HOLCROFT HOUSE
Lent
The year of Our Lord 1406 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV
We opened our doors as the bells for sext chimed. People poured out of St Bartholomew’s into the cold and, while many headed home, more than I expected entered the Cathaline Alehouse. In no time at all, the fireside was crowded. Orders were placed quickly and drinks were downed with enthusiasm. Delyth, Awel and Westel wandered around the tables, squeezing past strangers and locals alike as they deposited brimming tankards, foaming mazers and set down jugs and vessels. Will and Adam tended the barrels, while I supervised between the kitchen and alehouse, making sure the limited food we were allowed by law to serve was readily available. Perhaps because it was Lent and yesterday had been an Ember Day, where fasting and penance was observed, people were tired of all the restrictions and looking to ease their long period of denial. There were more unfamiliar faces than usual and while I wasn’t initially alarmed, as the afternoon wore on and the place grew rowdy, a sense of unease overtook me.
A granite sky made the shadows appear early and, when it began to drizzle, a few men took the chance to leave. But, as they did, more came to take their place. The smell of damp wool, horseflesh, sweat and the sweet odour of ale and fire smoke lingered. In one corner, an old man I’d never seen before but who’d asked to bring his three-legged dog inside, pulled out a set of pipes and began to play a mournful tune. When his dog started to howl, some men sitting nearby complained. Amused by the dog’s antics and the men’s protests at first, when one of the men, tall, wearing a liripipe — a long, pointed hood that fell down his back — staggered to his feet and took a swipe at the dog, I called Adam.
Bearing the great wooden staff we kept hidden, Adam made his way through the crowd. Simon Attenoke stood ready to lend assistance. Before Adam could call for peace, another man, even bigger than the first, with thick, short hair and the build of a knight grabbed the first man and, lest he attempted another strike at the dog, threw him backwards. The man wearing the liripipe fell against a table, knocking it over and spilling drinks. After that, mayhem ensued.
There were grunts and shouts. Fists flew, bodies doubled over. Tankards smashed, ale spilled and the dog barked. Backed up against a wall, shouting at Awel and Delyth to flee, I was trying to stay out of the way when someone grabbed me from behind, their hands kneading my breasts, pulling at my skirts. Shock stilled me before rage took over and, as the hands fumbled over my body, I grabbed hold of one of them and sank my teeth into it. There was a scream of pain and, as I spat blood on the floor, I was released. Swinging around to identify the rogue, I was again grabbed and lifted off my feet. Kicking, I tried to pry the fingers from my waist.
‘It’s me, Mistress Sheldrake.’ Westel. ‘You need to get out of here.’
I ceased struggling at once.
Westel carried me from the room, using his back and shoulders to thrust people out of the way. Putting me down in the corridor just outside, he pushed the tin into my hands. I clutched it gratefully. Will brought Awel over, Delyth following, tears streaming down her face.
‘Stay here,’ ordered Will and was about to return, the light of battle in his eyes, when I grabbed a hold of him. ‘Nay, Will. Run, fetch the sheriff. Tell him to bring his men. Hurry.’
Will glanced at Westel.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after them,’ he said.
Will opened his mouth, shut it again, then nodded. Pushing past us, he grabbed his coat and raced down the corridor, leaving through the kitchen. Standing beside Westel, I placed myself between the girls and doorway, using my boots and arms to push anyone who came too close away again. Westel delivered a few hard punches, breaking the skin of his knuckles, wincing in pain. I couldn’t help but be grateful for his presence, his determination to protect us.
In dismay I watched as tables broke, mazers were dented and crockery smashed and my ale and beer spilled over the rushes. Adam was trying to separate two men, one of whom was bleeding profusely from the nose, when another crept up behind, a stool raised above his head.
‘Adam!’ I shouted in warning. Adam ducked as the stool swept through the air, striking another man with a resounding crack, lifting him off his feet. Westel left my side and ran to Adam’s defence, but by then the fight was so thick, the roiling bodies so tight-knit, I couldn’t keep track. Above the din, the bell over the door clanged as men fled. Running past the windows, their shirts torn, their heads bare as they churned up mud with their heels. One paused to tear down the sign that was swinging wildly in the wind.
‘Oy!’ cried out Westel, his voice so loud I jumped. ‘Nay, you rogue,’ he exclaimed and, before Adam could prevent him, tore off after the men.
‘Westel! Leave it …’ It was no use. He sprinted up the street.
‘He’s a brave one, mistress,’ said Awel, her eyes wide.
‘Aye, or very foolish,’ I said wryly.
There were still too many writhing, grunting bodies left inside. Fists connected, arms swung. Cheeks were torn, teeth lost and bodies crumpled. Atop the last remaining table, the old man’s dog howled, scampering from side to side like a wounded squire at a joust. Slumped against the wall was the old man. I wondered if he was even alive.
Once the sheriff arrived, worse for drink himself, and ordered the watchmen haul away those offenders who refused to concede defeat, bellowing they be locked in the stocks to cool their tempers, the remainder understood it was over. Above the sheriff’s slurred threats and warnings, the men collected their coats and looked around in bewilderment at the remains of the Cathaline Alehouse. Subdued by the enormity of what they’d done, the sheriff asked for descriptions of those who’d bolted, strangers to Elmham Lenn who were already being blamed for starting what happened.
The shadows lengthened and the rain was falling steadily by the time the last man left, escorted by two of the watchmen, cross their afternoon was spoiled. They pulled him forwards, uncaring that his coat slipped from his shoulder or that his cap came off and was trampled in the mud.
Picking up one of the stools, I sank onto it and stared at the room, the tin resting in my lap. Piles of rushes flecked with blood, shattered utensils and pieces of what had once been benches, toppled tables and too many pieces of broken jugs, tankards and split mazers were scattered everywhere. The only things unaffected were the three barrels behind the serving table and the fireplace.
The sheriff, Sir Grantham, asked me questions and I know I answered, but I don’t remember what I said. In the midst of all this, Westel returned, his shirt torn, a bloody streak across the front, but he had our sign and held it aloft triumphantly. ‘I couldn’t let them steal that too, Mistress Sheldrake,’ he said.
I shook my head wearily.
The sheriff fired questions at Westel; I didn’t hear his responses. My mind was too busy trying to work out how the fight started, whether I could have done anything to prevent it. Everything was such a blur. It was only as Sir Grantham was leaving, promising to return the following day after I’d rested, that I thought of Delyth and Awel and asked him to escort them home. I looked at their pale faces and their large, frightened eyes and wondered if they’d have the courage to return. Delighted he’d enjoy the company of two such pretty girls, Sir Grantham bade farewell with more goodwill than he arrived.
As the door closed, Tobias’s words rang in my ears. ‘Turning this house, our home into an alehouse that any knave can enter is something altogether different …’ Just how different, I’d not known. Until today.
Before long, Saskia came and pressed a mazer of mulled wine in my hand. Grateful for its warmth, I sipped it slowly, smiling weakly as Blanche, Westel and Adam, who held a wad of cloth over his left eye, gathered around me.
‘Where are the twins?’ I asked quietly.
‘Iris and Louisa took them to the nursery the moment the fighting started. They’re fine,’ said Saskia, gripping my shoulder. I reached up and closed my hand over hers.
‘Thank you.’
Using a piece of tinder from the fire, Blanche went around and relit the candles. Their bright flames were at odds with the ruins.
The faces of my servants told me they were as dazed as I felt. Blanche had to touch everything, pick up a stool here, a crumpled tablecloth there. She found shards of pottery and glass and piled them neatly on a table, walked in circles pushing the rushes back down with her boots. We watched her in silence. Adam seemed resigned. Only Westel, his eyes neutral, dwelled upon me.
‘Where’s Will?’ I asked suddenly.
Blanche stopped and glared at the rushes, hands on hips, as if expecting him to rise from beneath them.
‘I last saw him when he went to fetch the sheriff,’ said Westel, scratching his head through his cap.
‘He should be back well and truly by now.’ Adam nodded at Westel. ‘Go and see if he’s in the kitchen.’
Westel darted off.
‘This is a right mess, Mistress Anneke,’ said Blanche, finding another shard of pottery.
‘Nothing we can’t fix,’ said Adam quickly, as if Blanche’s observation was somehow critical of me.
‘Aye,’ I agreed, ‘but should we?’ Resting my elbows on my knees, I looked at Adam and Blanche. Neither answered. Saskia rubbed my back. They knew it was not their decision to make.
Westel reappeared. ‘He’s not there, Mistress Sheldrake. Nor’s he in our room, the solar, or the brewery.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you want me to lock up the chickens and pigs? They’re still out.’
‘Will wouldn’t overlook his duties,’ said Adam, slapping his thighs and standing, raising his voice to be heard above the rain that was now coming down in torrents. He stared out into the sodden gloom. ‘Where’s that lad disappeared to?’
‘Could he have stopped at another tavern on the way home?’ asked Westel.
‘He wouldn’t be foolish enough to give chase to those strangers, would he?’ asked Saskia, giving Westel a pointed look.
‘Nay,’ I said quickly. ‘Please, God, nay.’
‘Maybe he went to warn Master Proudfellow?’ added Blanche hopefully.
‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ Adam sighed and reached for his cloak and hat. ‘I’ll go and find him. Westel, look to the animals.’ He turned to me. ‘Mistress Anneke, if I may be so bold, I suggest you go to the twins and reassure yourself as to their well-being. I’ll return soon enough and we can discuss what we do about —’ he shook his head as he studied the room, ‘this.’
Standing, I straightened my tunic. ‘As you say, Adam.’
‘Don’t worry, mistress,’ he added quietly. ‘We’ll sort this out.’
The doorbell couldn’t be heard above the rain as Adam left. The wind was so strong, he was almost bent double as he passed the window. I shivered, whether in empathy or foreboding, I wasn’t sure. I ordered Saskia to take the tin to the office and Blanche to prepare hot water for Will and Adam for when they returned and to warm some drying sheets for Westel. I didn’t have to tell Saskia to heat some additional wine. We’d all be needing it before this night was over.
Turning my back on the wreckage of the afternoon, I ascended to the nursery, quickly tidying myself before the children saw me. As Saskia said, the twins were unaffected by what had occurred and for that at least, I was grateful. Louisa was telling them a story, Iris by her side. Wide-eyed, Iris started to ask what had happened, but I sent her downstairs to help Blanche and, casting a warning look at Louisa, sat quietly while she finished her tale.
Insisting I also regale them, the twins had their way. Exhausted, I was also filled with a nervous energy that found some comfort from an old fable Mother used to tell about a beautiful woman, an oracle, who was so desired by a god, he promised to give her anything she wanted if only she would succumb to his charms. When she asked for everlasting life, he readily granted it, but when she reneged on her part of the agreement, that they be lovers, he altered his gift so she could live forever, but would continue ageing.
‘How long did she live?’ asked Betje, breathlessly.
‘For eternity,’ I said.
‘Forever? But if she lived forever …’ Betje tried to absorb what they meant.
‘What did she look like?’ asked Karel. ‘Worse than Goodwife Barrett?’
Goodwife Barrett was the oldest woman in Elmham Lenn. Rumour had it that she was one hundred and five years old, but I knew she was four score years and two, a fine age, but to the twins and others, ancient. Karel and Betje were fascinated by her sunken, lined cheeks, her toothless mouth, the wattle that hung from her neck and the fact one of her eyes had turned white.
‘Much, much worse,’ I said. They oohed in delighted horror.
‘That just proves, you should always keep your promise, doesn’t it?’ said Karel.
My throat seized and a fire licked the inside of my ribs. I hadn’t ever thought of the tale as carrying that meaning. To me it had always been about being cautious when making commitments, ensuring all the terms were clear. I stared at Karel.
‘It does,’ I said as panic rose in my chest and I wondered how I would keep mine now. All of them. I’d promised not only to keep the family together, but to find the means to pay the lease. I’d also promised Tobias that if my efforts failed, I would never brew again. I stood up quickly. The room began to spin and my arms flew out.
‘Are you all right, mistress?’ asked Louisa, reaching out to help me.
‘Fine. I’m fine.’ I had a desperate urge to count coin, check the ledgers.
When the room stopped turning, I kissed the twins, wished them sweet dreams and God’s love, and crept out of the nursery and ran downstairs.
A fire was blazing in the office hearth and I blessed Saskia’s foresight. Wine awaited me, no longer warm but no less welcome.
The battered tin glowed in the light. Opening the lid, I looked at the small pile of coin in dismay. I’d thought there’d be more. Few of the patrons had paid before the melee broke out. I struck my forehead with the heel of my hand. ‘Damn, damn.’
I pushed the tin away and picked up the goblet.
Draining it, I heard voices.
‘Mistress Anneke, Mistress Anneke!’ I recognised that tone. Ice crawled into my heart. I ran to meet whoever it was summoning me in such a way.
It was Adam. Dripping wet, his face leached of colour, his lips were trembling, but not from cold.
‘What is it, Adam? Tell me.’ I stood in front of him, staring, afraid.
‘It’s Will. Oh, God, Anneke.’ It wasn’t just the rain streaking his cheeks, there was tears and … blood.
Blood.
‘What?’ I whispered, dreading to hear.
‘He’s been murdered.’