It takes but a split second for our boats to lurch towards the riverbank. The long reeds make excellent cover. Jim signals to Robin and the oarsmen. His hands are making shapes that I do not understand, but it matters not, as they are obviously a code intended for silent messages. Robin quietly creeps from soul to soul, gesturing for us to keep our heads down. He silently instructs us to raise our hoods. It seems an age before we move again and when we do, a shocked silence is kept by all. Slowly, our boat begins to move through the reeds, as we all work together to pull ourselves along. To use the oars would be foolhardy, as any swell in the water could be detected from the shore. A castle comes into view and I can see a beacon of fire flickering close by.
Moments later, Oxherd announces from the furthest boat, “I think we are safe. We have arrived at Weeting and the monks are waiting for us on the wharf.”
My heartbeat steadily returns to normal. When it is my turn to leave the boat, a kind-looking monk holds his hand out to steady me.
“Welcome to Weeting Castle. Please come this way. My name is Brother Pandimonia.”
“Thank you, Brother, my name is Bethany.”
As we hurry from the boat, we pass a small church with a round tower. It’s very beautiful and it shines in the sunlight, but there’s no time to waste. We must get inside the castle as soon as possible.
Once inside, Brother Pandimonia explains that the castle is not really used to having visitors these days. “The only people who ever visit are close friends of the Duke of Norfolk. It’s a welcome change to host a group of pilgrims on their way to Walsingham. Alas, I have not visited the Holy Shrine for many years.” With these words, Brother Pandimonia looks wistfully down to his feet. How could I not have noticed that his left foot is deformed? “Well, that’s as it may, but fortunately life goes on. If you would excuse me, I have to prepare the kitchen for the forthcoming supplies. Brother Prior has sent word to our neighbouring Priory of Bromehill asking them for food and drink.”
Resting now in the great hall, I wait for the others to join me. Even when they do, it’s deadly quiet until Oxherd returns. His outward appearance may have returned to normal, but I detect a sense of concern that was missing before. “Let’s pray, dear friends. Brother Prior, would you be so kind as to lead?”
“Yes, of course. Please lower your heads and reflect on the Lord. Let’s begin by praying as Jesus did by saying the Lord’s Prayer.” After this is said together, Brother Prior continues, “Children of the Lord, please do not be tempted to let fear enter your hearts. Stay pure and trust in the Lord as you go forth to Walsingham. Soon, we will eat together and then we will rest. The very nature of your arrival has caused you shock and you need time to recover. Sleep is the best way to heal and I urge you to take advantage of this time. Even if you are unable to sleep fully, I ask that you close your eyes and relax. Tomorrow, we will cross the fields to Bromehill Priory to the Augustine House, which has a small community of Gilbertines attached. You will enjoy it there. It’s a fine place to visit. Abbot Combe has many fish ponds and Almoner Geoffrey, ever one to save money, has a full store of food. You will not go hungry or thirsty. Then, when you are fully recovered, you will resume your most holy pilgrimage. May God bless you all.”
Oxherd responds by thanking Brother Prior, before turning to us, “Now, my dear friends, I feel the need to apologise for the fear that you have suffered. Please let me explain what happened earlier. Jim, ever alert and mindful of the terrain, noticed men on foot. These men were carrying weapons. So, a silent message was conveyed from Jim to myself. I had to think quickly and act decisively. My mind was set and I acted on impulse. In these times of increasing conflict and mindful that we cross manors that are loyal to Lancastrian Lords, I decided that the best course of action was to take cover. I’m sorry that I could not tell you what was happening. We are still unsure of the livery that the men wore. All we know for certain is that they were not loyal to the House of York.”
Worried faces cannot be hidden – in particular, Bernadette, who begins to sob gently.
Oxherd, noticing this, continues, but in a very measured way, “In conclusion, I think it would be wise to bypass Brandon completely and head directly to Bromehill Priory. What do you think, Brother?”
“I agreed wholeheartedly. Brandon is a fine trading port where river and road converge, but danger is ever present. Recently, I have received reports, almost on a daily basis, of violence erupting. I also hear that extra patrols have been put in place as men fight and blaspheme regularly. I fear that the Cousins’ War creeps ever nearer, but let’s not dwell on such things. I hear that supplies have reached us and that food is being prepared as we speak. May I suggest that you make up your beds before we eat?”
After the meal has been eaten and everything cleared away, the mood in the hall becomes ever more relaxed. Brother Prior was wise to ask us to make up our beds when we did. Now, it’s just a case of lying down. The doors are firmly secured with large oak timbers and sleep is calling. Beeswax candles flicker gently and the log fire crackles. My fleece is deep and warm. In such an environment, it’s easy to drift off into a peaceful slumber.
We wake to a beautiful morning. The sunlight floods into the hall and is making patterns on the floor. Brothers shuffle in and out, laden with meat and ale. I must admit to being very content. After breaking our fast together, Oxherd requests that we prepare to leave as quickly as possible, as if unknown armed men are still in the area, there’s not a moment to lose. Just beyond the drawbridge, we are met by four retainers and a messenger from Duke Richard’s household.
“Alard, my friend. The duke has sent us to accompany you to Bromehill. We doubt that there will be any trouble, but four strong retainers in tow should be enough to scare anyone off.”
A pensive-looking Alard seems relieved. “Thank you, Edmund. Yes, I agree, it’s wise to travel in numbers and we are grateful for your presence.”
Turning to Brother Prior, Alard requests that he leads the way. I am left wondering how Duke Richard found out about our troubles so quickly.
Now that there are so many of us, it is inevitable that we are strung out as we walk, although everyone is careful to remain as close as possible. We are led by two retainers and four brothers and followed by a similar number. Happily, Owain is by my side once more. We have been told that we must come together when we reach the stone cross.
On arrival, Brother Prior invites us to form a circle. “Now, come close, my children, I have instructions to impart. From here on, we will leave the pilgrim’s path, but please be careful as the bank is peppered with rabbit holes and it’s easy to lose your footing and fall. Once we have left the path, we will turn left and follow the field boundary until the field dips down towards the River Wissey and the warrens of Weeting Hill. We are blessed in this area as the rabbits feed us with their bodies, cloth us with their skins and keep us warm with their fur, but they do churn up the fields. When we reach Otheringhyte, we will turn left and begin the short climb to the priory. Here, the fields are full of sheep. Please can I ask that you do not make any loud noises as it may frighten the sheep, who will, in turn, abandon their lambs.”
Fortunately, the track becomes more visible after Warren Hill and it’s easier to follow. The emptiness of the Fens has been left behind and we now walk beneath a canopy of trees on a carpet of leaves. White butterflies dance from plant to plant and small birds dart from tree to tree. Again, we are invited to come together, but this time with no warning. A tall, muscular man has appeared from nowhere. His long brown woollen cloak trails upon the ground. It is fastened with two large wooden toggles and he wears an oval broach over his heart. It depicts a heron and the words ‘Hviosic No Crene’. I consider the significance of the broach. I know that herons are wiser than all other birds and they have few resting places. They fear the rain and in order to miss any storms, they fly high above the clouds. Thus, when a heron takes flight, it is to either eat, drink or as a warning of an impending storm. I fear that this is why Heron Man is here. To defend us against a storm, as if we were his own offspring.
In a rough voice, almost unrecognisable, Heron Man introduces himself as Pip. “I am the Duke of York’s man. I am loyal to him and him only. From now on, I will lead your party.”
It is obvious that the retainers know Pip, as they acknowledge him respectfully with a collective bow. Oxherd, Brother Prior and the remaining brothers step back as requested.
“I thank you for delivering this party into my protection, but please do not see this as an insult for I have a letter of direct instruction. Here, please inspect it.” As Pip opens his cloak, I noticed a seal hanging from his belt. This, too, depicts a heron.
Retreating slightly from our group to examine the letter in depth, Oxherd, the prior and Alard nod when they are finished. Oxherd breaks the silence.
“Pip, we thank you for your presence and for your protection. We are most grateful to deliver ourselves into your leadership.”
Pip speaks with a mixture of humbleness and firmness as he begins to lead us forward. “Thank you for accepting me. I am most grateful.”
As we walk, it appears that nothing has really changed as Oxherd is as loud as ever and Brother Prior continues to point out places of interest. “Over there, to our right, is the priory’s charcoal camp. We have one of the largest camps in the area and it is looked after by just one man, Jim the Burner. Alas, he’s a solitary soul, so I doubt that we will see him as we pass.” I cannot help but cough, as the smoke is quite dense.
Looking around, I notice a small, crooked man. Our eyes connect for a split second before he darts off into the undergrowth. I think that I must have just seen Jim the Burner, but Pip, who has also noticed the figure, appears agitated and halts the group. “Stop. Wait here. Keep close.” In a second, he has drawn his dagger from his belt. “Come out and show yourself immediately.” Pip’s voice is rough and his command is chilling.
The small, crooked man returns from the undergrowth and stands, quaking before us.
Turning to Brother Prior, Pip asks, “Is this Jim the Burner?”
“Yes, Pip, that’s Jim.”
“Thank you, Jim, you may go now, but I ask you not to skulk about in future. These are dangerous times.”
Pip returns his dagger back into its sheath and we walk on, leaving a nervous Jim behind. Next, we reach a butchery site. The aroma is gut-wrenching. Tables are laden with carcasses and wooden barrels appear to be full of blood. I know that this is a necessary part of life and that the blood will be made into delicious puddings, but I sigh with relief when we reach the priory’s fish ponds, as the air is fresh and clear.
“We have arrived.” Brother Prior’s words are delivered with a sense of relief and I notice for the first time that his brow is covered in sweat. I quickly turn my attention to the priory with its magnificent thatched roof and stained-glass window. We enter via the south door and pass through the cloisters on our way to the hall. We are met by another brother.
“Welcome, children of God. Welcome to our house. You will be safe here. Rest and enjoy. Please do not worry about a thing. Our house is dedicated to the Blessed Virgin and St Thomas the Martyr, and they will maintain you. In truth, it’s a blessing that God has bought you here on this very day, as we are preparing to honour St Thomas. We therefore invite you to join us and although we have no relics of the Blessed Martyr here, we have borrowed one from Castle Acre Priory. Many hands will make light work and we would be grateful of your assistance, as we need to clean and decorate the hall, prepare the food and pray solemnly.”
A ripple of excitement is palpable. Pip graciously instructs that we are all free to explore the priory and to help, as long as we do not leave the priory. I long to sit in silence and soak up the atmosphere before the preparations begin, so I head off towards the cloisters. In front, by the far wall, I notice a seat. Yes, that’s the one for me.
It’s slightly sheltered and surrounded by rosemary. What a fine garden this is. It consists of four beds, each of which is surrounded by tiny white pebbles. In the middle stands a statue of Jesus, feeding the five thousand with loaves and fishes. As I cross the white pebbles, they crunch gently beneath my feet. I decide to explore each bed before I sit. The first one is abundant with herbs for cooking and I can see sage, rosemary and thyme. The second has mallow, camomile and madder. I have used the latter for dyeing cloth. The third sends my mind racing as it’s full of edible flowers. With this, my stomach begins to rumble as I daydream about sweet custards decorated with marigolds and rich puddings laced with rose petals. The fourth is empty and is being nourished for future planting. I notice that the soil is a completely different colour to that of the Fens. I’d describe it as an amber clay.
After sitting for a while, my curiosity is ignited when I notice a large wooden door partially hidden in the furthest corner. As I approach, I can hear voices in the distance. The temptation to investigate is just too strong to resist. On passing through the doorway, I am confronted by a completely different landscape to the one that I just arrived by. I can see three wooden outbuildings and four fish ponds. This must be where the brothers prepare their food. As I pass, they are all very pleasant and greet me as ‘Sister’.
I wander from building to building. The first is quite small and has fish hooks and sheathed knives hanging from the walls. The second has quern stones and a great number of bags of corn ready to be ground into flour. The third is lined with shelves full of pots and bowls, but the most interesting is the brewing shed. As I pass by, I notice a brother within. His black robe is entirely covered with grain and his sleeves are rolled up to just above his elbows. He is unlike any brother that I have ever seen before, as he has a big bushy moustache and a thick mop of dark brown hair. He nods in recognition, but continues to stir the steaming vat in front of him. From deep within the cloisters, I hear a solitary bell ring out. I expect that it’s announcing that the evening meal is ready to be served, so I head back to the hall in search of the others.
When I arrive, I am greeted by happy faces all around, apart from Alard and Pip, who are sitting slightly apart from the others and looking nervous. I decide to sit next to Davy, who is cleaning his boots.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”
“Oh, yes, it was such a difficult walk today.”
We are joined almost immediately by Brother Prior, who is obviously preparing to make an announcement. After clearing his throat, he kindly announces, albeit quietly, that the warming room and washing troughs are open to all. “Our brothers have made alternative arrangements and you are most welcome to refresh yourselves. If you would like to go now, everything is ready.”
With that, we are led away by a thin wiry brother whose body language betrays the fact that he’s unhappy with the arrangements. Agnes is the first to enter the warming room and, by the look on her face, I expect that she will be the last to leave. Once inside, I realise why. The warming room has thick stone walls, which are painted a deep earthy colour. It’s sumptuous beyond belief and more suited to a private residence than a priory. A roaring fire burns in the hearth, and bowls of hot water and herbs have been placed all around. Taking a fine linen towel from the basket, I wash my hands and face before retiring to a seat to wait for the others. Once everyone has washed, we reluctantly leave the warming room behind.
Outside, we are met by the same brother, who escorts us back to the hall. When we enter, we are directed to our seats at the long table, which is groaning with vegetable dishes and fritters. Before eating, I survey the company. I am pleased to be sitting next to Alard. It seems an age since we last spoke.
“Have you had a good day?” I ask.
“Yes, Bethany, I’m pleased to say that I have. I joined Ned and Brother Alassi hunting for rabbits. Neither of us were very good, but Brother Alassi caught at least twenty. We dropped them off at the kitchen on the way back. They have been made into pottage and will be served next.”
Our conversation is cut short by Ned, who has risen to his feet and started singing at the top of his voice. I suspect that the ale is far too strong. I do hope that he will keep his songs clean and not embarrass us tonight.
***
My suspicions were correct – the ale was far too strong and now my head is spinning. Oh, how I wish I could go back to sleep, but there’s no chance of that as the Gilbertine nuns are passing among us, offering prayers for the new morning. By the look of Ned, he will need more than prayers. He was far too loud last night and collapsed into a drunken heap in the middle of the hall. Owain and Pip had to help him to his bed.
Sitting up, he looks less than pleased as the sisters are seeking volunteers to help prepare the feast. “Good morrow, my name’s Sister Lucy and I’m joined by Sisters Jane and Constance. Now, let’s arrange ourselves into groups of four. Many hands make light work and we don’t want to waste the day, do we?”
After much shuffling, the groups are formed. Only Pip withdraws to the side of the hall.
“The jobs are to stoke the hearth and keep the ash even. To heat the wax in the caldron. To cut the cords for the wicks and to build a stock to hang the candles from. Lastly, we need dippers, to dip the candles.”
Anne and I look at each other in surprise, as Robin has come alive. “Please, Sister, I would like to volunteer to heat the wax. I do this at home and I have the knack.” Robin smiles from ear to ear.
The hours pass and a feeling of relaxed calm is enhanced by Sister Agatha, who is sitting in the corner, under the wooden canopy of the gallery, gently plucking her lute. The gallery is finer than most with intricate carvings adorned by gold leaf. It’s like everything else in this priory – ostentatious and designed to impress. I decide to join the dippers. Sitting quietly next to Robin is a pleasure as his face radiates happiness. Now that the preparations are well under way, I’m so excited! I just can’t wait to see the hall and the chapel tomorrow, when the bowers are hung and the windows are decorated with fruit and candles. I have heard that tonight we will pass the evening solemnly in prayers, in preparation for tomorrow’s feast. In keeping with this contemplative mood, our food and drink will be plain and simple. Bread and watered ale will be eaten in silence.
As the sun rises, so does the excitement. Even Ned, having regained his cheerful outlook, is helping with the final touches. On completion, the chapel looks beautiful. Candles dance and the greenery sparkles. Brothers now stand side by side along each wall, while the sisters are seated at the front. Most of us sit on the floor, apart from Agnes, who has cheekily occupied a stool in the corner.
Once we are all settled, Brother Prior takes his place at the front. “Brothers, sisters and pilgrims, today we are feasting in the memory of the Blessed Martyr, St Thomas Becket. A man of deep principles, he fought for justice, truth and love. Alas, he was martyred for his beliefs. His body may have been broken, but his spirit joined the Lord. Since then, he has delivered a series of miracles. With this in mind, let us join together and keep our silence. During this time, I invite you to contemplate on your imperfections and those things that you seek to change.”
Brother Prior’s words resonate with me. For a while, I have been thinking about my old life at home. No matter how much I miss my family and friends, I do not wish to go back. This pilgrimage has opened my eyes. The people that I have met have all been so different. Their differences intrigue me. I have almost, but not quite, decided that I would like to devote my life to being a pilgrim’s guide. My eyes may be a little dim, but my heart is bright and devoted to the Lord. I could support others. Maybe people like myself or those who are old and frail. I could accompany them on their journeys, or I could even carry out pilgrimages on behalf of others.
“Children, please finish your contemplation and stand. Our brothers will now sing a Te Deum. We will remember those who have departed this life.”
The singing begins and I find it impossible to stand still. My body sways in time to the rhythm. After the Te Deum, the communion begins. The breaking of the bread and the taking of the wine feels intense today and far more meaningful than ever before. Afterwards, the mood in the chapel is elevated from one of sombreness to one of joy and celebration. The rest of the day will be spent celebrating the holy miracles.
The hall is every bit as beautiful as the chapel. It must have been decorated while we were in the service, as bowers now hang at each end of the hall and three very long tables take pride of place. Each has been dressed with white linen and decorated with greenery and white roses. Even the roof timbers have been bound with greenery and white rosebuds. What a lovely surprise! Among the greenery and the timbers hangs an elaborate lamp, which burns brightly.
Once everyone is seated, Brother Prior begins, “Children of the Lord, please celebrate this day. First, we will feast, then we will sing and, lastly, we will all join hands and dance around the hearth before the brothers and sisters retire. You are most welcome to continue the revelries without us and yes, Ned, you are welcome to play the shawm.”
Everyone laughs. The feast is magnificent! My favourite dish is a large gingerbread, which has been cleverly crafted into the shape of a checkerboard. Honey, cinnamon and black pepper have all been carefully combined to imitate the taste of ginger, as the fresh root is unavailable at the moment, especially with Brandon being out of bounds. How strange; I had forgotten the outside world completely until this moment.
Once every crumb has been eaten and the tables cleared away, the dancing begins. Surprisingly, Brother Prior is the first to his feet. “Let’s join in a circle and hold hands. Yes, that right. Now we will all move seven steps to the left and clap. Then, we will move seven steps to the right and clap.”
I notice that the flames dance with us. It’s funny how something so simple can cause so much laughter. Agnes, not knowing her left from her right, is now clasping her arms to her body and pointing both ways. Confusion spreads and, before long, no one is quite sure which way to go. This is the first time I have seen Pip smile. It’s also the first time I have noticed that he wears a pendant. My thoughts are dragged back to Agnes, who is now singing a song associated to the harvest. She is also making hand signals to signify the falling rain. Everyone laughs heartily, while Alard and Oxherd join in.
After the singing, we are invited outside to watch as a huge ceremonial bonfire is lit. The fire represents life and rebirth – a beacon of God’s presence. I am sure that all our hearts are alight at this very moment and that we shine as brightly as the beacon. As the wood burns to a cinder, we return to the hall where a wassail bowl has been prepared. We pass it among ourselves and honour our friendship.
Afterwards, the brothers and sisters depart, almost unnoticed. My, oh my, what a feast day. I will never forget it for as long as I live. I am now consumed by sleep, but not wanting to spoil the celebrations for the others, I retreat to the furthest corner of the hall and sink into a fleece. It’s warm and comfortable, so I remove my boots and settle down for the night. The music washes over me and I drift off.
***
When I wake, I realise that some are nursing sore heads, while others are nursing sore feet, but no one is complaining – far from it. Everyone has a spring in their step, for today we travel to Bodney to the manor of Sir William Oldhall, our lord’s chamberlain. Unfortunately, the weather does not match our mood as a thick mist has descended. It shrouds both the trees and the land. With it comes a dampness, which chills me to the bone. The sky is foreboding and marbled with dark-grey clouds. It seems an age before the clouds part and the sun peeps through.
On our way, we pass field after field of cows. Never before have I seen so many all in one place. They must surely belong to a priory or a manor. Sitting on the ground, with their legs wrapped beneath them, the scene is one of contentment, but I fear that is all about to change.
“Look, Bethany, over there.” Owain points towards a very small cow, who is obviously in a playful mood. We laugh, as the little grey and brown cow runs, jumps and frolics.
“Owain, I think that we should name him Smudge. What do you think?”
“Yes, that seems an appropriate name.”
Owain smiles as Smudge, not content to play on his own, is now running at full speed toward a rather large bull, which he eventually barges into. Oh, how we laugh as the bull majestically rises and walks away, leaving Smudge confused.
Owain says, with a wry smile, “I think that instead of Smudge, he should be called Ned.” We both chuckle and nod in agreement.
The last leg of the walk to Bodney is across flat fields, which have been sectioned off with wattle fences. As we pass, I notice that there are pigs of all ages. They squeal for our attention as they roll in the wet ground next to the feeding troughs. On the horizon, I can see a long single-storey church, which stands proudly on the rising ground. To the east runs a small rivulet and to the west is the manor house. As we approach the west gable of the church, I notice that there is a small stone arch under the thatch, which houses a bell. It appears to be concealed. How strange!
At the porch, we are met by a rather rotund man, who is dressed in fine robes. He announces in a ringing tone, “Hello, I am Father Denning. Please let me welcome you to St Mary’s church and the manor of Bodney. Brother Prior, how lovely of you to visit us. It has been an age since we last saw each other. I am looking forward to hearing all the news, but, for now, let’s walk together. I have been asked to show you the way to the great hall within Sir William’s house.”
As we walk, I notice that poor Father Denning’s back is so bent that it’s impossible for him to straighten up. Upon entering, I realise that the hall is by far the grandest I have ever seen. The most striking feature is the great window at the farthest end. Its very size dictates that it’s designed for decoration and not for defence. Sir William’s crest takes centre stage. It depicts a white rampant lion standing proud against a background of red and blue. Above the lion’s head is a sparkling silver helm, decorated with plumes of red and grey feathers, while below there is a motto, ‘Parle bien ou parle rien’. Owain explains that this is French for ‘Speak well or speak nothing’, which means ‘If you don’t have anything good to say, then don’t speak at all’.
At the bottom of the window, as far left as possible, there is a small coloured pane, which looks completely out of place. It depicts a wolf’s head. This image needs no explanation, as I know this to be a sign of someone who gives good service to its master through wit and dexterity. It also depicts strength and valour. I know this because it’s a rarely used device of the Mortimer family.
By a strange coincidence, Pip approaches me as I gaze upon the wolf’s head. “Bethany, please may I speak to you in private?”
“Yes, of course.”
Pip leads me from the hall, out across the gravel and back in the direction of the church. We enter through a small doorway and, as we do, I manage to catch a closer glimpse of his pendant. To my surprise, it’s an enamelled wolf’s head.
“Bethany, please do not be alarmed by what I am going to tell you. Very shortly, we will be entering the presence of Sir William Oldhall and one other. I cannot stress enough how confidential this meeting is and how it’s never to be spoken about. You can tell no one. Nothing must ever be divulged. Lives hang in the balance. Do you vouch to remain silent? I must know before we proceed. Please tell me now?”
“Yes, Pip, I vouch my allegiance with a whole heart and I promise to never mention a word of it to anyone, ever.” Then, I remember what I’m carrying and I wonder if it holds any significance. “Pip, there is something I would like to show you. My mother gave it to me just before she died.” Fumbling in my satchel, I locate my leather purse and pull it out, before emptying the contents into Pip’s hand.
Pip smiles as he examines the matching wolf pendant. “Thank you, Bethany, I had hoped that you would recognise mine and realise the significance. Now I can tell you who the other person is.” Pip coughs to clear his throat and says with pride, “The other person is Richard, Duke of York.”
Shock courses through my body and immediately my legs begin to buckle.
Pip catches me as I fall. “Bethany, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m just a little frightened, as I really don’t understand what’s happening. All I know for certain is that we wear the same pendant and that we share the same allegiances. I have always been told that one day the pendant may save my life. Are our lives in danger? Is Duke Richard’s life in danger?”
Pip’s face goes ashen as he replies, “Unfortunately, yes. Duke Richard’s position is perilous.”
I manage to recover a little before we walk in silence towards the chancel. It’s at this point where we leave the church through a concealed doorway. Before us stands a tiny cottage. At the threshold, we knock and are greeted by Father Denning, who ushers us in quickly before locking the door behind us. “Come, please follow me.”
Inside, a hearty fire burns in the hearth. To the left of the hearth is a large table and three chairs and to the right is a wooden trunk. The trunk causes me to stop, as we have one exactly the same at home. It was my mothers. We keep it covered with a blue linen cloth and a variety of caskets. I have never looked inside, but I believe that it contains a collection of parchment rolls. I only know this much as I spied on my father one night when he was depositing a roll.
Father Denning’s words wake me from my thoughts. “Bethany, please be seated.”
I do so immediately, grateful to rest my shaking legs. At this point, Pip retreats to the doorway, unsheathes his dagger and stands on guard. Ahead of me, the tapestry curtains open and in walks a tall, sturdy figure. He’s wearing an emerald-green brocade gown with a matching French-style head covering. Both items are finely pleated and lined with ermine. At his waist, he wears a thick brown leather belt and on his feet are sturdy brown riding boots. His face is plump and he has deep worry lines around his eyes.
“Good day, Mistress Bethany.”
I rise immediately and curtsey as low as possible out of respect. He takes both of my hands and holds them tightly. Deep down, I feel as if I know him.
“Do you recognise me, Bethany?”
“I think so, but I must be wrong.” I shake my head and try to make sense of the situation.
“Who do you think I am?”
“Well, you look like my uncle William?”
For the first time, he smiles. “You are right and I am touched that you have remembered me, for it was a very long time ago when we met. You were only a child. Your mother, my youngest sister, moved away when she married your father. We kept in touch right up to the very end of her life, but your father, although loyal, has never been friendly towards me. He asked that I stay away from you. He was concerned that you would become a pawn in my world, where allegiances change almost daily. Reluctantly, I did as he asked, but I have kept a close eye on you ever since. It was I who made sure that you were taught to read and write. I also forbid him to marry you off without my permission.” At this moment, Alard steps through the curtain. My mind begins to spin. I do not understand. “Bethany, please do not be alarmed. Alard is my man.”
Alard bows before joining Pip by the door. He also unsheathes his dagger. “Bethany, please be seated.” As Sir William pulls his hands away, I notice that the sleeves of his gown are inlaid with blue silk. I take my seat and wait. The curtain draws back once more and a man that I recognise as Roger walks in. Roger is not overly tall and he is very slender, with short blond hair and blue eyes. I am very confused. My eyes dart back and forth uncontrollably. I try to stand but I am asked to remain seated by Sir William.
Father Denning enters and the curtain closes once more, but, as it does, I notice that there are two armed guards on the other side of the curtain. I wonder where Duke Richard is.
Sir William is the first to speak. “Oh, Bethany. You melt my heart, for in your eyes I can see my sister. I can also see disappointment and confusion. You are searching the room for Duke Richard and you cannot find him. Well, search no longer. Please let me introduce you.”
“Sorry, but I do not understand.”
The man I know as Roger steps forward and takes my hand. “Bethany, please accept my sincere apologies. I am so sorry for deceiving you in the past, but my name’s not Roger. That was my grandfather’s name. I am Richard, Duke of York.”
I rise and try to curtsey, but the shock makes me wobble and I sway back and forth.
In an instance, the duke steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “Bethany, please sit and do not worry about such formalities.” With these words, he gently lowers me to my seat. “I already know that your heart is true and that you have an unfaltering loyalty to me. I am truly sorry for such deceptions, especially as your mother was so kind and welcoming. She allowed me to use your home as a safe haven and refuge for many years, even though your father was unfriendly and never wanted me. Now, trouble rises once more, but this time shelter is harder to find. I am travelling north to my castle at Sandal. King Henry’s physicians have openly proclaimed that his mind is free from the malady that has plagued him and now Queen Margaret is on the warpath once more. She has seized power – power that is not hers to seize.” The duke’s eyes now darken with anger. “She has incited the Lord Egremond and my own son-in-law, Lord Exeter, to rise up. Exeter is foolish, easily led and cannot discern the truth. I have tried to reason with him, but he has gone too far this time. If something’s not done soon, these traitorous lords and our vengeful queen will tear this country apart. If she gains full power, she will be unstoppable. As it is, the king is at risk of death. She is obsessed and will stop at nothing. Her only desire is that her child, Edward, Prince of Wales, sits upon the throne.”
I lean forward. “Please, may I ask… is your life in danger?”
“Yes, Bethany, but I owe a debt of allegiance to my country and my ancestors to do the right thing. Where others refuse to act, I will not.”
I sit back as I try to make sense of what I have just been told. I am saddened by the news, but not surprised.
Sir William breaks the silence. “Bethany, are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, please forgive me. I was just trying to regain my calm. I am angry that false lords should prey and assist the queen.”
“Bethany, will you serve us? We will make sure that you are kept safe.”
“Of course, you need not ask me. I volunteer to assist in any way that I can. I will gladly serve.”
The duke’s eyes change once more. This time, they are filled with compassion. “Thank you, Bethany, I am eternally grateful.”
My heart skips a beat as the duke walks towards me. I just cannot help myself; I stand automatically. To my surprise, he gently grasps both of my hands and looks into my eyes. “I will see you again when I return south, but for now I must say farewell. Sir William will go through the details with you. Time is precious and I must be gone.” With that, he kisses my hands and leaves.
Sitting once more, Sir William joins me. In his left hand, he holds a letter that is sealed with wax and imprinted with the duke’s device. It’s almost as long as my hand and tied with a pale-blue velvet ribbon. “This letter needs to be delivered into the hands of Brother James Longhorn, who resides at the House of the Friars Minor in Little Walsingham. No one outside of this room must ever know of its existence and no one must ever see you pass it over to him. We suspect that one, maybe two or even more, of your group are members of the Stanley Household.”
I gasp at the very thought of treachery. Who could it be? Have I spoken ill-thought words to anyone? Previous conversations run through my head.
Sir William, seeing the shock on my face, allows me a few moments of silence to rest before continuing, “This very household have attempted to trap the duke on his return from Ireland. Now we fear that they are planning another ambush. We must act first and we must act fast.”
The letter weighs heavy in my hand. With concealment at the front of my mind, I decide to hide the letter inside one of my old leather boots and then pack the boot at the bottom of my leather satchel. I place everything else on top. This way, I will be able to remove the items I need without arousing suspicion. Lastly, I replace my wolf pendant in its leather pouch and tuck it safely inside a small pocket. Sensing that it’s time to leave, I stand once more.
“Farewell, dear niece. Take care and I look forward to seeing you when your pilgrimage and mission has been completed.” Instinctively, he holds me tightly in his arms and, for a moment, the world stops. Our goodbye is painful. Thoughts of my mother flood over me. Once Sir William and Alard depart through the curtain, Pip and I say farewell to Father Denning and retrace our footsteps to the church. Once inside, we sit in silence. That way, anyone seeing us will simply assume that we had been in the depths of meditation and prayer. We do not have to wait very long as we are soon joined by Ned.
“Here you both are. We were beginning to think that you had disappeared. Is everything well?”
“We have been praying for a safe journey.” Pip’s words are warm and soothing. They hold no hint of deception. All the while, I keep a steady gaze upon the altar. “Refreshments are ready in the hall; we should make a move.”
Pip leads the way and I follow. The evening passes pleasantly and the conversations are joyful, but I cannot help but wonder who the traitors may be.
***
When the morning sun breaks through the heavy clouds, I decide to explore the grounds on my own before breaking my fast. I need to clear my head before rejoining the others. On my return, I am pleased to learn that we are being treated to duck eggs fried in butter. They are very fresh and their yokes ooze all over my fried bread. For extra taste, I use a little coarse salt.
Nearing the end of breakfast, Sir William enters the hall. He is dressed immaculately and needs no introduction. Owain is the first to stand and bow, and it’s the fanciest bow that I’ve ever seen – right down to the floor and back again. Sir William acknowledges his gesture with an amused smile before saying, “Good health and happiness to you all. I hear from Brother Prior that you will be on your way today. Walsingham awaits and I believe that you have many stops ahead of you. Most of these will be in hostels or religious establishments. Therefore, please make sure that you have your letter of pilgrimage ready for inspection. From here, each place will affix a wax seal to your letter. It’s a formality, nothing more, but it will provide you with an everlasting keepsake of your pilgrimage.”
A thought springs to mind. The seals, although beautiful, will certainly provide providence, but they will also change the very nature of the letters. They will become powerful documents, depicting our route and stopping places. And what if the seals are being added for another reason? They may be a clever ruse – a way of checking everyone’s identity, identifying not only your name but your manor.
Sir William bids farewell and departs. He is obviously very skilled at showing no emotion, for he does so without a flicker of recognition as he passes me.