THE SEVEN REMAINING SCROLLS CONTAINED de Courtesmain’s record of his stay in Develish. D’Amiens took them one by one from the altar and allowed Thaddeus time to read them, and since Thaddeus saw merit in stalling for as long as he could, he lingered long over each parchment. In themselves they proved nothing, since they were written in de Courtesmain’s own hand, but they made compelling reading. The angriest, denouncing Thaddeus as a thief and a murderer, had clearly been written in Develish; but from the differences of ink and vellum, Thaddeus guessed the others had been composed in Bourne.
It was hard to say what de Courtesmain’s purpose had been in writing them because their tone was so bitter and vengeful they read more like a rambling reassurance to the writer that he was a good man amongst heathens than a well-constructed accusation. He painted himself throughout as an honest, God-fearing innocent, obliged to live amongst heretics for half a year, and called on God to witness his innocence as often as he condemned Lady Anne and Thurkell for their guilt. Indeed, so strong were his protestations of continued dedication to the Church that Thaddeus wondered if, in truth, he hadn’t been trying to quell a voice of dissent in his own head.
He couldn’t fault the Frenchman’s memory. Every Develish secret was laid bare—from Lady Anne’s encouragement to her serfs to bid for freedom through to Eleanor’s revelation that Milady was not her mother—and, though Thaddeus toyed with dismissing it all as the workings of an imaginative mind, he knew the steward and priest would not believe him. No one could invent so elaborate a story and transcribe it in such detail to the page.
Thaddeus passed the last scroll back to d’Amiens without comment.
‘Well?’ the steward demanded. ‘Is all this true?’
‘As true as your priest’s claim that he keeps the household free of the pestilence through the cleansing of sin.’
‘What other truth is there?’
‘That you and he are using the same methods Lady Anne employs. First, strive to keep the pestilence out by closing your gates, and then be ready to remove any who succumb. Milady would have taken Develish sufferers outside the moat and cared for them herself, but you and this man—’ he glanced towards the priest—‘chose to banish yours for wickedness.’ He smiled cynically. ‘Which truth do you prefer, Master d’Amiens?’
‘It’s not a case of preference. If the Church cites wickedness as the cause of the pestilence, who am I to argue differently?’ The steward placed the scroll with the others on the altar. ‘Tell me how Master de Courtesmain’s account is flawed.’
Thaddeus glanced towards the Frenchman. His only recourse was to keep discrediting him. ‘In his depiction of himself. Had he mentioned his many deceits, you would struggle to believe anything he said.’
‘Name one.’
‘His constant switching of allegiance. It was hard to know from one day to the next where his loyalties lay. It made him greatly distrusted by the people.’
De Courtesmain appealed to the steward. ‘They had a hatred of Normans,’ he cried. ‘Sir Richard and Lady Eleanor felt their dislike as much as I did.’
Thaddeus gave an involuntary laugh. ‘You’re an ungrateful fellow,’ he said. ‘You were given the chance to leave after Sir Richard died. Why didn’t you take it, if Develish was the Hell you portray in your writings?’
‘The pestilence was at the gates.’
‘You know it was not. We saw people moving north for several weeks afterwards. You were free to go whenever you wanted, yet you describe yourself as a prisoner.’ Thaddeus looked back to the steward. ‘He had more faith in Milady’s ability to keep the pestilence at bay than he did in God’s mercy. He’s greatly afeared his sins will find him out.’
‘Isn’t the same true of all men?’ asked d’Amiens.
‘You tell me, sir. Do you not have confidence in Father Aristide’s cleansing rituals?’ His lips twitched into another cynical smile. ‘I can’t blame you if you don’t. His inability to strike a spark suggests it’s a long time since these altar candles were lit.’ He caught the priest’s hand as the man made to slap him. ‘You and Master de Courtesmain are two of a kind,’ he murmured. ‘You both look to save your own lives at the expense of others. Do you fear becoming as low as he when your deceits are revealed?’
With relentless pressure, he twisted the priest’s arm behind his back and forced him to his knees. The steward moved to intervene but Thaddeus shook his head in warning. ‘Nothing would please me more than to wrap my chains around your neck, Master d’Amiens. Be sure de Courtesmain won’t come to your assistance. He’s more frightened of my anger than he is of yours. He knows I have little patience with hypocrites.’
‘You’ll compel me to summon the guards.’
‘Oblige me by doing so. I’d rather deal with honest men than cowardly liars who pretend a piety they don’t have.’
It seemed d’Amiens was as easily provoked as the priest. ‘You’d be in your shroud if I had some recollection of you,’ he snapped. ‘De Courtesmain tells me you’ve been doing ad opus work in Develish for more than a decade, but I have no memory of seeing you there. Be grateful for that. Were it otherwise, I’d have known you for a common serf and ordered the skin flayed from your bones.’ With feigned impatience, Thaddeus released the priest’s hand and thrust him away. ‘I’m wearied of this nonsense. If it’s the truth you want, put de Courtesmain to the question. He’ll refute his claims on the mere threat of pain.’ He cast a scornful look at the Frenchman. ‘He can barely stand for trembling at the lies he’s told.’ The sudden thoughtfulness in the steward’s expression suggested this ploy might work, but the creak of the church door distracted him. He narrowed his eyes at the captain of the guard who eased through the opening. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
‘Lady Anne of Develish is at the gate, sir. She’s accompanied by men from the town and is requesting entry. I need your orders.’
A slow smile spread across d’Amiens’ face as the captain’s words registered with him. ‘How fortuitous,’ he murmured, turning to Thaddeus. ‘God must be as eager as I to see you released from your pledge. Will Milady’s story be the same as yours, I wonder?’
Ian felt his twin’s nervousness as they approached to within a hundred yards of My Lord of Blandeforde’s walled enclosure. This was madness. On horseback, they could see above the gates, and both were intimidated by the extent of the enclosed land. A bend in the long driveway hid most of the house from their view, but enough of the eastern wall and roof was visible to suggest immense grandeur.
The trembling of Lady Anne’s hands on the reins told Ian she was as nervous and he asked her in a whisper if she would like him to bring the column to a halt. She shook her head and answered from a dry mouth that the men of Blandeforde would withdraw their support if they thought her afraid. Ian knew this to be true because the closer they came to the gates, the more the crowd began to drag its heels. Even Master Slater’s brow creased with uncertainty at the sight of archers with raised bows on the steps to either side of the barred entrance.
What to do?
Out of the corner of his eye, Ian watched Olyver remove a wooden beaker from the pack that was slung across the saddle in front of him and fill it from the goatskin of water that hung on the other side. He used movements so small they might have been taken for a need to adjust his horse’s breast collar, and when he passed the cup quietly to Lady Anne no one noticed. As she sipped from it gratefully, Ian turned in his saddle to beckon Edmund, Peter and Joshua forward.
‘Milady asks that we range ourselves in front of these brave townsmen to give them protection,’ he called. ‘Buckler, ride beside me with the dogs and pack horses. Trueblood and Catchpole, take up positions on the other side. As far as she is able, Milady promises to shield and safeguard all who walk with her.’
At thirty paces, one of the archers ordered the column to halt. ‘State your business,’ he called in French.
Lady Anne instructed Ian and Olyver to take her closer. She answered in the same language in a clear, untroubled voice. ‘My business is with the steward,’ she said. ‘Send word that Lady Anne of Develish awaits him at the gate.’
‘He’ll not come for a woman. He answers only to God and My Lord of Blandeforde.’
‘Is Master d’Amiens dead?’
‘He is not. Why would you ask such a question?’
‘Common soldiers don’t normally make decisions for stewards.’
‘We have our orders.’
‘You do indeed,’ she said boldly. ‘Send word that Lady Anne of Develish awaits Master d’Amiens at the gate.’ She gestured to the crowd behind her. ‘Be assured neither I nor these men will leave until I’ve spoken with him.’
It was a good quarter-hour before a liveried captain climbed up next to the archer and instructed Milady to enter alone. She refused, reiterating her request that the steward be brought to her. After another quarter-hour, the captain returned with new orders. If her entourage dismounted and left their horses and weapons outside, they would be allowed to accompany her. She refused again.
The captain shook his head. ‘I urge you not to try Master d’Amiens’ patience further, milady. It’s only out of courtesy to your dead husband’s status that he agrees to see you at all.’
She smiled slightly. ‘My request is a reasonable one, captain. Before I enter, I ask that the steward presents himself in person so that I can be assured he lives and has true charge of his master’s estates.’
‘You have my word that he does, milady.’
‘Does your word count for more than the men of Blandeforde’s, sir? They tell me they haven’t seen Master d’Amiens in months. Writs, purporting to be his, are posted by soldiers and all attempts to contact him are met with silence. What should I make of that?’
‘Whatever you choose, milady. You’ve been given the terms on which you may enter. If you accept them, I will open the gates. If you do not, they will remain closed.’
She bent her head in a mocking bow. ‘Thank you, sir. I believe that tells me all I need to know.’ She twisted around to address the crowd of men behind her, continuing to speak in French so that the captain would understand her. ‘You’ll find no leadership here. I’ll return with you to the town and then ride to Sarum to inform His Grace the bishop that the steward is dead and the house overrun by Norman fighting men. His Grace will know better than I how to reach My Lord of Blandeforde with the news. Meanwhile, I urge you to withhold your taxes for they will surely be stolen by these mercenaries.’
Ian heard a few voices call out for her to speak in English but Master Slater quickly hushed them. ‘’Er woords be for the Franky gaeky,’ he said in Dorset brogue. ‘She wan ’en affrighted enow to faetch the stoörd.’
But it seemed the captain was more distressed than afraid. ‘Have you not come for your cousin, milady? I felt certain you had. Will you abandon him?’
Both his words and his tone surprised Lady Anne, for they seemed to imply some sympathy with Thaddeus. ‘I can’t bargain with Norman thieves, sir. However small the ransom you demand for Athelstan’s release, it will be above anything Develish can afford. My only recourse is to seek help from the bishop.’
‘You malign me and my fighting men unfairly, milady. None of this is our doing.’
‘Then bring Master d’Amiens to the gate, sir. I have only to see him for my doubts to be resolved. His appearance is not one that’s easily forgotten.’
Thaddeus was thinking the same as he watched d’Amiens rage against the captain. The split nature of the steward’s face—more pronounced in anger as blood suffused the livid stain—seemed to mirror his character. His moods swung from light to dark in the blink of an eye. All his earlier triumph in the church to hear that Lady Anne was at the gate had now given way to fury. Yet there was no accounting for the wrath he was unleashing on the unfortunate wretch who stood before him, unless he believed his own authority was strengthened by it.
And perhaps it was. The young guards who’d been ordered to bring Thaddeus to the great hall halted him inside the entranceway, hunching their shoulders and staring at the floor as if fearful of being seen to have sympathy with their captain. For a brief moment, Thaddeus thought about returning outside. With everyone’s attention elsewhere, he could walk clear across the forecourt before his absence was noticed. Yet what would it achieve except a few moments of amusement for himself and a torrent of abuse against his guards? There was more to be gained by earning their gratitude than causing them trouble.
D’Amiens seemed most exercised by the captain’s inability to implement simple orders. He was a poor, weak-spirited creature. Only a coward would quail before a woman. She was a widow without rights. Blandeforde’s terms of entry, as decided by his steward, must always prevail over hers. It mattered nothing that she had townsmen at her side. Were his soldiers incapable of firing arrows?
Thaddeus advanced into the hall with a laugh. ‘You attack the wrong person, Master d’Amiens,’ he said, lowering himself into the same carved chair the steward had used two nights previously. ‘It’s hardly your captain’s fault that Lady Anne refuses your terms.’ He placed his chains on the table. ‘Were I less encumbered with iron, I would refuse them also. You have no authority over either of us.’
D’Amiens rounded on him in fury. ‘In your case, that is yet to be demonstrated,’ he spat. ‘As for her, she can only ever be a supplicant in My Lord of Blandeforde’s house. Should he choose to grant her a new husband, she will gain status through the marriage, but until then she is subject to my governance as proctor in My Lord’s absence.’
Thaddeus felt moved to agree with him, since he had no wish to embroil Lady Anne in his troubles. And yet … Just the knowledge of her presence had lightened his heart. ‘Perhaps you aren’t as knowledgeable as you think you are,’ he said mildly. ‘Milady draws her status from her father and not her dead husband.’ He switched his gaze to the captain. ‘What reason does she give for refusing the steward’s terms?’
The man turned to him in relief. ‘She requests that Master d’Amiens present himself in person to prove he’s alive, sire. He so rarely leaves the house that the men of the town are persuaded he’s dead.’
‘They lie for their own reasons,’ said d’Amiens coldly.
Thaddeus doubted that. He thought it more likely the falsehood was Lady Anne’s. ‘Why do you object to the request?’ he asked. ‘You demand a great deal of the lady to expect her to enter an armed compound without knowing what awaits her.’
‘She’s bold enough. The captain tells me she rides on horseback with upwards of fifty men around her … and not a chaperone in sight.’ A faint smile touched d’Amiens’ lips. ‘Master de Courtesmain’s accusations of harlotry become more credible.’
Thaddeus eased himself back in the chair and placed his feet on the bench that ran lengthways down the table. ‘You’ll live to regret those words,’ he murmured, closing his eyes. ‘If the men of Blandeforde don’t make you pay for your ill-considered judgements, be sure I will.’
There was an audible gasp of surprise—and not a little fear—as the gates swung open to reveal the captain and Master d’Amiens standing some twenty paces back. A dozen guards with drawn bows were ranged at their sides.
Ian and Olyver made to raise their own bows, but Lady Anne stretched out her hands to prevent them. ‘I cannot believe Norman soldiers are any more desirous of shedding English blood than we theirs,’ she said in French, praying most earnestly that she hadn’t misread the captain’s sympathy. ‘God would not have allowed us to survive the pestilence if He intended us to kill each other.’ She dipped her head to d’Amiens. ‘I’m pleased to see you looking so well, sir, but saddened that you feel the need to threaten us. We come in peace, not enmity.’
‘You bring too many men with you for me to believe that, milady.’ This time she answered in English. ‘But most are your people, Master d’Amiens. What reason do you have to fear them? None is armed. They seek only to explain their difficulties to you.’
He responded in the same language. ‘We live in perilous times, milady, and from what I’ve learnt of Develish, you know this better than I. I’m told you defend your demesne with even more fierceness than I defend My Lord’s.’
‘But never against those I’m pledged to protect, Master d’Amiens,’ she said in French. ‘The vows of allegiance that bind me to my people are as sacred as those that bind them to me. Would My Lord of Blandeforde say differently? He’s a person of great nobility and honour, so I can’t believe he would ever ask his captain to order the murder of defenceless men.’
Her words unsettled the guards, and a brief irritation glimmered in d’Amiens’ eyes as he instructed them to lower their weapons. He wished he’d paid more heed to Thurkell’s assessment of this woman. Dressed in finery, and at the head of a crowd, she bore little resemblance to the timid wife he’d glimpsed on occasion in Develish. ‘My Lord would say you attempt to embellish your importance with such statements, milady. You take unwarranted authority to yourself when you claim oaths that were given and received by your husband as your own.’
She smiled and reverted back to English. ‘Do you not believe in honouring your lord’s pledges, sir?’
‘We are talking about you, milady.’
‘Yet our positions are similar, are they not? Through the death or absence of our lords, we have both had responsibility thrust upon us. With God’s help, I can say I am comfortable with the choices I’ve made. Is the same true of you?’
D’Amiens felt forced to answer in the same language, since she was so clearly talking to the men behind her. ‘It wasn’t God who instructed you to bar your husband from his demesne and seize power from his lawful steward, milady,’ he snapped. ‘Such actions are treasonable. My Lord of Blandeforde would have dealt with you harshly had de Courtesmain brought the news sooner.’
Lady Anne was relieved to have the steward confirm that de Courtesmain was the informer, though it would help her even more to know he’d come for himself and not for Bourne. ‘He was free to do so at any time, but he had a greater fear of the pestilence than he did of me,’ she said mildly. ‘Treasonable or not, he preferred my protection to the danger of riding the roads. What gives him the courage to brave them now?’
D’Amiens shook his head as if to say he didn’t know.
‘The last I heard he was steward to Bourne.’
‘You heard right, milady.’
‘Yet these men—’ she gestured behind her—‘tell me he entered the town on foot. How so? Was Bourne not gracious enough to give him a horse?’
‘It would seem not.’ D’Amiens shook his head at the flicker of interest in her eyes. ‘If you hope to make something out of it, you’ll be disappointed, milady. De Courtesmain’s disagreements with Bourne are small compared with the faults he finds in you and the man you call “cousin”.’
‘I don’t doubt it. His grudges grow larger the longer he’s away from the source. In Develish his complaints were against Foxcote. In a week or two, his enemy will be Bourne. I have it in my heart to feel sorry for him. He finds it easier to blame his failings on others than on himself.’
‘You’ll not be so sympathetic when you see his evidence, milady. He has a page from the Develish register to demonstrate that what he says is true.’
She answered with a low laugh. ‘Only one, Master d’Amiens? How selective he is in the lies he wishes to promote. I trust you’ll allow me to question him on them.’
‘As long as you accept my terms. Weapons and horses must be left outside the gate, and only you and your men may enter. I will not tolerate a foolish attempt at rescue if de Courtesmain’s accusations are proven.’
‘And who will decide that? You?’
‘I stand for My Lord of Blandeforde in his absence.’
‘In your own mind, perhaps, but not in mine. God demands that a lord deals fairly with all men, not just those they favour.’ She lifted the parchment from her lap. ‘This is the writ you ordered posted on the church door before last quarter day. Do you recall how it begins? Let me remind you. Notwithstanding loss of life, the town will remit the same amount in tax as heretofore. The penalty for failure will be harsh. You go on to list the weight of corn you demand in place of silver.’ She raised her head. ‘How do you record such payments, sir? As grain or coin?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand you, milady.’
‘I’m sure you do, Master d’Amiens. Blandeforde is a King’s treasurer. If the sovereign’s share of the town’s tax is recorded as grain, you will have a granary within the compound to store it. Does such a building exist?’
D’Amiens made no response, but Lady Anne saw the captain give a small shake of his head.
‘Then you will have recorded the share in coin after using My Lord’s private funds to purchase the grain for the household. I know of no law which forbids such a transaction, but the exchange must be documented so that all, including the King, are persuaded a fair price has been paid and the town’s tax faithfully accounted. Will you send for the coffer that holds those monies and the ledger that shows how they were transferred? If all is as it should be, I will have confidence that you are capable of judging fairly between an English noble and a Norman steward.’
Ian thought how clever Lady Anne was to avoid vague accusations of dishonesty in favour of a detail that could be demonstrated. He watched conflicting emotions cross d’Amiens’ face. Uncertainty. Disbelief. Calculation. The steward seemed to be struggling with the idea that a woman might be his equal in intelligence, and foolishly decided that she couldn’t be. He shook his head impatiently. ‘You waste my time with this nonsense. Do you think keeping track of My Lord’s revenues is as easy as counting kirtles?’
‘For your sake, I hope not, Master d’Amiens. Your pride will suffer badly if you lose your place to a chambermaid.’
A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and d’Amiens turned angrily to the captain, ordering him to ready his guard.
With a grunt of displeasure, Master Slater pushed himself through the gap between Ian’s and Joshua’s horses. ‘Do you hold the freemen of Blandeforde in the same contempt as you hold Lady Anne of Develish?’ he demanded. ‘Our skill with accounting is easily the match of yours, for we trade daily and keep clear records of all we take. You inspected our ledgers often enough before the pestilence, now let us inspect yours, sir. Milady’s not alone in questioning your honesty.’
Ian always wondered afterwards what would have happened if the captain had given different orders when the crowd, encouraged by Miller, flowed around the horses to align themselves with Slater. It may have been fear of being overrun that persuaded him to instruct his men to stand aside and allow the column through, but the small nod of respect he gave Lady Anne seemed to tell a different story.
The sound of horses’ hooves crunching on gravel, and the murmur of many voices, reached the men in the great hall. The priest, newly arrived with de Courtesmain, showed alarm, while the guards merely looked towards the doors with curiosity. It didn’t seem to occur to them that a crowd might represent a threat, but it certainly did to Aristide. He rose to his feet from his position at the other end of the table from Thaddeus, and moved hastily up the room, de Courtesmain scurrying behind him. Thaddeus took satisfaction from the fear in their faces.
He studied Aristide with amusement. ‘Who frightens you more?’ he asked as the man drew close. ‘The gentle lady loved by God or the unarmed townsfolk who accompany her?’
‘None is cleansed. They carry the seeds of the pestilence within them.’
With a lazy smile, Thaddeus pushed himself from the chair and stepped out to confront him. ‘Then why am I here? You know full well that my sins haven’t been cleansed. I’d cut out my tongue before I’d confess to a priest such as you.’
‘Get out of my way!’
Thaddeus took his chain in his hands and jerked it tight. ‘I will not. You owe your lord’s steward and his fighting men a better loyalty than to run at the first sign of trouble. They want to believe that God is on their side, not hiding away with a cringing liar for company.’
Aristide turned to the guards. ‘This man is in your charge. Remove him from my path.’
But none responded. Perhaps they feared an elbow in their throats or, more simply, saw that obedience was unnecessary. Even as the priest spoke, their captain appeared in the open doorway and called for Father Aristide to join the steward on the forecourt. ‘Master d’Amiens asks that you hold a Mass in the open air for the men of the town, Father. There are many who long to hear God’s word and feel His presence amongst them again.’
Thaddeus lowered his hands. ‘He’s cleverer than I thought,’ he said with a laugh. ‘There’s no safer way to soothe unsettled minds than through prayer. Be sure to preach love, Father. The steward won’t have reason to thank you otherwise.’