully to himself was surprised to receive a cuff on the side of the head as Monchesny passed. The boy stopped, rubbed his pate, and stared after the retreating figure with his lips still pursed, although no sound came from them. Then, shrugging, he continued his progress, the whistling reaching ever more piercing heights.

* * *

Simon de Montfort, left on his own at last, slumped on his bed and stared thoughtfully into space. He had tried as hard as he could to avoid a direct confrontation with Henry. He had agreed to let King Louis of France be the arbitrator between them, but to no avail. The country had been split in two by the ill-feeling between the two of them. How could Henry be so stubborn and so unable to see his, Simon’s, point of view? All he asked was that the King should abide by the legal agreement signed at Oxford, wherein he agreed to abide by the original provisions contained in the Great Charter signed by King John. It was right that decisions of government should be taken by a group of people the King and his Barons and not by the King alone. Simon sat up, and squared his shoulders with sudden decision. Yes, it was right, and if Henry would not agree of his own free will, then he must be made to agree, by force, and by the hand of Simon, Earl de Montfort, if necessary! The country needed him the people demanded it! It was time to end the skirmishing, and time to take matters into his own hands. He, Simon, would lead a great army against Henry, and whoever else chose to support the King. And Simon would win he was certain. How could he fail, with right so obviously on his side? He swung himself off the bed and went into the room where he had so recently berated his crestfallen allies. His greatest need was for more men, he thought. The King’s recent progress had meant the loss of many men who had been his, Simon’s, faithful supporters. How could he build up his armies again, with people who would be ardent enough supporters of his cause to be willing to risk their lives in battle? Why, where else but here in London? The London mobs were already making their feelings known. The King’s own brother, Richard of Cornwall, had lost his residence in Isleworth only recently burned to BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter the ground by rioting Londoners, in a frenzy of hatred towards the man and all he stood for. The massacre in the Jewry had been simplicity itself to start the merest suggestion that the hated Jews were about to set fire to the City had been enough; implying that it had been for Henry’s sake had been pure genius! He smiled. Whoever had circulated that little gem must be rewarded. Feelings still ran high, and there would be plenty of Londoners who would welcome the chance to fight again. Once the fierce joy of fighting and killing had been aroused, it was difficult to lose, until the bloodlust had been slaked. It was time for him and his council to make plans. He summoned a servant and gave his instructions. In minutes, the men whom he had so recently dismissed in anger were gathered around him again. He sat and stared at them without expression, enjoying their confusion. The silence lengthened. "Well, gentlemen," he said, quietly. "It is time to plan when and how we will meet King Henry and take his governance from him, since he will not share it with us as he should." There was a rustle and a murmur, as the men around him reacted to what he had said. Was Simon himself finally going into battle against the King? "I fear we cannot persuade the King any other way," he said. "And there have been too many confrontations already for us to try and avoid this final one and it will be final. When the King and his army meet us, there will be a battle of such proportions as has not happened since the Conqueror came to these shores. But the outcome will be very different. We will not enslave this country, we will set it free from the hand of a King who would rule only by Divine Right. Then we will show him how wise he would be to share his power with his Barons, as John agreed to do, and as he himself promised to do a few short years ago." Their wounded pride was forgotten now, he saw, as they all leaned forward and shouted their approval. They were his again, no longer resentful, but eager to do his bidding, to agree with his plans and desires. His heart lifted: they would win this battle, and England would be ruled as he and his supporters wished, not by one man alone, there by an accident of birth, but by wise (and profitable) consensus. "What are your orders, my Lord?" said Monchesny. "First, we must find more men, since our own army is so sorely depleted," said Simon. He turned to where Hugh Dispenser sat, staring at the table, with a worried frown. "Hugh," said Simon. "You know these Londoners better than any of us. Will they fight for us outside these walls, do you think?" Hugh Dispenser raised his head and smiled slowly. "Oh, yes, my Lord," he said. "They will fight for you at a price!" He smiled again.

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Belaset’s Daughter "They will fight for almost anyone who asks them, if they do but promise them ale and food to fill their bellies, and a place to lie down and snore afterwards!" De Montfort shrugged. "Their reasons do not interest me," he said, curtly. "All I ask is that they fight for me and not for Henry." "They will not fight for the King, my Lord, as you know," said Hugh. "They see him as the source of all their troubles, and as the protector of the Jews." "His protection has not counted for much these last few days," said one of the younger men. "The stink of them is even worse now that they are dead, than it was when they were alive!" "Why, man," said Simon, with a wolfish grin. "Since you find it so offensive to your nostrils, you shall have the task of cleaning up the Jewry for us!" There was a roar of laughter and the man who had complained looked thoroughly crestfallen. He looked at Simon in dismay. "Go, then, find your helpers among the watch last night," said he, dismissing the unfortunate man with a wave of his hand. "The rest of us have a battle to plan." The young man stood, and left the room. Simon turned back to Hugh Dispenser. "I need some idea of the numbers of men who are likely to come with us," he said. "Can you give me that information within the next two days?" "I can send messengers out to call the people in," said Hugh. "Their leaders are known to me. In two days or less you shall know but they are untrained, my Lord!" "I know," said Simon. "But they have their anger at the King to get them to the battle, and their bloodlust to take them through it. That is all I need from them. We will give them food and drink, as you say, until the battle is over." One of the other men said, "And after that, my Lord?" "Why, after that," said Simon. "We shall have to see how they have acquitted themselves. If we are all dead, the problem solves itself. If not....." He grinned round at them, amused by the varying expressions on their faces. Hugh Dispenser, ever the diplomat, looked unmoved, Monchesny was trying to keep the surprise and distaste from his face, and one or two of the others looked shocked. He let the silence lengthen, then said: "No-one will be left to their fate, if they come with us. Do you really think that I would embark on a plan without making arrangements for those who are willing to fight for me? I thought you knew me better than that!"

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Belaset’s Daughter The atmosphere changed instantly. Those who were thinking just that looked shamefaced, and Hugh Dispenser allowed a smile to touch his lips. His eyes met those of Simon, and a look of understanding passed between them, born of their longstanding friendship. Simon himself leaned back in his chair, with his arms straight and gripped the edge of the table. "We must get news of Henry’s exact whereabouts, and how he plans to move next," he said. "Who can tell us that? Who will go for us?" "We need only get to Roger de Tourney," said Monchesny. "He is always with the King, and has knowledge of his plans. If someone will ride out today and make contact with de Tourney, we can have our answer by the time we have gathered the Londoners to our cause." "I will go, my Lord," said a voice from Simon’s right. De Montfort turned his head and looked at the man who leaned forward with an eager expression on his face. It was John Fitzjohn, a tough and vigorous man in his late twenties. His sister had married one of Henry’s followers, and Fitzjohn was ever eager to prove his loyalty to Simon because of it. "Who better?" said Simon. "There should be fewer difficulties for you in getting news than for many of us. You can enquire for your sister." "I can, indeed, my lord!" said Fitzjohn, eagerly. "And in my search, I may find her husband and pick his brains for Henry’s plan, or make him take me to de Tourney, if he knows nothing himself." "There must be someone with you," said de Montfort, musingly. "Someone to bring back a message, but also to be a companion for you. One man alone can arouse suspicion, whereas two...." There was a clamour, as others around the table sought to join in the adventure and to benefit from any glory there might be gained from bringing back important information. Simon held up his hand for silence, and it came immediately. "We will choose someone," he said to Fitzjohn. "Then you must go and prepare for your task. I want an answer within a few days." He turned to Hugh Dispenser. "When Fitzjohn returns, you will send out your messengers," he said. "I want all who would join us to gather on the King’s Green in three days from now. We cannot arm them they must bring whatever they have themselves. Gentlemen, we have work to do!" He rose from the table and everyone except Fitzjohn followed his example. Talking eagerly among themselves, they left the chamber. Simon watched them go, thoughtfully, his arms folded and one hand to his beard. Fitzjohn, watching Simon, felt a sudden tremor of fear and excitement, oddly mixed. If all went well, this would be the start of a glorious

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Belaset’s Daughter change in English history, he thought, with sudden foresight. If not, Simon, and all who followed him, were condemning themselves to failure and certain death, as traitors. They must succeed, he thought, fiercely, they must! Simon turned to him, a frown of concentration on his face. "Now", he said. "Who can we send with you whom can you trust, do you think?" Fitzjohn stared back, the names of friends and acquaintances buzzing through his head. This one he discarded because he was not strong enough; this one because he could not trust him utterly. Another no, he would not fight if needed. Then a smile came to his face. "My lord," he said. "If the choice is mine, I would have none other than your son, Guy." "But will Guy have you?" returned Simon, astonished at the young man s temerity. He dared to choose one of Simon s own sons, as though he was choosing a squire! Guy would laugh at the idea, surely. "Yes, my lord, he will come with me," said Fitzjohn. "We are old friends, and I know his taste for adventure is as strong as mine, and he still feels the need to regain your good opinion." "Well, well....," said Simon. "Old friends, are you? How is it that I have never been aware of the length and strength of your friendship before now?" Fitzjohn s gaze never faltered. "Why, sir, you have been about your own important business," he returned. "How should you be aware of such a trivial matter, by comparison, as your son s playmates?" There was a pause, then Simon flung back his head and roared with laughter. He cuffed Fitzjohn round the head like a playful bear, nearly knocking him off his chair. They grinned at each other Fitzjohn with relief, and de Montfort with enjoyment at the young man s courageous cheek. "You ll do!" said Earl Simon, still amused by the exchange. "Get yourself and Guy ready to travel as soon as possible. You can start immediately and see how quickly you can reach your destination and find out the answers to your questions. But, my lad," he was suddenly very serious, "God help you if Guy comes to any harm because of your actions." "Yes, my lord," said John Fitzjohn. "God help me, indeed!"

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY -TWO

The forest rang with the sound of laughter and men shouting cheerfully to each other. Through the trees came a group of riders, dressed for the hunt. Henry and those of his Court whom he had invited to join him, were enjoying a day s sport. Behind them came their servants with the results of the hunt so far. Deer were slung across some of the saddles, in front of the riders. The animals feet were tied beneath the horses, but their heads hung grotesquely to one side, blood still dripping down the tongues that lolled from their mouths. Most of the party made its way along the well-used track through a dense part of the forest. Some of the younger squires, taken with a spirit of adventure, explored other tracks, leading off the main one. This involved pushing aside branches and forcing their way through dense undergrowth in some cases, which added to the fun of the exploration. Jervis FitzHugh, riding quietly just behind John de Warenne for once, was suddenly taken with an urge to explore a particularly inviting looking track himself. Wheeling his horse to the right, he ducked under the low branch of the silver birch that lay across the track like a barrier, and set off down the winding grassy way in front of him. Very quickly, the sound of the hunting party faded into the distance, and he was riding along through dappled shade. The track here was little more than a dent in the leaves and grass of the forest floor. Little grassy tussocks made the going more difficult than it appeared. Twice his horse stumbled, or slid slightly, and he had to concentrate on keeping his seat. In the profound silence through which he moved, the slight rustle on his left made him look round nervously, but it was only a blackbird hopping about underneath a sapling. Jervis smiled at his overactive imagination and pressed forward. Another rustle beside him brought no reaction. Eyes fixed ahead, occasionally bending over the saddle to avoid low branches, he made his way along the track, which wound its way through the forest like a stream meandering through the Weald. He had only the vaguest idea of the direction he was taking. He thought he was still heading in the same general direction as the rest of the party, but more than that he did not know nor did he care, particularly. It was a sunny day, so the sun could guide him back to the castle, when he came to the edge of the forest, which he undoubtedly would before too long, he thought. Suddenly, he caught sight of movement high up in one of the trees just ahead of him. He stopped the horse, with a gentle pull on the reins and dismounted silently. Letting the reins drop, he put his hand on the horse s muzzle, and gave it a single, reassuring press. Leaving it standing alone, he crept forward to get a better view.

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Belaset’s Daughter Perched comfortably in the tree on a thick bough, leaning his back against the trunk, sat a man who Jervis recognised as being one of the archers that he had watched practising in the castle grounds in Lewes. Jervis could see now that he had his bow ready, with an arrow notched in it. Puzzled, Jervis crouched down and waited to see what the man was about. He was certainly not hunting for deer, perched up where he was; it looked more as though he was waiting for something to happen. The man sat up suddenly, and leaned forward, peering down to his left, in an attitude of tense listening. Jervis strained his own ears, and heard the sound of two horses coming nearer. There must be another track below, he thought to himself, still watching the archer in the tree. The man drew back the bow, and sat, poised, ready to let fly the arrow. Before Jervis had time to realise what was happening, the arrow had left the bow, there was a thud as it found its mark, and a cry, mingled with a startled shout and the whinnying of horses. Then came the sound of hooves fading into the distance, a quick scuffle as the archer in the tree vanished behind the trunk, and Jervis was left, stunned with disbelief at what he had just seen and heard. He backed silently away from his place of concealment and returned to where his horse stood, head down, nosing around for something to eat. The horse raised his head, but Jervis quickly placed a warning hand on its muzzle, to stop it making any sound and giving his position away. He listened for the sound of anyone searching, but all was silent. What was happening? Surely, since there had been two men riding together, the one left unhurt was trying to find their attacker? Jervis stood beside the horse, thinking deeply, then made his decision. Leaning down, he took the reins in his hand and walked forward, leading the horse, which ambled along behind him. Making his way back to where he had stood looking at the archer in the tree, Jervis stopped and listened again. There was still nothing to be heard, so he went forward a little further, to where the faint track he had been following turned and disappeared round the corner. As he rounded the bend, he found himself at the top of a small, but very steep, bank. At first, all he could see was a horse, standing alone, which pricked its ears forward and turned its head to look up at him. Then he saw the murdered man. On his back, with one eye staring straight up and an arrow protruding grotesquely from the other, lay Roger de Tourney. His arms were flung out on either side, and his legs were spread-eagled. The force of the arrow, reaching its target, had flung him straight off the back of the horse and onto the path. The wound was so dreadful, that he must have died instantly, as the arrow pierced his brain. Jervis felt himself go pale and the nausea rise in his throat. Swallowing hard, he stood, his face averted from the dead man, as he fought the urge to vomit. After a few moments, the feeling passed, and he started to look round for signs of the other rider. Skirting the body, he looked on either side of the path along which they must have come. Just to one side, broken twigs and trampled undergrowth showed where the other rider had taken off at a gallop. He must have decided to simply flee the scene, BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter riding, as he had, away from where the archer had sat in the tree, waiting for his target to come into view. A sudden thought struck Jervis: had the other rider deliberately lured de Tourney to this spot? But if he had, why the shout of surprise? It was a mystery, certainly. All he could do now, thought Jervis, was find the hunting party and let someone know what had happened. The track he was on now was much wider than the one by which he had been exploring. He went back to the de Tourney s mount and took its reins in one hand, urging it forward as he began to ride up the path. He could do nothing more for de Tourney, since he was dead, and it was not within his strength to lift him bodily on to his own horse. Better to leave him where he was, until he could return with help. As he expected, the wider track led him back to the main one, where he had left the King and his hunting party. The sound of their progress came faintly to him, from his left. He wheeled both horses, digging his heels into the flanks of his own mount, and tugging on the reins of the other, to bring it alongside. Both horses obeyed without trouble, and he set off at a fast trot, to join the rest of the party. Rounding a bend, he found himself catching up with the stragglers. A man and a woman were riding along slowly, deep in conversation and oblivious to everything around them. The sound of his progress finally penetrated their private world, and he saw them look round with guilty expressions, which changed to curiosity as soon as they realised that they did not know the rider. Jervis rode round them both, acknowledging their efforts to give him room with no more than a curt nod, and without making any effort to slow down. These two lovers were of no use to him, he needed to find John de Warenne as soon as possible, or, at least, someone he recognised from Lewes, who could take a message. He continued along the path, passing riders in small groups, who all made way for him so that he could continue to trot. One or two called out after him, but he ignored them all. At last, he saw de Warenne s livery on two riders in a group just in front, and slowed to a walk as he came near. One of de Warenne s riders turned to look at him, and Jervis, with relief, recognised him as one of the younger squires. "Where have you been, Jervis, to acquire an extra mount?" said the lad, jokingly. Then his face changed, as he looked more closely at the horse Jervis was leading. "What s happened?" he said. "That is Sir Roger de Tourney s horse. But where is he?" "Lying in the forest, killed by an arrow," said Jervis, tersely. "We must let my Lord de Warenne know, Robert, and get a party to bring Sir Roger back." "Philip and I will go with you," said Robert, immediately. Philip, a large, fair youth who had been riding alongside, listening to the conversation, nodded his head. "Of course," he said. "Earl John will not be far ahead. I saw him not long since."

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Belaset’s Daughter The rest of the group had been silent, listening to Jervis as he told his story. One of them, a dark, small man, whispered something to one of the others, and they both looked at Jervis with suspicious faces. "How do we know that your story is true?" demanded the dark man. Before Jervis had time to answer, Philip had turned around in his saddle, leant across, and seized the man’s throat in one of his huge hands. "What are you saying?" he demanded. "Are you trying to throw suspicion of murder on my friend?" The dark man gurgled faintly, fear in his eyes. He clawed at the hand that was cutting off the air from his lungs. Robert grasped his friend’s other arm and shook it, hard. "Philip!" he said. "Philip! Let go of him, you fool! Do you want to find yourself on a charge of murder?" Philip suddenly realised what he was doing and dropped his hand. The man choked and heaved for breath, the vivid scarlet of his face slowly returning to a more normal hue. The others in the group had done nothing to rescue him. Several of them had half-smiles on their lips, as though they was enjoying the attack, and would not have gone to the aid of the man in any case. He glared at them all and turned to Philip with a snarl. "That was a big mistake you made there, friend," he said. He was barely able to speak, and the words came out in a threatening whisper which was somehow more sinister than a normal voice would have been. He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and urged it through the group and out in front of them all. Then he kicked again, sending the horse into a canter, while the rest of the group sat watching him until he was out of sight. Robert turned to Philip. "I fear you have made an enemy," he said, soberly. "I fear I have," agreed Philip, but with a shrug of his shoulders he continued. "We all have enemies but they count for less than friends, eh Jervis?" "Well," said Jervis. "Now that I have seen you in action, I know which I would rather be!" His light-hearted tone of voice broke the spell, and they all chuckled with him. Only Robert saw Jervis glance at Philip with a worried frown. He did not know who the man was that Philip had attacked. He had simply been in the group that had gathered together more as a result of the width of the path and the size of the hunting party. It might be a good idea (thought Jervis to himself) to find out something more about him, such as where he came from, and how he came to be part of the hunt. The whole group was now trotting along the path. Philip’s action had bound them all together, somehow, in a way which was not yet entirely clear. All that Jervis could tell

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Belaset’s Daughter was that the man who had been nearly throttled was not popular. Some of the group’s illconcealed pleasure had been plain enough to him. Now they had all decided to join in the search for John de Warenne and to tell him the news of de Tourney’s death in the forest. "There he is!" said Robert, suddenly, pointing to a small group just ahead. Jervis recognised John de Warenne, riding along with his brother-in-law, Guy de Lusignan, and with Humphrey de Bohun beside the two of them. Jervis, Robert and Philip urged their horses to a faster speed and came up behind the them. "My Lord de Warenne!" called Jervis. "My Lord wait! Sir Roger de Tourney. . .!" He had no breath to say more, but it was enough. The three men ahead of them halted their horses and turned in their saddles. Jervis, slightly ahead of the other two, saw de Warenne say something quickly to de Bohun, before he sat up straight in the saddle and waited, with an impassive expression on his face. "My Lords," said Jervis, reining in his horse and bowing from the saddle to all three men, then turning to de Warenne. "I have just seen " He got no further. De Warenne raised a hand to stop him saying more. "You have obviously had a shock, FitzHugh," he said. "Come, ride beside me and catch your wits again. I am sure your friends are required elsewhere." He smiled brilliantly at Robert and Philip and waited. They knew what was expected and, curious though they were to know what would happen, they had no choice but to turn away obediently. Jervis set his horse to pace alongside de Warenne’s, and waited in his turn. "You are about to tell us that Sir Roger de Tourney is dead, I believe?" said de Warenne. Jervis stared at him. "Yes, my lord," he said. "But how did you guess?" De Warenne smiled again. "It is not a guess, Jervis," he said. " You yourself told us of de Tourney’s trickery. There have been suspicions and rumours for some time, but you furnished the final proof, with your tale of what happened at Merton Abbey." "So he died at your command, my lord?" said Jervis, still dazed by what he was hearing. "No," said de Warenne. "He died at the King’s command. So should all men who betray the King be rewarded." "Amen to that," came from de Bohun, on his other side, and de Lusignan nodded his agreement. "We had to choose our time," continued de Warenne. "We needed an occasion when his death could be construed and claimed as an accident. Hunting accidents are sadly frequent, as you know."

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Belaset’s Daughter "Yes, my lord," said Jervis. "And this was such an accident, Jervis, was it not?" pressed de Warenne. "Yes, my lord," said Jervis, again. "And you saw nothing and no-one, until you came upon poor Sir Roger, sprawled dead in front of you," finished de Warenne. "That is so, my lord," said Jervis, looking at him frankly. "But I heard the sound of two horsemen . . ." His voice trailed away. ". . . or perhaps it was just an echo?" he ended. "No doubt," said de Warenne, the brilliant smile flashing again. "My lord," ventured Jervis. "There is something more that I must tell you." De Warenne looked at him and sighed. "Well?" he said. "Just now, my lord," said Jervis. "When I met Robert and Philip, they were with a group of others. There was one with them who I did not know, but he was not popular. He suggested that I might have had something to do with this matter myself. When Philip attacked him, no-one came to his aid. Indeed, there was some pleasure taken by the others at his discomfiture." De Warenne was no longer looking askance. "Do you say so?" he said musingly. Humphrey de Bohun leant forward so that he could look directly at Jervis across de Warenne. "Describe this unpopular young man!" he said, crisply. "He was short and thin and had dark hair, my lord," said Jervis. "And a sour expression?" asked de Bohun. "Exactly so, " said Jervis. De Bohun turned to de Warenne. "This man was with Sir Roger in Normandy," he said. "He vanished while we were there with the King. Sir Roger claimed that he had sent him back to England and perhaps he had, with a message for de Montfort and his followers!" "Well, he will carry no more messages for Sir Roger now!" said de Warenne, grimly. "And we must deal with him at once. We will stand idly chatting here, until the group with this young man in passes us. Jervis you will nod as he goes by." "I will, my lord," said Jervis.

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Belaset’s Daughter The four of them stopped their horses to one side of the track, where they sat, idly looking about them at the others of the party passing by them. Jervis saw the group among whom Robert and Philip had been riding coming towards them. He waited, searching for the face of the thin, dark man, as the group rode past, bowing to their lordships as they did so. There was no sign of him. "My lord," said Jervis. "He was with these young men, I am sure, yet he is with them no longer." De Warenne swore softly, under his breath. "He has escaped us, then!" he said. "He must have been afraid for his own safety, since his lord and protector is dead, and fled." "Then he has confirmed his guilt," said de Lusignan. "Should we not send a search party after him?" "I will go, my lord!" said Jervis, quickly. "I know what he looks like and he cannot have got far yet." "Go, then!" said de Warenne, laughing at Jervis’ keenness. "Catch this man who dared to doubt your honour and you will be rewarded." Jervis wrenched his horse’s head around and started back up the path. He would return to the place where he had first seen the group and the man and been taunted by him. The memory of that sly face and the sneer in his voice made Jervis’s cheeks burn with anger. Yes, he would find him, bring him back, and expose him and his master for the traitors that they were. He charged back along the track, looking for the spot, but, to his chagrin he could not recognise it. Slowing the horse to a walk, he cast about, searching more carefully. Surely it had not been this far back, he thought, and turned back along the path. Suddenly, he saw the broken branches and trampled grass that he had seen when he found Sir Roger lying on the path, but the body had already been removed and there was no sign that anything had ever happened here. He sat on his horse, puzzling over what his eyes could see, but his brain could not believe. Who had been here and made such a good job of hiding all the evidence, and where was the body now? There must be something here that would give him a clue, thought Jervis. This must have been the work of Sir Roger’s man although surely it would have taken more than one man to make such a thorough job of cleaning up in such a short space of time. He went back over the events of the morning, from the moment he had seen the archer in the tree. Not more than an hour, from the time he saw the fatal arrow loosed to now, he decided. An hour during which the dark man must have found at least one other helper, found this place, removed Sir Roger’s body to another place, and made good his escape. It was not possible for anyone, even with a helper, to get far away from this spot in such a short time. No matter how carefully this place had been cleared of any sign, there must be something to tell a careful searcher which direction two horsemen and a body had taken. Should he go back and report what he had found, get some help, and return to the

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Belaset’s Daughter spot before beginning to search further? Or should he go forward alone, and return to John de Warenne only when he had the answer to this mystery and the dark man in his grasp? It took only a moment to make his decision. He dismounted and started scouring the trampled earth and grass of the track, and the trees and bushes on either side, looking for anything that would show him which direction to go. Ten minutes of painstaking search in the opposite direction from the camp at Battle, and he had his clue; two broken twigs at his eye level, with a few threads of fine wool caught on them. He removed the tiny threads from the twigs and placed them carefully in his scrip. Then, still on foot and leading his horse, he continued along the path, looking for more evidence of passage. Now that he was away from the scene of the murder, the ground showed the passage of two horses, moving in the opposite direction. This would have been Sir Roger and his companion, making their way along the path a short while earlier. In the same direction as he was walking now, there were the tracks of two horses again. His suspicion was correct, he thought. The dark man must have been joined by someone else, and they had both taken this path. One set of hooves was more heavily indented into the ground. This horse must have carried two people one living and one dead. The tracks went ahead for some distance and Jervis followed in them, staring intently at the ground, but now and then glancing to right and left. Twice he found more threads of the same woollen stuff; once at the same height and then down near ground level and added them to those already put away. At the latter, he stooped and looked more closely at the ground. There were other marks here. Two soft indentations, made by the heels of boots, with a slight smear as though they had dragged slightly. It was enough to set him searching off to one side. Leaving his horse standing quietly, he pushed carefully, and as silently as possible, through the spindly bushes that blocked the way. Once on the other side, he could see that the faint track wandered across a small clearing and vanished behind a tree on the right hand side. Softly, he walked across the clearing, every muscle tensed for the attack that he expected to come. Behind the tree a crude hut had been built at some time long since. Now it was barely standing, and the door hung slightly ajar. Jervis crept towards it. Half-hopeful, half-fearful of what he would see, he pushed at the door and it creaked open so that he could look inside. On the floor, lying on a cloak, was a body arranged as though for burial. The hands were crossed on the breast, and both eyes were closed, although one was badly damaged and the face just below the eye was marked. He had found Sir Roger de Tourney again. A strange smell, not unpleasant, masked any other odours that might be in the hut. He looked around and saw that there was a rough bench along one side, with woven baskets under it. Stepping across, he could see that bunches of what looked like dried leaves and grasses lay on top of the bench and the baskets were also full. He could see, on the other

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Belaset’s Daughter side of the hut, a pile of hay and small branches, obviously used as a mattress by whoever lived here. "Good morrow, young sir!" said a cheerful voice behind him. He whirled, his hand going automatically to his dagger, but dropping to his side again as he saw who had greeted him. Framed in the doorway was a woman, her uncovered hair streaked with grey above young features. She wore a faded green gown, oddly formal in these surroundings, but darned and fraying slightly at the sleeve ends. She carried herself very erect, making her look taller than her actual medium stature. Her proud bearing and direct gaze showed that she felt no fear of her unexpected visitor.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Have you come so soon for the poor man?" she said, indicating de Tourney’s corpse. "I have not finished preparing him. Your friend said it there would be someone at dusk, not before." "Who are you?" said Jervis, ignoring her question. "Some call me Green Gerda," said the woman, "and some the witch in the wood." "So you are the wise woman?" said Jervis. "I have heard of Green Gerda, but never thought to meet her. You are not as I expected." Green Gerda smiled. "You thought to find an old hag, mumbling and chumbling as she stirred some noisome brew over a fire, perhaps?" she said. Jervis burst out laughing. "You have read my mind!" he said. "A wise woman indeed!" "It is seldom difficult to read any man’s mind, young sir," she returned. "I know now though not from any mind-reading that you have not been sent by anyone. Why are you here?" "I am seeking a follower of Sir Roger de Tourney, who is the man you have lying here," replied Jervis. "Will you tell me who brought him to you?" "I do not know his name," said Gerda. "He was a fair young man, tall and well-built. He brought this Sir Roger, as you name him, to my hut and asked me to make him more fit to look upon. There was an arrow in his eye, and he was a fearful sight." Jervis shuddered with the memory. "Indeed he was a fearful sight," he said. "My stomach rose at the sight of him. . ." Green Gerda drew in her breath, sharply, and stepped back from him. "No, no!" said Jervis, shaking his head. "It was not I who killed him. I heard him cry out and found him lying on the path. I went to tell my lord and, when I returned as he had bade me, there was no body, and no sign that anything had happened." He stopped. Why was he explaining himself to this woman? She had not asked him to, yet he found himself needing to tell her that he had done nothing wrong himself. She was but a wise woman, he told himself, an outcast from society. Despite this, he still found himself wanting her good opinion.

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Belaset’s Daughter She was no longer agitated, he saw. Instead, she extended a hand to a stool beside the bench and said, "Sit." Unthinkingly, he obeyed. She bent over the corpse and drew the cloak around and over it, so that it now lay decently covered. "Well," she said, straightening and gazing at him with an amused expression. "Will you drink a witch’s brew, young sir?" She did not wait for his reply, but went across to a dark corner, where a small chest stood. Opening it, she drew out a bottle, which had been lying on its side. Taking a beaker from a shelf just above the chest, she came over to him and, drawing the stopper, poured some of the contents into the beaker. Handing it to him, she stood waiting for him to drink. Jervis was not going to show this woman that he felt any fear of her at all, so he raised the beaker to his lips and tossed down its contents. He was pleasantly surprised. Cool, light elderflower wine flowed over his tongue and down his throat. His expression must have been comical, for, again, Green Gerda threw back her head and laughed. "What did you think I was offering you?" she said. "Some potion to put you in my power, perhaps, or worse? Yet you would not show fear to a mere wise woman, would you?" She chuckled with delight again and Jervis could not help grinning in response. "Young man, you are brave if a little foolhardy," said Gerda. "I was afraid," admitted Jervis, ruefully. "Yet part of me could not believe that you would wish me harm, when there was no reason." He raised the beaker again and drank more of the cool liquid. It was more refreshing than any ale or small beer he had tasted, and settled the last queasy stirring in his system. He placed the empty beaker on the bench beside him, and gazed around more boldly. "Who are you, then, if you are nothing to do with this poor man?" said Gerda, curiously. Jervis sketched a mock bow. "Jervis FitzHugh, squire to John de Warenne of Lewes," he said. He saw a look of shocked surprise cross her face, but she quickly composed her features again into an expression of polite interest. "You know my lord?" said Jervis. "How should I? A wise woman, as you are kind enough to call me, and living here in this . .?" She waved her hand around the hut, but it was clear that she was ill-at-ease with the question. Jervis probed no more on that subject, but made a mental note to pursue the matter back in his quarters. Truly, there was some mystery here. Green Gerda was not a simple wise woman, born of peasant stock, and left to her own devices, he was sure. Her

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Belaset’s Daughter bearing and her gown dilapidated though that now was showed was aware of it or not. He turned and made ready to leave.

breeding, whether she

"Well, Green Gerda," he said, lightly. "Now that I have solved one mystery, I must pursue the other. There is a man my lord wishes to find and I have determined that I will be the one to find him. Good day to you!" "Stay, Master FitzHugh!" said Gerda, putting out her hand to touch his arm. "Tell me whom you seek and if I see him on my wanderings, I will get word to you. It is clear that the fair young man is not he, but I may have seen him already many times men pass me without realising I am there." Jervis hesitated. "I ask so that I may help you, not that I may warn him," said Gerda. "You have seen my thoughts again, madam," said Jervis. "And for some reason, I find myself trusting you, for all your mystery. Very well. I seek a small, dark man, with a sour expression on his face. If you see him, do not speak to him. How will you get a message to me?" Gerda shook her head. "I cannot tell you that but, never fear, you will be told if I, or any other dweller in these woods, should see this man." "Another mystery!" said Jervis. "I would not discomfit you by insisting you tell me." "Indeed, indeed," said Gerda, with sadness in her voice. "Perhaps one day I can tell you the answer to the mysteries but not yet." Jervis nodded and left the hut. As he rounded the tree to return to where he had left his horse, he turned for a final look at her. She had vanished completely.

* * *

He did not catch up with the rest of the participants in that day’s sport until he reached the Abbey gates in Battle, where Henry had based himself, his Court and all their men these past weeks. The Abbey was in uproar, from the kitchens to the Abbot’s lodgings, as it tried to cope with the return of men and their spoils from the hunt. None of this disturbance would improve the already poor relations between the King’s men and the monks who normally lived so peacefully within its buildings. The crude behaviour of the soldiers, the looting and vandalising of the Abbey and the town, and the despoiling of any female within their range would not be forgiven for a long time. Jervis rode in through the Abbey gatehouse as quietly as he could, dismounted, and led his horse to its stall himself. A stableboy came and took the reins from his hands, and set about removing them and everything else from the horse. He rubbed it down with some

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Belaset’s Daughter wisps of straw, as Jervis stood watching, then settled it with a good bundle of fresh hay and some water. He glanced once at Jervis, who said nothing, then the boy shrugged and walked off, leaving him standing there in front of the stall, lost in thought. He had lost the trail of the mysterious dark man for now, he thought. Best to report what he had seen, then prepare himself for the feasting which always followed a hunt. The idea of eating made him suddenly ravenous, and he swung round and walked away from the stables, and towards the guest house where de Warenne and the closest members of his retinue had been quartered. He pushed open the door into the building, suddenly feeling a great weariness descend on him. The day’s events were beginning to take their toll, and the effort of walking felt almost too much. He could feel his knees trembling and had to pause and steady himself with a hand on the wall, as the waves of fatigue washed over him, dizzyingly. His vision blurred suddenly, with dark shapes swirling before his eyes, and he felt his legs buckling as he fell headlong into blackness. He felt himself being lifted by two pairs of hands and carried along, then laid on something softness. Faintly, in the distance, he heard a voice saying his name. He tried desperately to ignore it, to go back to the darkness, but the voice persisted. Try as he might, he could not return to the peaceful dark. He knew that he would feel truly terrible if he made the effort to open his eyes, and yet the voice compelled him. He gave in. "Thank God!" said the voice. "He has only fainted after all. Jervis, say something what has happened to you? Where have you been?" The room dipped and swayed, dazzling him with a rain of bright spots that danced in front of his eyes. He blinked carefully, and they began to fade. He turned his head in the direction of the voice, very slowly, and saw Madeleine beside him, with Joan peering anxiously over her shoulder. The thoughts came crowding into his head: Sir Roger dead, killed by an arrow, and Madeleine his wife, here beside him. Did she know what had happened to her husband. Could she know, so soon? "Madeleine," he said, slowly and with difficulty saying the words, his tongue oddly thick in his dry mouth. "I saw I saw -" Madeleine patted his hand, soothingly. "I know what you saw," she said, gently. "I know that my husband was killed accidentally today, while the King was out hunting. You do not have to tell me, Jervis. I have been told already." Jervis stared at her, his mind working through the words. She had been told that her husband was the victim of a hunting accident! Then he remembered his conversation with Earl de Warenne. This was how they were to account for the murder then as an accident. It relieved his mind to some extent, as Madeleine would cope better with the idea of a husband killed thus, than if she were to know that he had been murdered. He closed his lips firmly, and vowed silently never to tell her the truth.

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Belaset’s Daughter Lying there, listening to the women talking softly to each other as they placed cool flannels on his forehead, he pondered on what he should say had caused him to faint in such a foolish manner. The answer came to him, suddenly. "What time is it?" he asked. "How long was I lying in a faint before you found me?" "No time at all," said Joan, briskly. "My lady was on her way to eat, when she saw you sway and fall a short distance from her. It was not long since." Jervis managed a sheepish grin. "I was sampling some of the monks’ wine on an empty stomach," he said, trying to sound rueful. "Did I not tell you!" said Joan, triumphantly. "He smelt of drink I when I first bent over him!"

told you he did,

Madeleine looked doubtfully at Jervis. "You do not usually drink until you pass out," she said. "I do not usually drink monkish brews," retorted Jervis. "This was their elderflower wine, and deceptively strong. I have not eaten all; day, and it tasted like a light, refreshing drink. So I drank more than I should have done, and far too quickly; its fumes went straight up to my brain and swirled there in a most pleasing manner. Or so I thought . . ." He let his voice trail away. Joan clucked disapprovingly, but said nothing. Madeleine continued to look doubtful, but something in his face must have warned her to say no more. She decided, visibly, to accept his explanations and to ask no further questions. "Well , Jervis, you are still a foolish youth sometimes, I perceive," she said, sternly. "If your dizziness has passed, I suggest you return to your quarters and prepare to join the feasting as soon as you can. Let us hope that our absence has not been noticed by anyone who will report our discourtesy to the King." "Or to my Lord de Warenne," said Jervis. He sat up, carefully, and swung his legs to the floor. The room stayed as it should, he was relieved to note, so he stood up, slowly. Everything remained steady. "I will join you as soon as I am cleaned and changed, and fit for His Majesty’s eye," he said, with a jauntiness he was far from feeling, and left the chamber. He made his way to his own quarters, if a space for his bedding and a small chest could be s dignified with such a name. It was in a large chamber with several other squires from the Court, all of whom had already left to join the feast. He had no idea where to go, but decided to change out of the clothes he had worn for the hunt and into something more fitting for a feast and an evening’s entertainment. Once into his parti-coloured hose, with the dashing surcote that Madeleine had so admired, he began to feel more like himself.

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Belaset’s Daughter He whistled as he swung out of the chamber and into the court which separated the guest houses from the bulk of the Abbey buildings. A servant hurrying along with a large pitcher glanced in his direction. "Where does the King feast tonight?" called Jervis. "Follow me, and I will take you to him," returned the servant, without stopping. He walked quickly down one side of the building and turned into another courtyard, through a gate overhung with creepers. This court was surrounded by buildings too, but, this time, they were obviously all dwellings. The Abbey was hidden behind them, and this could have been the courtyard of any manor house. In this section of the Abbey buildings were the living quarters for the Abbot himself and his Prior, and space for offering hospitality to visitors of the highest rank. That these same visitors brought with them those whose sole aim seemed to be the destruction of the town outside, the stealing of much of the food, and the ravishing of the women who had the misfortune to catch their drunken and lustful eyes was an unlooked-for complication. The townsfolk expressed their hatred and anger freely in the taverns; the monks, by virtue of their training and vocation, were unable to speak so openly, but their sympathy with those who lived outside the Abbey was no secret. King Henry, seated at this moment in a comfortable chair, before a table groaning with good food and plenty of wine, was not bothered by any of the negative emotions being directed at him. He was not unaware of the behaviour of the soldiers and members of his Court, but, as King, he saw no need to concern himself with such petty problems. His men were here now; in a few days they would be gone. Let the town and the Abbey sort things out and lick their wounds afterward. In the meantime, it was their duty to offer their best to their King, who was their ruler by divine right. He saw that at his side his brother-in-law, and loyal follower, John de Warenne was trying to catch his eye, and he graciously inclined his head to listen to what de Warenne might wish to say. "Sire," said de Warenne, trying to be discreet but heard, amid the hubbub of the feasting. "My squire, Jervis FitzHugh has just arrived at the feast. You will recall that he was present at an exciting moment of the hunt. Would Your Majesty wish to hear more details?" "By all means, " agreed Henry. "But let us all including your squire enjoy the excellent viands that we have before us first. There is nothing to spoil our appetite now, I believe?" "That is so, Sire," said de Warenne, with a smile. "Then bid the young man approach us and sit near you, so that he may also enjoy his food, and learn from his elders and betters how to behave in such circumstances!" said Henry, cheerfully.

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Belaset’s Daughter De Warenne beckoned to a manservant who was hovering behind his chair, and sent him to Jervis with the message that he should join them. He watched the servant force his way through the crowd, to where Jervis stood on the edge of the throng, saw the man give his message and Jervis’s eyes widen in pleased amazement. Then he watched the heads turn to follow the young man’s progress, until he reached the high table and saw the faces in the crowd register a mixture of expressions. Some were making a mental note to treat the young man with more favour in the future, some were politely surprised to see him granted such favour; a few were not pleased at all, and their expressions registered suspicion, envy and dislike. On one face only did he see excited pleasure flash briefly and then fade as she resumed a blank expression, more fitting for one so recently widowed. So the rumours were true, mused John de Warenne. Madeleine de Tourney was indeed more than fond of Jervis FitzHugh. FitzHugh’s adoration of her was no secret in Lewes Castle, where it had been a reason for some teasing of the young man. Perhaps, once the proprieties had been observed, those who had teased might find the tables turned against them. De Warenne grinned secretly to himself, behind his hand, which he passed negligently across his face as though to wipe the sweat from it. It was very warm in the hall, anyway, but Henry noticed the smile as well as the gesture. "What is amusing you, John?" he said. "A sudden private thought, my liege," said de Warenne. "It was connected with Lewes." "John, John!" said Henry, laughing. "A more uxorious husband I have yet to meet. Alice is a lucky woman!" "Well, Sire, no-one should disagree with his liege lord, so I heartily agree with you," returned de Warenne. At that moment, Jervis reached his side. De Warenne gestured to a chair, which had been placed just beside him, forcing those on that side to move further down, amidst much muttering under the breath. "Come, Jervis," he said. "You are welcomed by the King to his table. Sit and eat your food with us both, and tell us more of your hunting. But discreetly, you understand. You have done well today, and the King would show he is pleased. I join him in his pleasure." Henry nodded his agreement and waved at the chair for Jervis to be seated. the young man bowed low before sitting carefully and accepting a silver plate loaded with meat from a servant. A beaker of wine was placed on the table in front of him. The King leaned across in front of de Warenne. "Slake your thirst and take some food, before you tell us of your day, Jervis," he said. Jervis, who was famished, needed no more prompting. He took the meat in one hand, and his knife from his belt, hacked off some of the roasted flesh and pushed it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed the delicious stuff, then washed it down with a mouthful of wine. The wine was the best he had ever tasted, too. This was a feast to

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Belaset’s Daughter remember, he thought to himself. Jervis FitzHugh, seated at the King’s table, eating and drinking with the King and his friends! He looked out across the hall, at the people sitting there, eating and drinking and enjoying themselves. Heads from all over the hall constantly glanced to wards the high table, curiously watching the activities of all who sat there. He looked for Madeleine, seated, as he was, at the high table, and saw her several seats away, on the King’s other side. She looked across at him at the same moment and gave the tiniest shake of her head, warning him not to show too much intimacy. He contented himself with a polite smile and smallest bow of the head, a member of de Warenne’s household recognising a frequent visitor, and dropped his eyes to his plate again. When his plate was clear, and his beaker of wine finished, de Warenne spoke to him again. "If you are ready, Jervis, the King would like to hear your story. Tell His Majesty what happened in the forest, from the moment you went exploring on your own." Jervis told his story quickly, leaving out nothing. When he came to the part after he had been sent by de Warenne to return to the body, and told them of its disappearance, both listeners frowned heavily. Then, as he explained that he had found it in the hut of Green Gerda, they both seemed vastly amused. The King chuckled delightedly and de Warenne slapped Jervis’s shoulder in glee. "So you have met Green Gerda, have you?" said Henry. "I hear she is as fond of a strong young man as any woman. Yet here you are, apparently unchanged by the experience!" Jervis smiled awkwardly. "She has a strong character, Sire," he said. "And a way of loosening your tongue . . ." Henry sobered and glanced at him, sternly. "What did you tell her, Jervis?" he said. "Not much, Sire," said Jervis, hurriedly. "Only that Sir Roger had been hurt, and that I had gone for help, and been dismayed when I could not find him again on my return." Henry nodded. "I see you are a wise man, despite your youth," he said. "It is well if only a few people know what really happened. You must never the true story to anyone no-one at all, you understand? We must protect ourselves from accusation, and protect the memory of Sir Roger’s honour. There is no call for any other reputation to ever attach to him. His family must not suffer for his deeds." "I understand, Sire," said Jervis. "I give you my word that no-one else shall hear this story." De Warenne leant close to the King and murmured.

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Belaset’s Daughter "You need have no fear for the rest of the de Tourneys, Sire" he said. "Jervis is very fond of them and very close to them. Is that not so, Jervis," he said, turning to his squire. Jervis blushed scarlet. "As you say, my lord," he said, meekly. Henry nodded slowly, gazing at Jervis and seeing his discomfiture with some amusement. "We will say no more on that score," he said. "But, Jervis, you will come to me in the morning, and we will talk further about this whole matter. I have a task for you. Earl John will spare you for me, I am sure." "As you wish, Sire," said de Warenne. "It is my honour and Jervis’s, that you should use him as you will."

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jervis shuddered with cold as he doused his head with the freezing water from the pump. He had woken from a heavy sleep, with a thumping headache and a foul taste in his mouth to remind him of the previous night’s events. The feasting with the King had been a high point in his life so far, he decided, and well worth the discomfort he was suffering now. The icy water cleared his mind and his headache, and he rubbed his hair until it was almost dry on a rough cloth. A few splashes on his surcote would soon dry, so he left them, but his face he rubbed briskly, until his cheeks were scarlet from the treatment. Feeling much refreshed, he went off in search of something to eat. The hall where the King had feasted the night before was still in a shambles. Boys and men lay snoring in huddled groups, or alone, in corners and under trestles. One or two of the Abbey’s lay helpers picked their way among them, distaste plain on their faces, as they tried to make some inroad into the chaos of discarded bones, upturned ale jugs and other more unpleasant detritus. Jervis approached one of them, trying out his considerable charm in a smile. "Where might I find something to break my fast?" he said. The man looked at him with a surly expression. "The buttery is over there," he said, with a jerk of his head. "You might find something if there’s anything left after last night. Never seen anything like it before, I haven’t." "My thanks," said Jervis, and escaped before the man could say any more. He felt some guilt at the way that the Abbey had been invaded, but, he thought to himself, what did they expect? As far as he knew, it had been a perfectly ordinary event in the life of the Court. The King, in a good mood after a day’s hunting, had enjoyed an equally good meal. So had his courtiers and the rest of the retinue. There had been little drunkenness and no brawling, and most people had retired at a reasonable hour, following Henry’s example. What was there for anyone to grumble about? He shrugged and pushed through the door. Behind it lay a passage that led to the kitchens, along which wafted an appetising smell of baking bread. Jervis’s stomach rumbled and he quickened his pace. The buttery, which he glanced into in passing, was empty of food and people. He barely broke his stride, before hurrying on. The kitchen, when he entered it, was warm and bustling, and reminded him, with a sudden pang of homesickness, of the one in Lewes Castle. There was the usual large fireplace, set in a corner, with a fire burning in it, and pots slung above. The usual small

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Belaset’s Daughter boy sat beside the spit, ready to stir the contents of a pot, or to dodge a cuff from the cook, whichever came his way. On a table in the middle of the room stood a wooden platter with several small new loaves piled on it. Jervis walked over to the table and casually picked up one of the loaves. The boy by the fire was staring at him, so Jervis winked as he broke off a chunk of the delicious warm bread, and stuffed it into his mouth. Taking the rest of the bread with him, he sauntered over to one side of the room, in search of something to drink. "Hey!" came a sudden angry shout. Jervis straightened up from his exploration of the various jugs and bundles he had found and looked round. A large and red-faced monk was heading for him, with a knife held in front of him. Behind the monk, the young boy was sitting with his mouth wide open, and round, frightened eyes, as he watched the advance. "Your bread is delicious, Brother!" said Jervis. "I was directed here for some food, and the directions were excellent." The monk stood still, breathing heavily. "My thanks!" said Jervis, and walked briskly out of the kitchen, leaving a thunderous silence behind him. Outside, the sun was shining in a clear sky, and Jervis stood, eating the rest of his purloined loaf and enjoying the warmth and promise of springtime. Idly, he gazed around him, watching people crossing the courtyard with a purposeful air. Men of all ages, some in the fine clothes of Henry s entourage, some in rough work clothes, and a few in monk s habit, went about their business. Only he seemed to be standing still. Everyone who passed him stared at him with curiosity, obviously wondering who this young man was, who so clearly had nothing to do. A figure beckoned to him urgently from the far side of the courtyard. It was Joan, waving at him to hurry, as he strolled across, a smile on his face. As he drew nearer, he could see that she had an expression of extreme anxiety on her face, and he quickened his pace. "What s the matter . . .?" he began, but got no further. "Oh, Master Jervis, you must come to my lady!" said Joan, dragging at his arm, and hastening him along the cloister. "She has heard some dreadful tale about the manner of Sir Roger s death, and fears for her own life she is preparing to flee the Court!" Jervis s heart sank. "What has she heard?" he said, stopping, and resisting all her efforts to drag him on.

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Belaset’s Daughter "She has heard that Sir Roger was m-murdered," said Joan, stumbling over the dreadful word. "Because he was giving Earl Simon news of the King s intentions. She is afraid that she will be murdered, too, if anyone thinks. . ." She stood beside Jervis, literally wringing her hands with distress and anxiety. He glanced round, but no-one seemed to be within earshot of them. He put his finger to his lips, and walked briskly with her until they were out of the courtyard and into a small kitchen garden. He led her along a path that led into the centre of the neat rows of plants and stopped by a sundial. "Joan," he said. "She must not leave the Court precipitately. It is tantamount to an admission that she knew what Sir Roger was doing." "But she did!" said Joan. "What?" said Jervis, startled. "I thought she was not privy to her husband s thoughts in these matters." "He said nothing to her," agreed Joan. "But Madeleine has eyes and ears, Master Jervis. She is not a foolish girl. She saw people coming and going in Amiens and in Lewes and so did I," she said, thoughtfully. "There was the time that Guy de Montfort spent with us, when he was drugged by one of the King s men, posing as a priest. She knew we had him in the stables while he recovered his strength." "Well we must stop her taking flight, whatever else is decided," said Jervis. "But noone else must see that we are anxious or hurrying, in case there are eyes on us which will report back to an interested master. Take me to her, Mistress Joan, as if I am going to offer consolation." "Yes, you are right," said Joan, suddenly becoming more like her usual brisk self. "Come with me." They left the little garden and went back across the courtyard, in through a door set in the corner, and up stone stairs that spiralled up to another floor. At the top, Joan pushed a door open and Jervis found himself staring straight into Madeleine s eyes. They were full of tears, and he saw a fleeting look of alarm pass across her face, until she recognised him. She rose from her chair and came swiftly across the room to him. "Jervis!" she said. "Thank God! Has Joan told you?" "Yes," said Jervis. "And you must stay here, Madeleine, and show that you are but a grieving widow, mourning your husband. Then you will be safe." "No no!" she protested. "I must leave here as quickly as possible my dear Joan s are both in danger!"

life, and my

"They will be if you flee," said Jervis, grimly. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, gently. "Running away is always taken as an admission of guilt. Staying will look more like innocence. No-one will suspect you of anything. They will all feel pity for you,

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Belaset’s Daughter and never think that you had any knowledge of Sir Roger s true loyalties, as long as you keep it to yourself." "I want no pity!" said Madeleine, with a flash of her old spirit. "Jervis is right, Madeleine," said Joan behind them. She came and stood beside them, and Jervis dropped his hands from Madeleine s shoulders, suddenly self-conscious. "You have acted in many of our Christmas and Easter revels," she went on. "Now act this part, for all our sakes. Droop and sigh as much as you wish, but do not let fear show in your face for an instant. As for Jervis, he will be your comforter for the time being, and I shall be your obedient servant." "You cannot change that much everyone would notice and question it," said Jervis, and was rewarded by a weak smile from Madeleine. "Very well, Jervis, I will stay and play the part as you suggest," she said. "But," she caught at his arm and gazed up at him, "Promise you will tell me if you have reason to fear for my safety. Meanwhile, find out, if you can, who killed my husband." Jervis took the hand that held his sleeve, and bowed over it, brushing it with his lips. "Your safety is very important to me, my dear Madeleine," he said, looking into her eyes. Turning from her, he nodded to Joan, who gave him an odd look, and then he left the chamber. Running back down the stairs, he gave a wry smile. Now there were two people asking him to track down Sir Roger s killer, he thought. The King s reasons he knew, but did Madeleine want to know, in order to feel safe, or to wreak revenge on someone who, presumably, had been carrying out orders? And which side did the murderer come from in the first place? The King, knowing of de Tourney s treachery, may have ordered his death; but if Earl Simon had no more need of his information, might he not equally have ordered that the man should be permanently silenced? Four hours later, still wrestling with the problem, Jervis was on horseback and leaving Battle Abbey with the rest of John de Warenne s household. He rode just behind de Warenne and his wife, the Lady Alice. Madeleine de Tourney rode with them, and Joan, rode beside him, where she could keep a tender and watchful eye on her mistress. Madeleine was looking suitably sombre, but there was no sign of the fear that he had seen earlier. Either she was acting a part, or she was truly less fearful, now that they were leaving the Abbey. The sudden departure had been precipitated by a messenger, who had brought news to the King of Simon de Montfort s latest moves. Aaron Yechiel, sent by Gregory Rokesly, had been admitted to the King s presence immediately, and had told of de Montfort s invitation to all Londoners to meet on the King s Green, prepared to join in battle with the King, if they would free themselves from his ’tyranny’. Aaron stumbled over this word, and looked anxiously at the King s face, as he uttered such treasonable accusations, but the King, though frowning blackly, waved his hand for the young man to continue. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter When Aaron had finished speaking, there was silence for a long moment, then the King spoke. "Where is de Montfort planning on meeting us and joining in this battle?" he said, ominously. "Sire, I know only that he has left London and is on his way south with his followers," said Aaron. Henry snorted. "Followers?" he said. "There are few of his trained men left most London rabble, eager for any excuse to fight."

of them will be the

There was a murmur of agreement from those around the King. He struck the arm of the chair on which he sat, and stood up. "Well," he said. "If Simon wants a fight, a fight he shall have! We will crush him and his rabble, and show England that she has a King who rules well and strongly, and by divine right!" There was a cheer from the back of the room, quickly taken up by everyone else. Amid the noise, Henry bent to Aaron, as he stood with head bowed before him. "You have served us well, young man," he said. "Now stay with us, if you will. Do you know any here?" "If someone can tell me where I might find Jervis FitzHugh, Sire?" said Aaron, eagerly. "Ah, yes!" said Henry, laughing. "You are acquainted with Master FitzHugh, I recall. He is certainly here with us." He beckoned to a man standing nearby. "Take him to de Warenne s quarters," he said. "Deliver him to Master Jervis FitzHugh, with our warmest thanks." He clapped Aaron once on the shoulder, and swept past him, calling out the names of the men he wished to speak with him. "Come forward," he was saying, as Aaron left the hall with his guide. "We must plan our movements carefully, and arrive at Lewes ready and able to fight." Those whose names he had called hurried forward, eager to prepare, now that they knew where they were going, and that there would, at last, be a pitched battle between King Henry and the brother-in-law who had become his fiercest opponent, Simon, Earl de Montfort. Great battles were talked about but rarely fought, and there was fear as well as excitement in the thought of being a part of one. Aaron s guide was walking at a half-trot, and he had to lengthen his stride to keep up. The man left the hall, and the building in which it was housed, sped round two sides of a cloister, through passage which led from one side of the building to the other, turned

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Belaset’s Daughter sharp left, and entered a porch, with the door set deep inside. He rapped thrice on the door, and stood aside as it was opened and Jervis FitzHugh looked out. The man simply nodded at Aaron, standing beside him, then turned on his heel and left them, walking away as rapidly as he had come. Jervis, after a second of open-mouthed amazement, let out a whoop of joy and laughter, and seized Aaron in a hard hug, before letting him go. "Aaron is it really you? How are you here? Why have you come?" His face sobered for a moment. "Is your family well? No further harm has come to them?" "No, no!" said Aaron, laughing himself at the onslaught of questions and still breathless from the strength of the hug. "I am here as a messenger from Gregory to the King . ." "What is happening in London, then?" said Jervis. "Let me in and I will tell you," said Aaron. "It is dark and cold in this doorway is there nowhere to sit down like two civilised people, while I explain?" "Forgive me," said Jervis, looking chastened. "I have forgotten all my manners. Please, come in and rest, and have something to drink." He stood back and ushered Aaron past him into a large hall. It was empty of people, but the table at one end had chairs set behind it, and there were fresh rushes strewn on the floor. Trestles and benches were stacked against one wall, where they had been stored while the hall was cleaned. There was no fire and no sign of there having been one. Although the space was light, it was chilly, and Aaron shivered despite his warm clothing and heavy riding cloak. He was relieved when Jervis led him across the hall and opened a door behind the table. Stone stairs led up to a higher level, and Jervis opened a door at the top and beckoned him into a smaller chamber. He flung himself down on his bed and gestured to Aaron to sit with him. "Now," he said. "Tell me all you know." Aaron laughed and took a deep breath, but got no further. A wide-eyed page opened the door and gasped out that they were all leaving as quickly as possible. John de Warenne had been ordered to make ready his Castle in Lewes, and to tell the town that the King was coming to honour them with his presence. Now de Warenne had ordered all who were of his party to leave within the next few hours and return to Lewes. Jervis sprang up, hauling Aaron up with him. "You will come with us," he said, making it a statement and not a question. "Of course!" said Aaron, promptly. "I will go to my family." He laughed.

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Belaset’s Daughter "I had no idea that being a messenger could be so useful!" he said. "I was afraid that my message would bring the King s wrath down on my head. I find, instead, that it will reunite me with my wife!" Jervis threw a bag at him. "We will get there more quickly if you will help me pack everything for the journey," he said. It was done in three minutes. Jervis had few personal belongings, other than the clothes he wore and his dagger. The rest fitted into two small sacks, which he would sling in front of him, across his saddle, as he rode. As soon as they were safely tied, the two left the chamber without a backward glance, and ran down the stairs into the yard, calling for their horses. Aaron s had never been unsaddled, and Jervis s had been made ready as they were packing. As soon as they were brought to them, the two young men leapt on to their backs and clattered off towards the Abbey s main gate, joining a stream of people heading in the same direction. The cavalcade left the Abbey and was travelling in good order towards Lewes. Jervis could see that John de Warenne was making every effort to relax his wife, as he chatted gaily with her and looked about him with pleasure at the countryside through which they rode. Jervis wondered idly where Aaron was. He had dropped behind Jervis, out of deference, when de Warenne had gestured to his squire to move to his position just behind him. As Jervis had turned, meaning to urge Aaron to stay beside him, his friend had smiled and shaken his head. All that Jervis knew now was that, somewhere behind him, Aaron was riding alone among strangers. He turned in his saddle, and stared back through the throng of people behind him. He could just catch a glimpse now and then of Aaron s figure, trotting along on his horse, apparently in animated conversation. But who it was he spoke to, Jervis could not discover. He shrugged his shoulders and turned back. Aaron could look after himself, as he had every reason to know. There was nothing to worry about, but still he felt uneasy. He twisted in the saddle again, and this time a convenient gap in the crowd showed him Aaron s companion. He was talking and laughing with Philip, the young squire. Jervis relaxed. If Philip was there, his friend Robert was there, also. Two of de Warenne s household would certainly be sufficient protection for Aaron, and bring him safely to Lewes.

* * *

Aaron bade farewell to Philip and Robert and broke away from the long stream of riders and carts. He wheeled to the left as the rest of them began the climb up the castle mount and went out through the West Gate. The house where Judith and Belaset lived was just a short way along Antioch Street and he was there in moments.

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Belaset’s Daughter Dismounting, he raised his hand to rap on the door, but it flew open and Judith stood there. "Good day, Madam," said Aaron, his eyes dancing with joy at her surprise. "I saw you coming!" said Judith. "I could not believe what my eyes told me!" "Well, as you see, they told you the truth!" said Aaron. "Am I allowed inside the house, or must I skulk away and come again at dead of night?" Judith caught his arm and pulled him inside the house. "You will not be given a chance to go away!" she said, laughing and hugging him to her. "Aaron!" said Belaset’s voice behind them. "Come in and welcome you hungry!"

must be

Aaron disentangled himself from Judith and stepped forward to kiss Belaset heartily on the cheek. "Yes, of course I am hungry," he said. "How could I not be, since I am in your house and as yet unfed?" Laughing and talking over each other, the two women ushered Aaron to the table and Belaset bustled off to the kitchen, calling loudly for the servant as usual. Left alone, Aaron and Judith gazed at each other. "How long can you stay?" she said. "At least tonight," he said. "I have made sure of that." "It will be our wedding night," she said softly. "Yes," he said, equally softly. "I know." Belaset returned with the promised food, which she set in front of Aaron. Glancing at their two faces, she saw how absorbed they were in each other. I might as well not be here, she thought to herself, hiding a smile as she sat before the fire with her sewing. It was not long before she gathered her things together and stood. "You must be tired after your long ride, Aaron," she said. "I will wish you both goodnight." The two young faces looked back at her, their eagerness to be alone struggling with the embarrassment of knowing that Belaset was contriving this for them. "Thank you, Mother," said Judith, her blush mounting. She led Aaron to her own bedroom and now, as he closed the door softly behind him, she turned to face him. "At last," she thought. "I am alone with Aaron but how strange in my own room."

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that it should be here,

Belaset’s Daughter He came towards her, smiling, and holding out his arms. It was the most natural thing in the world to walk into them. As they kissed, she felt an overwhelming relief that this time there would be more than just a kiss. She was curious, fearful, and suffused with a glow of exultation at the same time. Her awareness of Aaron’s nearness was almost painful. Where he led she followed, wondering, but gladly. It seemed as if they whirled through a rainbow of colour, while the beating of their two hearts filled her head, until there was a sudden breathless pause. Everything stopped, held for a long moment, and then she felt herself tip over from a great height and slid down into languor and peace. Afterwards, she remembered that first time always as a climbing, spinning feeling, in which she knew they climbed together, and that it had somehow seemed imperative to her for the two of them to somehow mould themselves into one, new person, and that they had, indeed, achieved this. Now she turned her head and looked at Aaron as he lay beside her. The dark eyes, for once slightly anxious, looked back at her. "Are you ?" he began, but she hushed him and gently stroked his cheek, while.

smiling all the

He gave a sigh and turned his face so that his lips lay in the warm hollow between her neck and shoulder. She held his arm, where it lay across her, and they drifted into sleep.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In the shadow of the Tower, groups of men sat or stood around, talking together eagerly. They held a strange assortment of articles and implements, which were brandished about with gusto, as their owners demonstrated their usefulness as weapons. A group of stonemasons, still covered with the dust of their trade, arrived from Westminster, eager to join in the fray. They brought with them their heavy mallets and sharp chisels, and were given a hearty welcome by the edge of the crowd, which opened to include them. They joined carpenters with their chisels and wooden mallets, carters carrying long whips, and a few shopkeepers who had willingly entrusted the running of their shop to their wives, so that they might be part of the excitement. Apprentices and clerks had joined the throng, knowing that their masters were unlikely to send them back to their work, as they would not so happily trust an apprentice to work alone. In a separate part of the field, kept apart by the disgust of others at the odour which constantly clung to them, the dyers and fullers had brought the long poles used for dipping the hides of animals in vats of urine and the sharp-edged scrapers used to clean the leather of every vestige of animal flesh which might remain after skinning. A smaller, and more distinguished group stood almost in the centre of the field. This time the space around them was left out of respect for their standing. The leaders of the Folkmoot, including fitzThomas, Bukerel and Puleston, stood in a group with their closest allies, and studied the numbers around them with satisfaction. The hum of many voices sounded like a swarm of angry bees, loosed on the King s Green in the early morning. Now and then a hoarse laugh, or a shout rose above the steady sound of men boasting of their prowess as fighters, and their plans to finish off the army that would face them in a few days. If anyone there had doubts, or felt a shiver of fear at what might happen to them, they did not dare say anything, for fear of their fellow Londoners laughter was greater. Most had no experience of battle at all; most had never raised arms against an enemy in more than a drunken brawl. Most were there because they wanted to be; a few because they felt they ought to be seen there, although they had no wish to fight themselves. In some cases, their womenfolk had urged them to go, but any wife who truly loved her husband had prayed that her man would stay safe at home, knowing all the while that he would not, or felt he could not. A group of riders came trotting towards them from the Tower, and cheering started, from those who recognised the figure of Simon de Montfort. The sound was taken up all across the field, and de Montfort and his companions William de Monchesny, Hugh Dispenser, and others rode in among them, smiling broadly.

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Belaset’s Daughter De Montfort forced his horse through the mob, until he met fitzThomas coming towards him, with Puleston on one side and Bukerel on the other. "Well, my Lord Mayor!" said Simon in high good humour. "We have many allies, I perceive." "Indeed, my lord," said fitzThomas, oozing satisfaction. He nodded his head cursorily in the direction of Monchesny and Hugh Dispenser. Hugh snorted audibly at the man s arrogance, but inclined his head courteously in return, although Monchesny stared coldly and did nothing. Simon raised himself slightly from his saddle and gazed around over the heads of the throng, who were still giving forth ragged cheers. He sat back again, and spoke to the leaders of the Londoners, under cover of the noise around them all. "Do these men understand what we require of them? That many of them may face injury and even death?" he said. Bukerel spoke up, before fitzThomas could say anything. "They are your loyal followers, my lord," he said, respectfully. "They are willing to lay down their lives in your cause." "Hmmm," said Simon, thoughtfully. He stared down at the three men standing before him. Bukerel stared back, drawing himself up and stiffening his spine, daring de Montfort to disbelieve him, despite the evident admiration in his voice. The other two looked more ill at ease, and Puleston was positively shifty. Monchesny leaned across to Simon and spoke softly to him. "Why worry yourself about their safety, my lord?" he said. "We need them and they are in a fever of excitement at the thought of fighting. Leave them their dreams, and do not undermine their confidence." De Montfort smiled sadly at Monchesny and nodded. "It gives me no pleasure to lead men to their deaths in this fashion," he said. "Yet you are right: we must count on this very ignorance of theirs to get them into battle. No-one is foolish enough to walk into danger if they are made aware of it. Very well my words to them will not contain any warning." He rose in his stirrups again and prepared to speak. The last faint cheers died away and there was a sudden silence. "I call on you again, men of London!" he said. "To ask for your help in our crusade against the King, who listens to no-one and take no-one s counsel but his own. While he may have a divine right to be our King, he has no divine right to rule alone, as a tyrant rules." He paused for breath, and there were shouts of agreement from the crowd. He held up his hand.

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Belaset’s Daughter "We know that the King is now at Battle. If he wants a Battle, then a battle I shall give him! Will you come with me?" "Aye, my lord!" came back from every throat, in a single roar. "We leave at once," shouted de Montfort. "You will follow after the army has left the Tower. Food and shelter will be provided for you!" There was another roar from the crowd, as he wheeled his horse round, and headed back to the Tower, with Monchesny and the others close beside him. When they got to the gates, de Montfort paused a moment. "Tell everyone inside to start moving," he said to Monchesny. "Let those who will follow us see that we have soldiers with us, and that they will not be an unruly mob. We must make good time, if we are to fight the King at a site to our advantage. There can be no rioting or sacking on the way we head south with all speed!" "Aye my lord," said Monchesny, trying to keep the doubt out of his voice. This mob of men and boys for he had seen that some of them were very young would be hard to control. Londoners were famous for their refusal to be ruled by any other than their own leaders. He turned back to de Montfort. "My lord," he said. "Give me time to tell the leaders of the mob that they must control them. They will take no notice of anyone else." "You are right, William," said de Montfort. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Tell their leaders that they are personally responsible. Let that unctuous fool fitzThomas know, in particular. The Folkmoot will pay for the misdemeanours of any of their men and pay in cash or goods, which will hurt them more than any flogging!" Monchesny grinned and Hugh, who had listened to the exchange, laughed out loud. "A clever ruse, Simon!" he said, still chuckling as he spoke. Monchesny turned his horse and rode back to the King s Field, where he summoned the three leaders to him and explained the rules under which the march would be made. Bukerel and Puleston glared angrily at Monchesny, and fitzThomas looked crestfallen, but none dared object. Satisfied that the crowd of Londoners would now be properly controlled, rather than a rabble antagonising everyone on their route, Monchesny returned to the Tower and gave the order for everyone to move out. The gates were flung open, and the de Montfort s army streamed out, followed by the rest of his household and hangers-on, who went wherever Simon de Montfort went. As the last stragglers left, the Londoners were led off the King s Green and joined the throng making its way through the narrow streets. Women and the infirm, along with little children, stood and watched as the procession wound its way along, towards the bridge. The head was squeezing its way across the bridge as the tail was just leaving the shadow

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Belaset’s Daughter of the Tower, and it was a long time before the last group of all was on the other side of the Thames and making its way south at a steady pace. Now that the great adventure was under way, men walked with their heads up and a look of anticipation on their faces. This was more like it! they told each other. This was better than another long day breaking your back over your work, with nothing to look forward to but more of the same the next day. The sun shone on them and felt pleasantly warm. It was May 6th.

* * *

When they arrived at de Montfort s manor of Fletching, it was a more disciplined crowd that set up camp and settled in. Every day they had been given marching orders; every day the soldiers among them had ensured that those orders were kept. They were footsore and weary, silent with fatigue, but there were few grumblers. The Londoners were smaller in number than the mob which had set out four days ago. Many had dropped out and gone back home, when they realised what hard work marching all day could be. More had lost their nerve, as it dawned on them that they were marching into real danger, that they were likely to be hurt and, perhaps, killed. Each time they stopped for the night, more and more of the names called over by their leaders would be greeted by silence. Each morning, there would be more gaps. By now, Monchesny had already told de Montfort, they had lost perhaps half of the original number. Nevertheless, Simon was satisfied that he still had a good sized army, and that they could win any battle against Henry and his side. Now Monchesny, Gilbert de Clare, and the other leaders, gathered in de Montfort s tent for their nightly discussion. Candles lit the interior of the huge tent, and showed the men sitting at table, enjoying capons and suckling pigs plundered from the farms they had walked through during the course of the day. The food had been cooked by de Montfort s own kitchen staff tonight, and it was delicious. The men ate greedily, and the grease ran down their chins. Goblets of wine were emptied in a few gulps, and handed over to a servant for refilling. It all tasted so good after the long march in the heat of a spring day. Finally, when most people had eaten their fill, but before they became too drunk to talk sensibly, de Montfort thumped his fist on the table for silence. He waited until he had everyone s attention, before speaking. "We have reached a place where we can regain our strength an plan what to do next," he said. "You all know that we are among my own people here in Fletching, and no-one here would dare do other than support me. We know that the King is aware that we have left London. He has marched his own army to Lewes, and has encamped there. He will be trying to find out exactly where we are. It is to our advantage if we stay here and rest for a while." BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter The others nodded. Gilbert de Clare, seated on Simon s right, leaned forward and spoke. "The Londoners are finding out that life is harder outside their walls than they had thought," he said. "Their numbers are fewer every day. We cannot delay too long, my, lord, or we shall have lost them all!" Simon shook his head. "Any who were going to change their minds have done so by now," he said. "We are too far away from London for them to desert us they will feel safer with us than alone in the forest." "Aye!" came a voice from further down the table. "Most of them think that any noise from the side of the path is a wolf at least!" There was laughter at this sally, and Simon grinned, before continuing. "I have a mind to try once more to persuade the King that he should parley with us," he continued, to a murmur of surprise. "I know that we have asked our good friends from London to support us in battle, but I have no wish to attain our ends by violent means if we can avoid it." "Have you not given the King every chance to come to our point of view, my lord?" said de Clare. "Why do you think that he may change his mind now?" "Gilbert," said Simon, laying his hand upon the other s arm. "I cannot believe that Henry can be so stubborn as to risk a battle with us. He knows that we want only what is best for England. He surely knows that we long to be his loyal subjects once more. I am hoping that, if we ask him to reconsider, knowing that an army is drawn up against him, that this will make him realise the seriousness of our aim. And, besides," he continued, sadly. "He is my brother-in-law." Gilbert de Clare shifted awkwardly in his seat, and cleared his throat before speaking in his turn. "I understand, my lord," he said. "Many of us have relatives on the other side. It is, indeed, a sad day, when cousins and brothers must fight each other." "Then let us see if we can prevent that day dawning," said Simon de Montfort, briskly. "In the morning, we will send a messenger to the King, with a letter from us all, asking him not to force us into this desperate measure." There was some obvious reluctance in the agreement given, especially among the younger men there, but de Montfort ignored it. The parchment containing the letter was already written, on his instructions. It needed only to be signed and sealed by the most senior of them, and sent on its way to the Priory in Lewes, where he had been told, Henry had taken up residence. He dismissed everyone and sat alone in the tent, planning what he might do if the message failed to have the desired effect. Elsewhere in the camp, the army was settling in its usual way. Some of the soldiers had been posted as lookouts, to be relieved at regular intervals throughout the night. The rest BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter were busily building rude shelters, or making the most of the few huts available. The Londoners were also settling in for the night, and small campfires flickered into life all over the campsite. Parties of men roamed around, scavenging whatever they could find in the way of food. At this time of the year, stores were running low within the village. The local villeins and peasants did not welcome the attentions of the soldiers, and the Londoners were even less welcome, being seen as foreigners. De Montfort s men the villagers knew they had to accept, and it was better not to resist their demands at all, but why should they also have to feed this great mob of people, who spoke differently from them, and who had come from London, that rich place so far away from them? The foreigners did not care what the people of Fletching thought. Pushing aside anyone who stood in their way, they went through the village, taking whatever they found that could be eaten. Chicken and lamb were delicacies, and the men who found them fell on them with glee, and killed them. Then they were taken back and placed over fires and roasted. to be noisily enjoyed by anyone near enough to grab some, as soon as it was ready. There was no wine for these men, but ale circulated and many slaked their thirst and more, so that the campsite was soon littered with snoring men, surrounded by gnawed bones. In the flickering of the campfires, the areas around them soon looked more like the aftermath of a battle, with prone bodies lying at all angles. Only the heavy breathing belied the scene. Not everyone had eaten and drunk their fill so recklessly. Bukerel and Puleston, sitting on the edge of the London crowd, talked quietly. "We are near to the King and his army, then," said Puleston. "I hear so," agreed Bukerel. "Perhaps we will launch the great battle tomorrow." "How do you feel about it, now, old friend?" said Puleston. "Now that the hour draws ever closer when we will have to fight and perhaps with a soldier who has proper weapons, instead of using the tools of his trade?" "Earl Simon will plan whatever is best for us," said Bukerel, stoutly. "I cannot pretend that I am not afraid, It would be foolish to believe that we will be in no danger. Nevertheless, I have come to support him, and I will not run away now." "Unlike our brave Mayor," said Puleston, bitterly. "He has shown that he is all windy talk and no action. He did not even leave London with us, but made an excuse as soon as we started off." "Yes, that we could not leave London without leaders!" said Bukerel. "Who would have noticed, in these days of such turmoil? And how does he think that the presence of one man will keep the people in order?" "He has damaged his reputation beyond repair," agreed the other man. "I cannot respect a man with no stomach for a fight!"

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Belaset’s Daughter "Nor I!" said Bukerel, moodily. He brightened. "But we will make our reputations, then!" he said, turning to Puleston. "If we live," said Puleston. "If we live . . ." His voice tailed away, and both men sat lost in their own thoughts. Someone to their left, turned in their sleep, coughing and groaning. The campfires began to burn down, and the glow of the moon took over as night wore on. The soldiers stationed here and there to guard the campsite looked round nervously. There were still wild animals known to live in the woodland bordering the campsite, and they did not want to have to defend themselves against a sudden charge from a wild boar. The trees rustled in a slight breeze, and the grass, which was long and dry all around them, made strange sussurating noises. The occasional squeak or snuffling noise betrayed the whereabouts of field mice and voles, although these quickly ran away as soon as they caught the dreaded scent of man. Every two hours, throughout the night, the guards were changed. Those who had been relieved went thankfully to their rest, leaving new watchers to flinch at unknown noises and wish heartily that their time was up. As dawn broke, de Montfort arose and left his tent. He went to where Monchesny had spent the night, close by, and shook him awake. "What is it?" began Monchesny crossly, then realised who was bending over him. He made to scramble to his feet, but de Montfort pressed him back on to the straw palliasse on which he had lain. "Monchesny," he said, in an urgent whisper. "We must send a party to Lewes with the letter I spoke of. It is ready for signing. Find de Clare and send him to me." "Aye, my lord," said Monchesny, promptly. De Montfort left him to carry out the task and returned to his tent. Carefully, he took a scrip from where he had placed it near his bed, and drew out the parchment that had been prepared. If only the King would heed its words, he thought, how much needless fighting and loss of life could be saved! He hoped with all his heart that a battle could be prevented, yet he knew how stubborn Henry was about this matter of divine right. Gilbert de Clare came into the tent at that moment, looking, as usual, as though he had spent some time preparing himself for the new day. De Montfort could not repress a smile at the sight of him, looking as though the last place he had spent the night was in a campsite in the middle of Sussex. "What is it, Simon?" he asked courteously. De Montfort waved him to a seat, and placed the parchment in front of him. "Here is the letter I spoke of last night," he said. "It is our last chance to prevent bloodshed and to get the King to see reason."

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Belaset’s Daughter "It is the King s last chance, surely?" said de Clare. "We have offered all we can give, if he will only acknowledge that we have a right to advise him on matters of governance, and to be involved in decisions. The Provisions of Oxford are clear and have already been agreed. Why does he insist on ignoring them?" "He believes he is right," said de Montfort. "But we know he wrong!" protested de Clare, but still taking the quill and scribbling his name. He took the lighted taper that a hovering clerk handed to him, and held it under the sealing wax, as until it dripped on to the parchment. Removing his ring, he pressed it firmly into the wax, imprinting his arms into it. He watched as de Montfort did the same. "Who will we send with this message?" he said. "Two of our Bishops will go," said de Montfort, having already decided during the night. "Walter de Cantelupe and Richard de Sandwich, with a sufficient number of men to ensure their safety, will take the message. They should be safe enough, visiting the Priory, since they are also men of the Church." "Do they know that they are to undertake this deed?" said de Clare, interestedly. "Yes," said de Montfort, shortly. "They were asked if they would do so as soon as we stopped here last night." De Clare said nothing. He could imagine what form the request had taken. Earl Simon was someone who could not be refused, especially in this situation. He bore the burden of leader in the fight with the King, and all who accepted him as leader must also be prepared to carry out whatever tasks he set them. Even their Lordships the Bishops of Worcester and London, it seemed. There was a step outside the tent, and the flap was pulled back slightly, to allow Monchesny s head to appear. "My lords," he said, courteously. "Their Lordships are ready for their journey." De Montfort rose, and took the parchment from the clerk, who had rolled it and tied it. Together with de Clare, and followed by Monchesny, he left the tent and walked across to where the two men sat on their horses. At a discreet distance stood a group of four other horsemen, the guard that de Montfort had mentioned. The two bishops had dressed in fine cloaks, and both wore large pectoral crosses outside their garments, to show that they were men of peace. Their guard, while not heavily armed, had daggers and one of them carried a short staff. They had no need to carry any arms themselves, and would not wish to do so, in any case. De Montfort handed the scrip containing the rolled parchment to Richard de Sandwich, then went and stood in front of them both, placing a hand on the soft muzzle of each horse. "I wish you both success, my lord Bishops," he said. "And may you return to us soon, with the news that we hope so much to hear."

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Belaset’s Daughter Both men inclined their heads graciously, and de Montfort stepped away from them. They urged their horse forward, and the bodyguard followed after them. They trotted out of the camp and took the old track that would lead them along the valley, around the edge of the old Saxon wall, and so down the slope into the Priory. Behind them, de Montfort, de Clare and William Monchesny turned and went back into de Montfort s tent. The two Churchmen did not share de Montfort s confidence regarding their reception. "I trust Prior Foville is within the Priory," said Walter de Cantelupe. He shifted uneasily in his saddle, and adjusted his cloak fastidiously. He was a small man, rotund and with high colour in his cheeks, which bore witness to his love of good food and wine. Richard de Sandwich grunted. He had no love for this man, who held high office in the Church, but followed none of its precepts. Richard himself was spare of frame, and had the permanent slight stoop of someone who had spent long hours poring over Holy Writ. A fierce love of God burned in his heart, and showed in the fire of his gaze. Not many could withstand the direct gaze of those eyes, and most of the priests in his charge quailed visibly before him. He had no time for people like the Bishop of Worcester, who used his position for his own gain, and whose love of God was buried deep below his love of good living if it was there at all. De Cantelupe said no more, but rode along looking around him. They were obviously following a well-used route into the town, judging by the way the bare chalk had been worn. The horses hooves clopped rhythmically, the sun shone, and he felt his fears subsiding. After all, he told himself, they carried a message of peace to the King. What harm could befall them, two Bishops, riding peaceably long, with a few men to guide and protect them? They were doing nothing that they might not do under very different circumstances. They presented no danger to the King; on the contrary. He drew a deep breath and sat up straighter in his saddle. Beside him, Richard de Sandwich looked at him in surprise. "You would appear to be enjoying the morning, my lord Bishop?" he enquired sardonically. "Indeed, indeed!" said his companion. "And why not? We are surely in no danger while we carry out this task?" "Hmm," said Richard de Sandwich. De Cantelupe shrugged his shoulders. Obviously, his companion was in a sour mood as usual. Well, he would not trouble himself with this tiresome man, but make what he could of the journey. and no doubt, he suddenly thought with a lift of his heart, there would be some hospitality offered by the Prior of Lewes, if not by the King himself. He hummed a snatch of music under his breath.

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Belaset’s Daughter It was a shorter ride than he realised. In no time, it seemed, the little party was trotting up a slope and down the other side, towards the Priory which lay spread out below them. The four men who were supposed to be protecting them (although they were totally unnecessary, Walter de Cantelupe assured himself) placed themselves two in front and two behind, as they began the descent to the great gate. They could see the upheaval wrought by the King s coming, in the bustle of may people inside and outside the Priory. There were others of his supporters staying in the Castle, since de Warenne was wellknown as a loyal subject. By far the greatest number of people were the soldiers and camp followers. The little party was surprised by the size of the army encamped on the outskirts of the Priory. It was like a separate town, sprung up in the course of a few days. Walter de Cantelupe felt his previous anxiety starting again, and even Richard de Sandwich looked worried for a fleeting second, before he assumed his customary mask of indifferent superiority. The guard on his right raised a short staff with a white flag fixed to it, as they rode closer and closer to their destination. At last, there was a shout from the guard on the Priory gate, as he saw the group of horsemen coming toward him. His cry brought out a group of soldiers from where they had been sitting just inside the priory wall. They made as if to draw their swords, then one of them pointed, and the swords were sheathed again. As the two bishops and their guard came up the priory, them man who had pointed at them stepped forward. He looked suspiciously at the guard, then at the two bishops. "Well, my lords?" he said, with a certain gruff politeness. "What is your will?" Richard de Sandwich gazed back at him. "We come in peace to see His Majesty," he said, with all the haughtiness of which he was capable. "I advise you to let us through, or you will rue it." There was a snigger from the soldiers watching the exchange, quickly shushed by one of them. The man who had asked their business looked hard at all the party again, but did not move aside. Instead, he called out to the men behind him, without turning his head. "One of you go and find someone who will give permission for these people to enter," he called. "I will keep them here until you return!" De Sandwich s face darkened. "You will dare to keep my lord the Bishop of London, and myself, the Bishop of Worcester, waiting here at the gate?" he said, wrathfully. "Aye, my lord," answered the soldier, standing firm. I would keep Simon de Montfort himself waiting, if need be! All who enter must be proved to be no threat to His Majesty, and to have permission from a higher authority than I possess." He folded his arms and stared back at the blazing eyes that Richard de Sandwich fixed on him. Unlike the priests, this man, toughened by years of fighting, did not so much as

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Belaset’s Daughter flinch. Perhaps he knew he would not have to stand like that, keeping two such illustrious people waiting, for very long. Indeed, it was only a short time later that the soldier he had sent returned, with a message that the two men should be admitted, but not the guard that had come with them. Without giving the four men who had come with them a chance to object, Richard de Sandwich urged his mount forward, through the gate. Walter de Cantelupe followed behind, and struggled to catch up, so that they were once again riding side by side. He was certainly not going to be viewed as the lesser of the two they entered as equals, or not at all, he thought, with some attempt at indignation. Inside, they were helped off their mounts, and led away through a cloister, across a grassy area, and into another set of buildings. They were obviously being taken to the Prior s dwelling, thought Richard de Sandwich, looking around curiously. He had never visited this Priory, although stories of its size and beauty had reached London, and he knew that it owned land and buildings within the City. They were escorted through a large hall and up some steps into a smaller chamber. They found themselves, with unexpected suddenness, in the presence of the King. He was sitting in the window, gazing at the scene outside, and had only a few of his favourites with him. As the two bishops entered, he turned his head and stared at them. "My lord Bishops," he said. "You come from the Earl of Leicester, I understand?" Both men bowed, de Sandwich in a perfunctory manner, which caused Henry to narrow his eyes as he saw it. "We do, Your Majesty," said de Sandwich. One glance at Walter de Cantelupe showed him that the man would not be able to speak without stuttering, so he took it upon himself to speak for both himself and the pathetic creature beside him. "And what does the traitor have to say to his rightful King?" said Henry, angrily. "We bring a message of peace, Sire," said de Sandwich, unperturbed by the King s anger. Henry eyed him. "What!" he exclaimed. "Is he now to back down and acknowledge that he is wrong?" De Sandwich did not hesitate. "He assures you of his fealty, Sire," he said. "And makes a proposal which asks only that all parties should adhere to the content of the Provisions of Oxford. Since these have already been agreed . . ." He got no further. Henry strode across the room, and snatched the parchment as de Sandwich offered it. The King unrolled it and read it through. Then, with a snarl of anger, he hurled it on the floor and stamped on it, cracking the two seals which had been affixed to it. He stood, hands on hips, and thrust his face into that of Richard de Sandwich. "The King does not bargain with traitors!" hissed Henry. "Go and tell him so!"

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Belaset’s Daughter Walter de Cantelupe needed no second bidding to leave this vision of the King in a rage. He bobbed his head, and scuttled backwards so fast that he almost tripped, until he was out of the room. Richard made a better, more dignified exit, but even he could not mask his haste to leave. The others in the room with the King, more used to his temper, simply stood where they were and gazed steadfastly at their feet, as they waited for the storm to pass.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Standing high up on the parapets of Lewes Castle, Jervis had watched the progress of the little party that had come from Simon de Montfort with interest. They trotted up the valley and disappeared for a while on the other side of the hill. A few minutes later they appeared on the crest, and came down the near side. They continued down the slope to the bottom, passing Belaset s house as they did so, before halting at the Priory gates. Jervis saw from their gestures that there was some argument before they were admitted, and disappeared into the buildings down below. He could see over a great area of the countryside from where he stood, and the encampment of de Montfort s army was just visible in the distance. The sun picked up the occasional glitter from a shield or helmet, and the smoke from campfires lifted lazily into the air. He was still peering into the distance, when a movement from the direction of the Priory caught his eye. Looking in that direction, he saw the same small party of men leaving at a smart trot, which broke into a canter as soon as they were fully out in the open. It was impossible at this distance to know whether they were leaving in good or bad order. Whichever it was, they seemed to be in a hurry to return to the other camp. Jervis shrugged his shoulders and left his vantage point. He ran down the spiral stairs at a dizzyingly fast pace, and reached the bottom with his head spinning slightly. Off balance, he reeled slightly as he rounded the corner, and cannoned into Joan. "Ooph! Master Jervis," she said, crossly. Jervis laughed, and caught her round the waist. "Your pardon, Mistress Joan!" he said, gaily. "No hurt, I trust?" Joan shook her head, and tried to release herself. An unwilling smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, as Jervis released her. "Are you going to Madeleine?" he asked. turning and walking along beside her. "Indeed I am but you are not!" said Joan, smartly. "My lady is not yet ready to receive anyone. Wait until she has broken her fast, Master Jervis, before you come bothering her with your silly ways!" "Well, tell her I shall come soon," said Jervis, equably. He gave Joan another squeeze, laughed as she flapped him away, and ran back along the way they had come until he reached the door leading down again and out into the castle green. He strolled across to the small room where he kept his falcon, along with those belonging to others who lived in the castle. The man who tended them was in there, preparing to feed them with some freshlykilled small mammals. Jervis watched as the man fed all the birds. His own falcon was BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter obviously in fine fettle, responding to his greeting by mewing back at him, and shifting eagerly on the perch. "I ll come for you later, my beauty," he said to the bird. "We ll see what the Downs can give up later today." He nodded to the man, who knuckled his forehead and continued with his duties. As Jervis went back across the trampled grass, he heard his name being called. He turned his head, to see Robert, his friend Philip close behind him, hurrying towards him. They arrived with flushed faces, their eyes alight with excitement. "Jervis, we are to prepare for battle!" said Robert, eagerly. "A message has come from the King, and we are to make ready to fight de Montfort and his men." "I must find my lord de Warenne," said Jervis, feeling his own elation rising at the thought of a fight. "He has sent for you," said Philip, nudging Robert to remind him. "Yes, yes, he has," agreed Robert, hurriedly. "I was about to pass on the message, Philip!" "Well, now you have both told me he wants me," said Jervis. Tell me where I may find him!" "He is in his chamber he chorus.

told us to tell you to go there at once!" said both youths in

Jervis laughed. The two were obviously highly delighted with the possibility of a fight. he was excited by the thought of action himself, after a few weeks of life spent hunting and accompanying John de Warenne on his daily business. It had all seemed so tame, after the excitement in London, and the escape with Judith and Aaron. It had been good to see Aaron in Battle, of course, but since they had all returned to Lewes, that young man had naturally vanished to spend time with his wife and Belaset in their own home. The three of them hurried into the castle and up the stairs to the floor where the de Warenne family had their private chambers. Here, Jervis stopped and turned to the other two. "I thank you for bringing me safe here," he said, and waited. Crestfallen, the other two looked at each other and back at Jervis. He was unyielding. They were not going to learn any more, they realised, nor was he about to take them with him into de Warenne s presence. They backed away from him, and Jervis waggled his fingers at them mockingly, until they had disappeared from view. Then he turned and, assuming a more sober expression, knocked on the door in front of him. There was a shout from the other side to enter, and he did so. Inside, John de Warenne was deep in conversation with another man, who looked up, as Jervis entered. There appeared to be an argument going on, and de Warenne s face was flushed, although the other man seemed indifferent to his agitation. With a shock of BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter recognition, Jervis suddenly realised he was gazing at Prince Edward, the King s eldest son, and dropped to one knee. "No, no, young man!" said Edward, with a smile. "There is no need for such courtesy here. Stand and come here." Jervis did as he was told. Edward turned to John de Warenne and continued to talk. "My father the King sees no reason to be over concerned with whatever preparations de Montfort and his men are making. They cannot be a large number, since we have taken so many of them prisoner. Remember Northampton, John!" "True, Your Highness, we have indeed taken many prisoners," agreed de Warenne. "Yet we have heard, from messengers sent from London, that the Ear of Leicester has gathered many new men to his banners. Their numbers may be greater than we believe." "Their numbers may," agreed Edward. "But not their skills. What can an ill-disciplined rabble, more used to keeping shop or weaving cloth, do against our skilled archers and knights on horseback? We have nothing to fear." "Though it grieves me to disagree with you, your Highness, we should at least make some preparations, surely?" said de Warenne. The Prince waved the very idea away, with a gesture of his hand. "I think we may rely on the reports we have received," he said. "Besides, we have men posted as lookouts. Our soldiers would take but a moment to be ready for a fight, and the lookouts have plenty of time to let us know, if they see movement. Now, let us have a day of leisure to recover from the festivities of yesterday. A saint s day should be celebrated as we celebrated the feast of St Pancras yesterday but my head is sorely in need of some rest today!" John de Warenne glanced at Jervis and sighed. Prince Edward, on the other hand, turned to the young man with a smile. "I hear you have a taste for falconry, Master FitzHugh!" he said jovially. "And a fine bird of your own!" Jervis bowed. "Indeed, your Highness," he said, awkwardly, feeling like a green lad in front of such a man. "Then come with me, and let us compare points between our birds," said the prince, standing. "Come with us, de Warenne," he said. The three of them left the chamber and walked down to the castle green again. As they passed, people bowed low, and looked to see who was favoured by the Prince. John de Warenne was no surprise, since he was Edward s host, but Jervis FitzHugh? How did he come to be in such illustrious company? Many of those who saw them pass decided to be pleasanter to Master FitzHugh in future, since he was the chosen companion of Prince

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Belaset’s Daughter Edward, as they could see with their own eyes. Jervis felt their eyes upon him as he passed, and made his back ramrod straight, looking to neither right nor left. He could see who they passed from the corners of his own eyes. He saw Robert and Philip standing there, gawking like girls, he thought to himself with satisfaction. It was the best moment of his life so far, he decided. Standing with the Prince in the falcon house, the feeling that this was a high point in his life continued. There he stood, Jervis FitzHugh, discussing earnestly the finer points of falconry. The Prince knew all about falcons, he discovered, as he strove to give suitably intelligent and grave answers to the questions he was asked. They discussed the best places locally for hunting, and Jervis told about his own favourite spot, up the ancient track way to the very top of the hill just outside the town. "It is the highest point around, your Highness," he said. "You can see for miles if the sun be high and the air clear of mist and fog." "Indeed, Jervis," said Prince Edward. He turned to de Warenne. "Is this one of the places where we have set a lookout?" "Yes, sir, we have men there," said de Warenne. "They have been keeping watch since we arrived in Lewes." "Then we need not fear a surprise attack from the Earl of Leicester today," said Edward. "Since, as your own squire tells us, it is the highest point and anyone up there can see for miles!" Chuckling, and shaking his head, he led them back out of the falcon house. He stopped in the middle of the castle green and said to Jervis, "I have enjoyed meeting you, Jervis, and talking of falcons with you. The next time I go out hunting with my bird, I should be pleased to see you among the party of my companions." Jervis stammered his thanks. Prince Edward smiled graciously and beckoned to de Warenne. "Let us return to your chamber and refresh ourselves with some wine," he said, and strolled off, leaving Jervis beaming with pride and joy. This was something to tell his friends! Prince Edward had invited him personally to go hunting with him! He must tell Madeleine at once, he thought, and set off in the direction of her chamber.

* * *

In his priory lodgings, the King was still fuming and raging. Richard, his brother, was not even trying to calm him, knowing that the King s rages must run their course. He waited, listening, as Henry called down imprecations of de Montfort and his supporters. "The man is insufferable!" roared Henry, stamping up and down, red in the face. "He would send his King an ultimatum, offer money, and protest his loyalty! Ha! A man who BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter will not acknowledge that I and only I, am ruler of this country! A man who dares to tell me that he is right and I am wrong!" He whirled round as a frightened manservant entered with a jug of wine, which he went to set on the table. "Who sent you in here?" he shouted, his voice cracking with rage. "Out! out!" The man backed out again, hurriedly, clutching the jug to his chest in both hands, as if to protect himself. "This Earl of Leicester would be King as well as us!" continued Henry. He stood, chest heaving, clenching and unclenching his fists. "He comes against me with his followers, and brings a rabble against me against his King! And still professing loyalty and fealty!" He could not go on, but stood, his face dark, his body rigid, glaring at nothing. Slowly, his breathing slowed. His face lost the dark suffused aspect it had borne as the rage within him cooled. Henry s anger, though awful to behold, could not sustain itself at such a level for long. He strode to his former place in the window, and flung himself down, gazing moodily out over the flat land outside the Priory walls. Richard said nothing for a few moments but, as the silence continued, he spoke. "Shall we follow after their messengers and surprise them?" he said. "They will not expect us to react so swiftly." "Not yet," said Henry, obstinately. "If they wish to fight, then let them await my pleasure. We will carry the day, whatever happens. How can an ill-disciplined rabble come against the armies of the King and win?" He grinned ferociously at his brother. "We shall fight them tomorrow let us tell all who are with us to prepare!" He crossed to the door and flung it open, startling the guard outside so thoroughly that the man cried out and jumped visibly. "Find me clerks and send for messengers," said the King, peremptorily to the room at large. It was done in minutes. Messages were prepared and sent to the Castle and to the leaders of the army encamped outside. There was a stir as men began to ready themselves, and a buzz of conversation as the news spread. At last, the climax was approaching. There was to be no more discussion, no more chasing around the countryside, no more playing and hunting. The King had decided they would fight on the morrow! Even those with sore heads from their exertions of the previous night welcomed the news. Their King needed them to fight for his honour, and the honour of England, they were told. They were fighting to protect their country and their King from traitors. Simon de Montfort

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Belaset’s Daughter and his followers were wrong and the King (of course) was right! Theirs would be an easy victory, for the victory always went to those who were in the right. All day they prepared, barely stopping to eat. Archers checked their longbows and made sure of a supply of arrows. Squires polished their masters helmets, and checked the chainmail that would be worn, to ensure that there were no weak links. Sempstresses checked the surcotes worn by the Knights, to ensure that their arms would be visible to all, and indicate that they were not the enemy. In the forges, the blacksmiths made sure that all horses were shod. The armourers checked that all swords and daggers had keen edges, and that handles were firm. In the Castle, the excitement was as intense as it was in the camp down below them. Jervis, all thoughts of falconry forgotten, had rushed away from Madeleine as soon as the message had come for him to help prepare John de Warenne for the morrow. Now he was as busy as the rest of them, his moment of exalted status pushed into the back of his mind, as he concentrated on his tasks. He oversaw the checking of his lord s armour and weapons, then rushed to see that his horse was being properly prepared. From there, he spent a moment checking that his own mount was also being readied, before dropping into the room where the castle s sewing-women were busily stitching. Harried out of there albeit courteously he went in search of something to eat, and found himself a loaf and some broth, which he devoured hungrily. Chewing and swallowing, he thought suddenly of Judith and Aaron, along with Belaset, sitting in the house outside the walls. He must warn them and get them away from the town, he thought. There was no time now he would have to go there himself. No-one he knew in the castle would know where they lived, or understand why he would want to ensure the safety of some Jews. He would go later, he promised himself, and was summoned into de Warenne s presence again before he could think any more about the problem. "Jervis, you will be at my side tomorrow," said de Warenne. "I want you to know that I have no doubt of your courage, when the time comes for you to show it." "Thank you, my lord," said Jervis. "I shall not let you down." "You have done excellently thus far," said de Warenne, kindly. "Tomorrow will be a testing time for all of us. Brother will fight brother when we meet de Montfort and his army. It will be hard to strike at an enemy, knowing that you were born of the same mother." He looked deeply sad. "Harder still to know that some who you counted among your friends did not share your most cherished principle," he continued. Jervis could not help feeling pity for this man, so noble himself, who had sheltered an enemy for so long without knowing it.

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Belaset’s Daughter "My lord," he said, hesitantly. "Has there been any more news of the whereabouts of Sir Roger s murderer?" "There has," said de Warenne. "It was one of de Montfort s men who did the deed for us. The man with the face of a crab-apple eater that you described arranged it all, on de Montfort s instructions, since my lord had no more use for de Tourney himself. Thus was a traitor dealt with. He betrayed his King and was himself betrayed." "It was a terrible end, my lord, nevertheless." said Jervis, carefully. De Warenne sighed. "You have a good heart and a Christian soul, young Master FitzHugh," he said, sadly. "Let no-one change it too harshly for you." Jervis bowed his head and waited in silence, as de Warenne gathered himself. "Well," came his voice again, sounding like his usual brisk and decisive self. "We must make our plans for the morrow. As I said earlier, you will stay by my side as much as possible. I have arranged that any wounded who can walk by themselves, should make their way back here to the castle, where they will be safest. The women and children will also stay here, of course, and any townsfolk who wish to come and take shelter here. These walls have stood for almost two hundred years, since my ancestor William de Warenne built them. They will surely stand against anything that might happen tomorrow!" He gazed proudly around him, at the thick walls, and the magnificent tapestries that clothed them. "Yes," he said. "The castle will stand, when all who live in it today are long forgotten and their bones turned to dust and ashes." He turned back to Jervis. "Go and make ready yourself, Jervis. Tomorrow we must fight for the King," he said. "I shall be ready, my lord," said Jervis, and left the chamber. He went quickly to ensure that all that he had asked of to be done before was now completed and then checked that his short dagger was sharpened. He would have to wear thick clothing, he knew, and perhaps a breastplate, if he could find one, to offer some protection. A leather cap would have to do for his head, he decided, and found himself hoping that de Warenne would not be too carried away by the excitement of the moment, or plunge too eagerly into the battle. He felt guilty at such disloyal thoughts, and reproached himself for thinking too much of his own safety. Safety! What of Judith and her family? He must go now, he decided, while he could move easily about the town, and ensure that they knew the arrangements for the townsfolk. He made sure that his dagger was tucked safely inside his tunic, where he could free it easily, if need be. There were bound to be some of Henry s men still carousing in the town. He would make his way through the streets as quickly and quietly

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Belaset’s Daughter as possible, and pray that he made it to the house without being caught up in the raucous good humour, or worse, of a group of drunken soldiers. Slipping out of the castle without attracting attention was easy enough. Anyone who saw him go would assume he was on an errand for John de Warenne, he realised, so he must look as natural as possible. He walked out of the buildings and made his way down the steep side of the motte without seeing anyone he knew. It was the same as he left the castle gate, and continued down the hill, then through the West Gate and across to Antioch Street. At Belaset s house, he stopped and knocked confidently. There was the merest pause, the Aaron opened the door himself. "Jervis!" he said, in a pleased voice. "Enter and be welcome!" "Where are Judith and Belaset?" said Jervis, stepping over the threshold. "Are they here, and safe?" "Of course," said Aaron. "Why should they not be? We have nothing to fear from King Henry or his men. They have orders to leave us alone, and they have no interest in this part of Lewes, since we have no ale-houses here or anything else that would touch their fancy." "You must all leave as soon as you can," said Jervis, desperately. "You will not be safe much longer!" Aaron had ushered him into the parlour, as he spoke, and Belaset and Judith, who were both sitting there, looked up at the sound of his voice. Judith rose from her seat, and came to him. "Why must we go so hastily?" she said, with a worried frown. "We are getting ready to fight with de Montfort and his army," said Jervis. "Tomorrow will see us do battle together. No-one will be safe then, whatever the King s instructions may be, unless they are in the castle, or far away." "Well, we will not be welcome in the castle," said Belaset, sensibly. "Nor need we go there. This house is built of stone, Jervis, and we have withstood raids and fighting before this. The doors and shutters are also stout, and the bolts and padlocks kept oiled and ready. Do not fear for our safety we are safer within these walls than anywhere else!" Jervis tried all he knew to dissuade her from what he thought was a foolhardy desire to stay in her home, but Belaset would not listen, or change her mind. Aaron and Judith did nothing to help him and, finally, Jervis realised that they would not shift. He insisted on checking the state of the stone walls and the shutters and doors himself. At last he was convinced. Unlike the poor huts in which most of the Lewesians lived, the Jews houses had been made to last. Belaset pointed out, without embarrassment, that Jews expected attacks and attempted robbery, and built their houses to take account of it. She was so matter-of-fact about it that her words lost their sting, and Jervis knew that he was not included in her comments.

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Belaset’s Daughter "We stay here, Jervis," she said, firmly, after he had seen everything. "We have food and water enough for a week, and w shall be safe here, as you have seen. It was kind of you to think of us, in the midst of all your own concerns. Now, go and get ready yourself. We shall pray for your safekeeping in the days to come." "As soon as I am able, I shall return to you," promised Jervis, with a lump in his throat. "I shall also pray for your safekeeping, my friends." Belaset put up her arms and hugged him, the tears shining in her eyes. The other two also gave him affectionate hugs, and Judith kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Let us hope we shall all meet again very shortly, and in good health," she said. "We will be here," promised Aaron. "We will wait for you, my friend. Now you must return to the Castle, before you are missed." Jervis left them reluctantly, but Aaron was right. Anyone missing now would be assumed to have left without permission, and to have shown the most abject cowardice. He hurried back the way he had come, and regained his chamber without being challenged. No-one had missed him, and, thankfully, he went about his own preparations until it was time for the final meal of the day.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Early the next morning, about an hour after sunrise, the first skirmishes between the two sides began. A foraging party, which had left the encampment outside the Priory to see what they could find, had been forced to search further afield than the town. There was nothing much left to feed them in the streets, now that they had been there for several days, but the Downs outside might still yield rabbits and other small creatures. They had a shock when they breasted the slope and saw de Montfort s army formed up and coming slowly towards them. Wheeling round, they galloped back into camp at full speed, shouting a warning as soon as they came near enough. Men tumbled sleepily from under their cloaks, and tent flaps were thrown back as those inside looked to see what the commotion was about. "De Montfort is coming towards us, with all his men!" shouted one of the soldiers, as he sped towards the Priory gates. The watchman, still with his hair awry and with his clothes part on and part off, flung open the gate and the man galloped through. Flinging himself from his horse, he ran towards the Prior s lodgings, and hammered on the door. It, too, was flung open, but his way was barred by one of Henry s bodyguards. The soldier scrabbled at the man s tunic, shouting in his face to let him pass, until the guard literally shook him. The action shocked him into a calmer demeanour, but the noise of his entrance had brought another man to the door. "What s all the noise about?" said the second man. "De Montfort and all his men are approaching over the hill," said the soldier. "And how do you know this?" said the man. "I saw them, sir, as I was out looking for food with some of the others," said the soldier. "Say you so?" said Guy de Lusignan, startled out of his composure. "Then we must rally to meet them! I will tell the King, and you return to your companions and tell them to prepare. Today we will do battle!" He turned and went back inside the chamber and they could hear him walk through into another room. His voice, speaking urgently, came back to them, before the door was banged shut behind him. The bodyguard, ignoring the soldier, also turned and spoke over his shoulder to someone behind him. "Rouse yourselves! The time has come for you to do more than stand around and push food and drink into your mouths!" The soldier, without waiting to hear any more, ran back the way he had come, snatched his horse s bridle from the watchman at the gate, vaulted on to it and cantered back to his

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Belaset’s Daughter own place. As he rode, he could hear shouting start up in the Priory behind him, and knew that what he had said had been taken very seriously indeed. Somehow, it was only now that he realised what was happening. Before, it had all seemed a dream, and that the need to fight would never arise. Now that it was all really happening, a rush of elation flowed through his veins and he wanted to shout from sheer excitement. All fear had left him.

* * *

Jervis sat astride his horse on John de Warenne s left side, and stared at the sight before him. De Warenne himself, was clad in chain mail from head to foot, with his surcote embroidered with his arms. A helmet covered his head completely, apart from two eye holes, and his horse also wore its own protection. A cloth covered the horse, and like de Warenne s shield, which he held slightly to one side on his left arm, displayed with his coat of arms. All around them were other knights, similarly clad, also with their squires beside them, and some with other men, mounted and armed, and ready for battle. Somewhere outside this press of bodies were the archers, standing ready to fire their deadly rain of arrows, and other foot soldiers waited for the order to charge. Facing them across the greensward, and on a slight rise, a part of the Earl of Leicester s army stood waiting, in its turn. Because of the slope in the ground, Jervis could see only this one section, but he knew that there were far more men than this to face. The sun shone on mail and shield, glinted off arrow heads and helmets, and shone unconcernedly on the whole scene. There was only the slightest of breezes, barely enough to stir the pennants on the lances carried by some knights and, despite the early hour, Jervis felt himself already growing warm under the weight of his protective clothing. The sweat begin to trickle down his back, but he assured himself that this, too, was caused by the sun rather than by his own fear of what was to come. Looking down the slope towards the King s army, even de Montfort felt a prickle of unease. The numbers of men forming up against him, both on horseback and on foot, was greater than even he had imagined. They were moving slowly towards him from three directions. Up from the Priory came one division, in the midst of which he could see the flag of Richard, King of the Romans. a separate division had streamed away from the Priory and was moving due west, where it was obviously forming up in the hollow below him. He knew that the King had made his quarters in there, and that Richard, his brother, was with him. Prince Edward, his spies had told him, was quartered in the Castle, where he would also have the support of John de Warenne and William de Valence. Sure enough, when he looked that way, he could see a third division coming from the castle and forming up with foot soldiers, in the shallower hollow at the foot of the castle mount.

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Belaset’s Daughter He realised now how many of his own men had been lost, as they fought against the King s men up and down the country. Would his own men, loyal though they were, plus those of his supporters, be sufficient to even hold their ground? The London mob was a completely unknown quantity; most had come spoiling for a fight, and seeking any excuse to continue with the rioting and plundering that they had enjoyed throughout recent months in London. How would they react now, faced with a large army of trained soldiers, and with the knights and bowmen ready to fight under the flags of their liege lords? His only advantage, thought de Montfort, was the rise in the ground. He looked to left and right. Here, beside his closed cart, he could see along the full length of his men. They had agreed to stand in three divisions, a mix of knights and foot soldiers in both. In front of him was the division led by Gilbert de Clare; to Clare s right flowing down one slope, was the division which de Montfort s own sons, Henry, Simon and Guy were to lead. The Londoners he had placed under Nicholas de Seagrave and Henry de Hastings, and they were gathered, ready, on the other side of the ridge on which he stood, so that they waited on ground which sloped downwards to the left. He had taken the best advantage he could of the terrain so that, as far as he knew, he and the men that waited with him were the only ones who could see the entire extent of both armies. It was the best he could do, but was it enough? There was a sudden shout from his left, and, moving a few yards in that direction, he could see that a group from Prince Edward s division had broken away from the others and was making towards the river, where the edge of the London contingent stood waiting. The suddenness of the ploy unmanned those who faced them, and there were faint cries as they turned tail and made for the river itself. Before they had reached its apparent safety, Edward s men had overtaken them, and were laying about themselves with their swords. Their superiority in fighting was very obvious. The Londoners were being slaughtered like so many cattle, and those who escaped the sword thrusts and leapt into the river were just as likely to meet their death through drowning. The shouts and cries acted like a signal to do battle for the rest gathered into those two divisions, and it was pointless to hold back any longer. Giving the signal, de Montfort watched as all three divisions began moving down the slope towards the King s army. The eerie silence which had hung over the assembled divisions was broken now, as men urged each other forward, horses neighed, and feet and hooves marched and stumbled down the grassy slopes. The sight triggered a similar reaction from the other side, and the three divisions of the King s army began moving up the hill towards their opposing cohorts. The shouts of encouragement turned to cries of pain as the two sides met and fought each other. The arrows which came flying up and down the hill met easy targets, while the men marched so tightly packed. In some cases, arrows meant for the other side fell short of their targets, and killed those who fought on the same side. In the whirling maelstrom of hand to hand combat, the potent combination of anger, fear and bloodlust led to a sort of maddened blindness. Sword in hand, men struck out in front of them and

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Belaset’s Daughter to the side, aiming, as they thought, at their foes. Sometimes, in the heat of battle, a familiar face would appear. Whoever hesitated lost his life, or was severely wounded. Many of those fighting for the King found, to their horror, that they had struck down brother, cousin, or even father, as they loomed suddenly in front of them, wearing the white cross of the enemy. In a very short time, the ground was littered with bodies, and men and horses alike began to stumble and slither in the blood that flowed like a second river over the ground. Jervis, fighting on foot by now, and trying with all his might simply to stay near to de Warenne, had been drawn along through a thick knot of men, until he came out on the other side. Pausing for a breath, and a quick glance round, he saw a horrible re-enactment of de Tourney s murder, as an arrow struck a man in the very act of running towards him, dagger upraised, ready to strike. The man stopped in his tracks as the arrow struck him, looked completely amazed, opened his mouth to cry out, but fell back, blood gushing from his wound, before he could utter a sound. Jervis, sickened, stood frozen with shock, until a hand grasped him by the shoulder and dragged him backwards. He looked up and saw de Warenne, gesturing to him to get behind him on his horse, and he obeyed, leaping up in a bound, despite the uncontrollable trembling of his legs. De Warenne turned the horse about, despite the press of men, and forced his way through to the relative calm at the back of the throng. "Forget it, Jervis!" came his muffled voice through the helmet. Jervis swallowed his nausea and took a deep breath. "It is forgotten, my lord," he said, bravely. He could see de Warenne s eyes staring at him through the slits in his helmet. They narrowed slightly and Jervis realised with surprise, that de Warenne was smiling his approval. The helmet bobbed slightly, as his lord nodded his head. "I need you to take a message to Duke Richard," said de Warenne. "Tell him that Prince Edward has driven back the London mob, and that we are holding fast on this wing. Ask how he fares in the centre, and what news there may be of the King s progress. Go on foot, it is but a short distance, and you will be less visible." "Yes, my lord," replied Jervis. He swung down off the horse and began to make his way along behind the line of battle, moving at a fast jog-trot. De Warenne watched him go. Jervis FitzHugh was a courageous young man, he decided, who should be rewarded at the fighting s end, if he, de Warenne, should live to see it. Jervis kept up his pace as he made his way over the uneven ground. Despite the fierce fighting, neither side had made much progress, for all de Montfort s advantage of the downward slope. The greater numbers on Henry s side had made it easier for them to force their way uphill, and the initial rush had carried them a good way. Here and there lay the dead, many sprawled with their heads at an impossible angle, which bespoke their death as the result of a sword stroke. Those who were badly wounded, but still lived,

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Belaset’s Daughter groaned in their pain, but few cried out to him, or saw him pass. Those who could move alone were shuffling, crawling, and walking towards the castle, and among them were men carrying those too badly wounded to walk on rough stretchers. Ahead of him, Jervis could see the enormous windmill that stood on the edge of the town. Fierce fighting had obviously taken place here, and bodies were piled up against the foot of the windmill, but he could see that the main thrust of the fighting had moved forward. He looked for the pennant of Duke Richard, but it was nowhere to be seen, despite his search all round the base of the mill. Looking down the slope to his left, he could see that the King s division had also moved up and forward, but still, there was no sign of Richard. He stood, undecided for a moment, and then made up his mind to return to de Warenne. It was clear that the battle was going in their favour, as anyone could see. There was no need to stop and ask how the Duke s men, or the King s were faring. In any case, Jervis had a shrewd suspicion that de Warenne had sent him off the field for a while, to enable him to gather himself again. He turned and started back the way he had come, but as he came out from the shelter of the mill a movement on his left caught his eye. He turned, but it was too late. He saw a blur of movement, felt a heavy blow to the temple, and then he was tumbling over and over into a roaring, rushing blackness. When he came to, it was much later in the day, and the sun was casting long shadows across the muddied turf. His head was pounding, and he put up his hand to feel the place where the pain was worst. He could feel a deep cut and his hand came away sticky with his own blood, but it seemed that the blow had done no more damage than that. He sat up, gingerly, and was rewarded with a rocking of the ground that made him regret the movement. Staring fixedly down between his splayed legs, he waited until the world steadied again, before trying to raise his head and look about him. He was completely alone, apart from the dead around him. No living creature, man or horse, was anywhere in sight. He had fallen back behind the mill, he realised, and this, presumably, had sheltered him. Now, stretching out an arm, he used it to lever himself up, until he was standing. Still using the mill wall as a support, he edged round it. Halfway round the other side, there was a flight of wooden stairs, and a door at the top, which now stood open. He had no recollection of it before being struck down, but now it offered him sanctuary. He climbed up the stairs and looked peered into the open doorway. Silence and blackness met his gaze. Thankfully, he walked inside, and sank against the wall. He would wait here until he felt stronger, then make his way back to the castle. From the silence outside, it appeared that the fighting was over, and he could not pretend that he regretted missing it. At the moment, his strongest emotion was gratitude that he was still alive. He slid down until he was lying curled like a baby and sank into sleep. When he awoke, although the cut on his head still throbbed, he felt much better. The twilight had almost ended, but there was sufficient light for him to see the open doorway outlined against the sky. He stood, a little stiffly, but was thankful to find that the ground no longer rocked under him. Cautiously, he looked round the edge of the door, but there was no-one moving nearby. He could see lighted torches flaming here and there, but they

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Belaset’s Daughter were all nearer to the castle. He would go there, now, he decided, and find Earl de Warenne. Then, he would explain why he had not returned, as expected. Since the fighting had surely gone their way, de Warenne might not make too much of it. Wearily, he climbed down the wooden stairs again, and began to pick his way, skirting the corpses that still lay where they had fallen. Mercifully, the fading light hid the worst of their wounds now, but it also meant that sometimes he stumbled over an arm or a leg, and shuddered at the unwelcome contact. Here and there, people were moving among the dead, stripping them of anything valuable they could find. Weapons, rings, even crosses on chains, would all disappear into the capacious sacks such robbers carried with them. He was close to the West Gate now, and passing within sight of Belaset s house, when he almost walked into a group of soldiers. Just as he was about to hail them, he noticed the white crosses on their tunics. De Montfort s men! He stopped dead, then backed slowly and soundlessly away, and around the corner of the nearest house. What were de Montfort s men doing, strolling so confidently around? There was only one, unbelievable answer: despite the early successes of the King, de Montfort had somehow swung the battle in his favour. Jervis considered what he should do now. Should he still make for the castle, and risk being captured? Should he simply hover about, and try to hear what was being said? Should he make his escape, while he was free but where could he go? He was on foot, wounded, extremely hungry (he now realised), and completely alone. There was only one place near enough for him to seek shelter and ask for help help which he had no doubt would be gladly given.

* * *

Inside the house, barred and shuttered from the turmoil outside, Belaset had sat with Aaron and Judith. The shutters and door had been made to fit so tightly that not the smallest chink of light had penetrated. Belaset had agreed that they should use one candle, when it was time to eat, so that they could at least see their food. Other than that, they had sat in the close darkness, waiting for time to pass. It had gone more slowly than Judith had believed possible. The only sounds that they had heard had been muffled by the thick walls, but there had been the sound of many men passing, then faint cries and shouts. Their house and, as far as they knew, the houses of the rest of the small community, has been ignored. It was strange, sitting there in the darkness, whispering the occasional words to each other. The candlelit meal, coming in the middle of the day, added to the oddity of the experience. She was glad that Aaron was with them, and he and she had sat hand in hand for much of the long day. Now and then, she felt him shifting beside her, and knew that the inaction was chafing him as much as it would any man. She squeezed his hand sympathetically, when he sighed suddenly, and he put both his hands over her one hand as thanks. BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter They were all startled when the knocking came at the front door. It was not the peremptory thunder of marauders, but a more persistent tap, tap, tap. Belaset lit the candle again, and they sat waiting to see what would happen next. The knocking was repeated, and Aaron stood, taking the candle, and walked out of the room to the front door. They heard him say "Jervis!", in a surprised, but glad tone, and then heard the door being unbarred and opened. Belaset and Judith looked at each other, in the light that came through the open door, then turned to watch as Aaron, supporting Jervis by an arm around his waist, half-carried him into the room. One look was sufficient to make the women hurry to help. One side of Jervis s head and face was matted with blood, and blood still oozed from the cut in his temple. His clothes were torn and muddy, and he looked as pale as death on the unmarked side of his face. Gently, Aaron lowered him on to a chair which stood near the wall, and Jervis sat and laid the back of his head wearily against the wall. "I am glad to see you are all safe," he said. "Of course we are safe," said Belaset, sounding cross in her anxiety. "But, Jervis, what happened to you?" Jervis gestured weakly. "I was sent to find out how Duke Richard s men were faring. It was clear that things were going well, so I turned to go back to my lord de Warenne to tell him so. Someone stopped me." He tried to grin but it was a lop-sided affair. "As you see, they used a forceful method. I must have been unconscious for several hours and, when I came to again, the fighting seemed to be over." "So you have come back to find your lord, but could get no further than here?" said Belaset, sympathetically. "No wonder, with such a blow to the head. It is a bad cut, Jervis." She bent closer to look at it, as Jervis continued speaking. "Yes, I am weak, but that is not the reason for troubling you," he said. "When I fell, we were winning the battle. It now appears that, somehow, all is lost. It is de Montfort s men who are roaming through the town, not the King s." "Well," said Belaset. "Whoever has won and whoever has lost, this wound must be properly attended to, and we will do it now." She took a candle and bustled out of the room, calling to her servant to bring rags and water. Jervis looked at Aaron, who shrugged his shoulders and pulled a wry face. "You will get nowhere arguing, Jervis!" he said. "In any case, she is skilled in such matters, and it will help you greatly."

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Belaset’s Daughter "But I must find my lord," protested Jervis. "Or at least know what has happened. It may be that the Castle is still in our hands, even if the town be lost. And what of the King?" "One of us will go," promised Judith. She got no further. "I will go," said Aaron, firmly. "You are a woman, and no woman will be safe in the streets with soldiers wandering around. They will seek a way to celebrate their victory which no woman should suffer." Judith was about to protest, but seeing the expression on Aaron s face, knew it would be pointless. He was right. The tales of rape and mistreatment of women were commonplace, and she had no wish to be the subject of such attentions. It would be foolish to run such a risk when Aaron was able to undertake the task. Whether he went to the Castle or to the Priory, the King s advisers would know his face. If de Montfort s men were there, he would have to use his wits to avoid them, but he had already shown that he was adept at such manoeuvres. "Go quickly, then!" she urged. "Before my mother returns to see to Jervis. If you are already gone, she can do nothing." "Except bemoan my foolishness to you!" said Aaron, bending swiftly to kiss her cheek. He snatched up his cloak, and left the room quickly, and they heard him unbar the door again and slip out. Judith followed after him and had just replaced the bar and returned to her place when Belaset reappeared. She said nothing, but went straight to Jervis and, placing the bowl of water beside him, dipped in a strip of cloth, and began to bathe his wound. He sat stoically, wincing occasionally as she touched a particularly tender spot, but said nothing. Once it was cleaner, and the blood wiped away from his cheek, it could be seen as a short deep gash over one eye. She took a piece of cloth with a paste of herbs already placed on it, made a pad of it, and tied it round his head so that it covered the wound. "You will bear a scar, Jervis," she said. "But you were lucky. An inch lower, and it would have been your eye." "I thought it was my life, when the blow fell," said Jervis. "Now," said Belaset. "Some soup, and then perhaps you will tell me where Aaron has gone. Risking his life for good reason, I trust?" Judith and Jervis looked at each other. "Well," said Belaset. "I am not blind or deaf: I heard the door open and close, and since he is no longer here, I assume it was he who left the house." "It was," said Judith. "He has gone to find out what has happened. Jervis needs to know where he might find his lord, and we all want to know if the King is safe. But Jervis did not ask him to go . . ."

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Belaset’s Daughter "I am sure there was no need," said Belaset. "Aaron has been itching to leave this house all day. Well, he has been involved in danger before, and come through it. Benjamin has told me of some of his escapades, and he came here with a message for the King, did he not?" She gathered up the bowl and remaining rags. "We can do nothing but wait," she said. "Meantime, we must all eat, whatever is happening outside!" She hurried out of the room again, leaving both of them completely nonplussed.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Aaron left the house and crept along, close by the walls of the other houses in the street. He had instinctively turned to his left and was making his way towards the Castle. He was almost by the West Gate, when a shower of flaming arrows hurtled over his head and into the street beyond the wall. More followed them, and, from the flames which now began to leap into the sky, were finding their targets without difficulty. The hissing and crackling of burning thatch came to his ears, mingled with the shouts and cries of people, as they realised that their homes were burning down around them. He hesitated for the merest moment, then ran forward quickly, and was through the gates and along the street without anyone noticing. There was mounting panic inside the walls, and he used this to his advantage. Everyone was too busy saving themselves to bother challenging a man who ran past them. Anyone who saw him would assume that he was simply one of the townsfolk trying to get away from the flames. Some people ran towards the gate, trying to get away by leaving the town, but others ran towards the Castle and the higher ground. Aaron ran along with these, and found one of the answers he needed from the gasped comments of a man running beside him. "Thank God the Castle is still held for the King!" said the man, panting steadily along beside him. "Even if Earl John has not returned." "Indeed, neighbour!" said Aaron. The crowd increased, as they drew nearer to the castle gates, and Aaron was squeezed and buffeted by the press as they pushed their way through. Once inside, it was a steep, breathless climb up the path that zigzagged its way to the top of the mount, but at last he reached the green in the centre. Those who had come to the area earlier, before the fighting had properly started, were anxiously asking the new arrivals what was happening. The news that de Montfort s men had set fire to the town was met with cries of despair. Most of those who had gone into the castle were women and their children, and the thought that they might have lost homes and husbands both was too much for them. There was the sound of weeping and women clasped their little ones to them and rocked to and fro in their agony. Aaron made his way through them without stopping, although his heart ached with the pity of it all. Nevertheless, he steeled himself to continue with his own errand, and looked around to see if there was anyone he recognised. There was no-one, but a tall, fair youth, now dirty and dishevelled, and with a look of utter weariness, caught his eye. Aaron made his way to him and stood before him , as he leaned against the wall. "Your pardon," he said courteously. "But do you know one Jervis FitzHugh?"

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Belaset’s Daughter The young man gazed at him, then slowly nodded his head. "He is my friend or should I say, was," he said, drearily. "I have not seen him since this morning. If you seek him, sir, I cannot help you, for I fear that he is dead. So many of us are." He stared down at the floor, and blinked hard. "He is not dead," said Aaron. "He is safe in my house." The young man looked up, with a smile beginning to light his face. "Jervis not dead?" he said. "But he vanished! My lord de Warenne sent him with a message to Duke Richard, and we never saw him again. I assumed he was cut down, as he would surely have returned had he been able." "He is wounded," said Aaron. "But not badly he was knocked unconscious down by the mill, and lay there for some hours. When he came to himself again, he made his way to our house, where he would be among friends. He sent me to find out what has happened and to send to his lord so that de Warenne might know that he is alive." "De Warenne is not here," said the youth. "The rumours are that he has fled, with Humphrey de Bohun and others. But I do not believe he has done anything so cowardly!" "I am sure not," said Aaron, soothingly. "Yet, if he is not here, I cannot deliver the message." "Let me come back with you," said the young man, suddenly. "Perhaps I can do something to help Jervis. My name is Philip but have we not met before?" "I am Aaron," said Aaron. "I remember we rode together from Battle to Lewes." "Aaron!" said Philip, recognition dawning on his face. "Then Jervis is safe indeed!" Together, they made their way out of the castle and back down the slope. Most of those who had sought shelter had now arrived, and their way was easy, since there were few to pass on the path. They were out through the gates of castle and town in no time, their way lit by the burning houses, some of which were already little more than smoking piles of timber and thatch. The smoke from these was chokingly thick, but had the advantage of hiding their progress, so they clapped their hands over their mouths, and ran through as fast as they could. At last, they were back in Antioch Street, and Aaron was tapping on the door of Belaset s house again. It opened quickly, and the two men stepped inside. Judith shut it and made sure that the bar was in place, before leading them into the parlour. Philip looked round once, then strode across to Jervis, and wrung his hand fiercely. "Jervis!" he said, huskily. "I thought you were dead!" "And I you," said Jervis. "But what are you doing here?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "We met in the Castle," said Aaron, from where he stood observing the reunion. Now that he had seen how glad the two were to see each other, any lingering doubts about Philip s claims were banished. "Aaron approached me and we recognised each other," said Philip. "When he told me that you were safe, I was overjoyed. I had not seen you since the fighting started, and made sure that you were lying dead out there somewhere." "Well, as you see, I am alive," said Jervis. "But what news of my lord and the others? It seemed that the battle was going our way, before I was knocked out, yet now I see de Montfort s men swaggering everywhere." "Alas, Jervis, we lost our way," said Philip. "The slope was against us, and de Montfort s men were the better armed and disciplined. Although we were the greater in number, they were the greater in determination, I fear. Earl John fought bravely and he and the others attacked the Londoners fiercely. Prince Edward urged us on, and we put them to flight, chasing them across the river and cutting many of them down. The rest fled for their lives, and were not going to return. So Prince Edward bade us return to the battle and save the town." "And what prevented you?" said Jervis. "We had spent too long away, and de Montfort s men had slaughtered many of those that were left. When we arrived, they turned on us, still seeking to kill, and we, tired from our exertions, had not the strength to resist them. We were overwhelmed." He stopped suddenly. "So my lord de Warenne and Prince Edward are made prisoners of Simon de Montfort?" said, Jervis. "No," said Philip. "Prince Edward managed to fight his way through the crowd and I believe is safe in the Priory walls, with the King and Duke Richard." He stopped again. "But my lord de Warenne?" insisted Jervis. "He fled, with Humphrey de Bohun, Guy de Lusignan and others," said Philip, his voice half-strangled by his emotion. "He fled, Jervis." There was an awkward silence. No-one dared break it, until Jervis cleared his throat. "He went for a reason," he said, firmly. "My lord would not desert a battle to save himself. There must be a plan of which we knew nothing. That is the explanation." "Well," said Philip, uncomfortably. "Well, nothing," said Belaset, briskly, behind them. "There is no point in continuing to search for him, since he is not to be found here. It is also very dark, and we are all exhausted by the day s alarums. Let us rest and sleep as best we may. Tomorrow you

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Belaset’s Daughter may find out more, or, at least, make your way to the Priory and join what remains of the King s side." Her words made everyone realise how exhausted they were. Within minutes, she had found straw mattresses and bedding for Philip and Jervis, which they put on the floor of the parlour. The others retired to their own chambers above, and the house was silent.

* * *

In the early morning, Jervis awoke to find Belaset and Judith unbarring the shutters and letting in the daylight. Philip opened his eyes at the same time and, after looking round sleepily, realised where he was. He sat up and scratched his hair, leaving it standing up wildly in tufts all over his head. Jervis propped himself up cautiously, and went to touch his bandaged head, but Belaset was there before him. "Now, Jervis," she said, kindly. "Let us look at this again, and see how you are mending." Jervis sat up properly, and she untied the cloth from his head, and gently removed the pad. It came away easily. The wound beneath was clean and there was no sign of the swelling which would have indicated some infection. She breathed a sigh of relief. "How does it feel?" she asked him. "It itches!" said Jervis, sounding annoyed. "That s what I wanted to hear you say!" said Belaset, laughing. "Itching shows the skin is mending again, and the wound is healing nicely. Some more of the poultice on a clean pad, and we will leave it in place again for another day." "A head like a block of solid stone, I see!" said Philip, making to stand up. "Ow!" He had discovered bruises and stiffness from the previous day s fighting, which had come out in the night. Limping slightly, he went to a stool and sat down, carefully. Jervis laughed, and got up more carefully himself, but he also hobbled as he made his way to another chair and sat in it. "So, Jervis, what are we to do?" said Philip, as Belaset entered again, with the water and cloths. "You are to break your fast, before you do anything," said Belaset, firmly, before Jervis could answer. "Bread and ale will be brought to you as soon as I have done this." Jervis sat meekly, while his wound was bathed, and a fresh pad bound in place. As Belaset finished her work, the door opened and Judith appeared, with the promised bread and ale. The women left them to it, and the two young men ate ravenously.

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Belaset’s Daughter "Now," said Jervis at last, with a sigh of satisfaction. "I think we must find out what has happened since the battle ended. Then we can decide what to do next unless, of course, my lord de Warenne is returned, in which case, we shall join him as swiftly as possible." "You will know the answers to your questions soon enough," said Belaset, returning in time to hear what Jervis had said. "Judith and Aaron have gone together to the Priory, to see what they can find out. They should be quite safe now the town is quiet again, and both are known to the King s friends. Judith is also well-known to Prior Foville." "How can this be?" said Philip, puzzled. "That a Jewess knows the Prior of St. Pancras?" said Jervis. Philip crimsoned at his lack of tact and glanced at Belaset. She laughed. "Don t feel embarrassed, young man, it is an unusual situation that we find ourselves in," she said. "My daughter wished to aid the King s side, since neither of us have any cause to love de Montfort." "Belaset and Judith come from Leicester," said Jervis. "They fled here following one of Earl Simon s attacks on their people. . . " ". . . where my husband, and Judith s dearly loved father, lost his life," finished Belaset, a shadow crossing her face as she spoke. She sighed sadly. "Why must men kill those who are different from themselves?" she said, half to herself. "Why not try to understand, instead of simply destroying?" The two young men sat silent, not daring to speak, in case they should offend their hostess by a thoughtless remark. Finally, Belaset looked at them with a smile. "It is not your fault, and I must remember that not all Christians are the same!" she said. "Perhaps one day . . ." She did not finish her sentence. At that moment, there was the sound of Judith and Aaron s voices as they passed the window. She hurried to let them in, and Jervis and Philip stood as the two came into the room. "What news?" said Jervis, eagerly. "The King is safe," said Aaron. "And has agreed terms with de Montfort." "So, we are defeated," said Philip, glumly. "For the moment, it would appear so," said Aaron. "The King has surrendered his sword to Gilbert de Clare, and has agreed to stand by the original agreement made at Oxford." "But this is the very thing he sought to overturn!" exclaimed Jervis. "Why has he now capitulated?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "He had no choice," said Aaron. "His army is slaughtered in great part, and those that remain are scattered. Only Prince Edward was willing to join in battle again, but de Montfort threatened the very life of the King s brother." "He signed the agreement, then, to save Duke Richard? He has lost the battle for the sake of his brother?" said Belaset. "Not just for his brother s life," said Judith. "He has secured freedom for others, including Earl Simon s great enemy, Mortimore. But de Montfort has insisted that Prince Edward and Henry s nephew remain in his custody, to persuade the King to keep his promise this time." "So, it is over," said Jervis. Aaron shook his head. "It is over for now, Jervis," he said. "But there are already whispers of what is to come. Your lord and others are believed to be in France. They were seen at Pevensey, making for some ships that were moored there. And, then, if Mortimore is free, and still de Montfort s sworn enemy . . ." He got no further. Jervis leaned across to Philip and gripped him by the shoulder. "We know what we must do, Philip!" he said, eagerly. "If de Warenne is in France why, man, we must follow him!" He struggled to his feet, his face alight with anticipation. "We must return to the Castle at once," he said. "And prepare ourselves for our journey. If we take the same route as they took yesterday, and go to Pevensey, we will cross at the same point as our lord did and land in Boulogne. Once in France, we should be able to find them without too much difficulty." He turned to Aaron and Judith. "We are in your debt for this," he said. "Philip and I will not forget what we owe you." "No, indeed!" said Philip, fervently. Jervis turned next to Belaset. "And my debt to you is as great, if not greater," he said. "Had you not taken me in and treated my wound, I might well have truly died." "Come, now, Jervis!" said Belaset. "You are making great dramas again. It was but a bowl of water and a poultice of herbs!" "And a bowl of chicken soup!" said Jervis, with a smile. "Tush, man, on your way!" said Belaset, giving him a little push. The two young men were ushered out of the door, and strode off, full of joy and excitement. The town, when they entered it, sobered them instantly. Most of the houses lay in smoking ruins now. The people had come back to them and wandered around, BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter salvaging the little that was left. Here and there, a woman sat desolate among the blackened beams and ash that had been her home. A few children wandered around on their own, and, as Philip and Jervis passed, one woman suddenly snatched a child with a cry of joy and hugged it to her. At least she had something to be happy about, in the midst of all this destruction, thought Jervis. All through the town, until they reached the castle mount, the picture was the same. Lewes had been put to the torch, and was virtually destroyed. Only the castle, and the few stone buildings that existed, had remain untouched. Two grim-faced young men went through the gates and into the castle grounds. On reaching the top of the mount, they saw that the castle green was taken over by homeless families. The castle servants were moving among them, distributing broth and a little bread, but it was easy to see that there was hardly any food left. Jervis suddenly thought of Madeleine, and stopped dead. "Philip," he said. "Do you arrange for our horses to be made ready. I must see if someone is still here." "Madeleine de Tourney?" said Philip. "She was here yesterday, as was Joan I Joan scolding one of the boys for spilling water on her foot."

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Jervis felt a sudden lift of his heart. "Ah, yes, that is Joan!" he said. "And she would not be here unless Madeleine were here also." He made his way as quickly as he could to the well-remembered chamber, and knocked on the door. It flew open and Joan stood there, hands on hips, starting a tirade before she had seen who was standing there. "And about time, too, young man!" she snapped, then stopped, with her mouth agape. "Good morning, Joan!" said Jervis, gaily. "May I come in?" "Jervis!" came Madeleine s glad voice from inside the room. "Enter and be thrice welcome!" He stepped inside and almost collided with her, as she came running to greet him. She put out her hands, and he grasped them both. Joan, standing aside and watching, could not bring herself to utter any sound of disapproval. She was pleased to see her lady looking so bright and cheerful after the travails of the past few days, she told herself, and if it took Jervis FitzHugh to have such an effect, well, so be it. "You are well, Madeleine, and unharmed?" said Jervis, softly. "As you see," she replied. "But you have been wounded, Jervis." She put up her hand to touch his bandaged head. "It is but a cut on the head," said Jervis. "It will soon be healed."

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Belaset’s Daughter He looked around the room. "You are leaving here?" he said. "We are," said Madeleine. "I have decided that we should return to France, to my late husband s house in Amiens, for a while. When things are calmer here, I expect we shall return." "But I, too, am going to France!" said Jervis. "Philip and I are going to join my lord." "Then we shall journey together!" said Madeleine, gladly. "I shall be glad of an escort that I know and trust!" "So I may continue packing, then, my lady?" came Joan s voice. "And arrange food and drink for two more, I suppose?" "Thank you, Joan," said Jervis. "You are a kind and considerate woman, if somewhat acid of tongue!" "Get yourself ready in time, Master Jervis!" said Joan, crossly. "Or we shall be gone without you!" A short time later, the little train of horses and a wagon for the women left the town and crossed over the narrow bridge across the Ouse. It had been a sad ride, past the fresh graves of the slain. As they rode across, Jervis twisted in his saddle, and looked back at the Castle towering above the little town. Even at so short a distance, it looked almost untouched, but he knew that it was not so. Who knew when he, or any of those with him, would see it again. It was his home, and he left it with a heavy heart. Judith and Aaron were just starting out on their way to the Priory, when Judith saw the little group of riders going away from the town. She caught hold of Aaron’s arm and pointed to it. "There goes Jervis and with Madeleine de Tourney, if the wagon is anything to go by," she said. "Will we ever see him again, I wonder?" Aaron squeezed her hand, comfortingly. "Yes, Judith, we shall see him again," he said. "This is not the end of our friendship it is too strong to be broken in this way." "But he is de Warenne’s man," said Judith. "And de Warenne has fled to France. The King is routed and de Montfort will rule the land." "Not for long," said Aaron. "The King is defeated for now, but it will not be long before his friends will rally round him once again. Then he will fight de Montfort and win. He was not ready for him this time, and he did not believe that de Montfort would really fight him as he has." "But what about all those who have fled?" persisted Judith. "How can the King trust hem?"

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Belaset’s Daughter "They have not fled in the sense of deserting him," said Aaron. "Remember, Judith, where the King’s greatest ally is. Is it not Louis of France?" Judith was silent for a moment, before speaking again. "So this is but a pause," she said, slowly. "Just the end of a chapter." "Indeed so," said Aaron. They continued on their way down the hill towards the Priory.

END OF BOOK Copyright 2001 Feona J. Hamilton All rights reserved

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