As we prepare for the day ahead, we are joined by another. He is introduced to us as Charlemain, a local guide, who will accompany us to Walsingham. I like the look of Charlemain. He has a kind face, a bright smile, and a warm and friendly way about him, although I do wonder how he will manage to walk such a long way as he appears to be very old. I ponder on his appearance and how it brings to mind Chaucer’s pardoner. Like the pardoner, his height makes him stoop and he walks with the aid of a staff. His withered hands are swollen at the knuckles and his cheeks are red and weather-beaten. While inspecting him further, I notice that his boots are a patchwork of different coloured leathers. Most are faded, but a couple appear to be new. His soles appear to be reinforced with three layers of leather. This is an obvious sign that he walks a great deal and that the roads may be constructed of clay – a material that is well known for damaging leather soles. The peat of the Fens was soft and cushioning; I do hope that the last leg of the journey is not as painful as the gravel at Barkway.
Before leaving, Charlemain explains, “From now on, everywhere we visit will be of religious or historic significance. We will visit elaborately decorated churches and encounter a variety of Doom paintings. There will be mysterious symbols and relics, too, and if you will allow me, I’ll endeavour to explain their meanings. So, for those of you who wish to hear about such things, please stay at the front with me, and for those who seek peace and seclusion, please travel at the back of our party. I am well aware that each person has their own reasons for going on a pilgrimage and I would not like to interfere.”
After much shuffling back and forth, we are ready to leave. In a scene reminiscent of Noah’s Ark, we leave Sir William’s manor in a long line, travelling in pairs, via a beautiful hollow way peppered with wildflowers. As we depart, I notice a member of Sir William’s household hurl a wooden barrel into the moat. How strange; it sunk without trace. I wonder what was in it.
“Now, dear friends, we are approaching the first mystical place on our journey. It’s an ancient cemetery comprising of three burial mounds. People have lived here ever since the time of the Roman invasion, hundreds of years ago. If you look carefully in the soil, you may be fortunate enough to find items that they left behind. Whenever the fields are ploughed, more items appear. Last year, I found a gold coin and a broach in this very field.”
It seems to me that Charlemain is very well versed in this story, as he has just produced both items from his pocket. I hold the broach and marvel at the workmanship. Continuing, we pass the location of a Roman villa, before joining what Charlemain explains to be a Roman road.
It feels as though Charlemain is reading my mind when he says, “Not only are we walking on a Roman road, but it’s a settlement boundary. Over there lies the settlement of Threxton and far away, in the distance, is Thetford. Have any of you been to Thetford?” It seems not, as there is a flurry of shaking heads. Charlemain continues, “That’s a pity, as Thetford is a fine town with a wealthy priory and hundreds of thriving pottery kilns. Thetford ware is very popular in London and Colchester, and you will see plenty of it on your journey. In fact, Thetford is a very busy town for many different reasons. Pilgrims use it as a gateway not only to Walsingham, but to Bishops’ Lynn in the west.”
I am enthralled by Charlemain’s commentary, as there’s so much to learn, but I doubt the same can be said for Cecily and Anne, as they keep whispering and giggling. It’s all very embarrassing and I suspect that they have lost interest already. I do hope that Charlemain is not offended. Again, it seems that Charlemain has read my mind.
“I am not offended, mistress. It’s rare nowadays that I find anyone who is interested in my ramblings.”
“Oh, Charlemain, please do not say such a thing. Your knowledge is enlightening and brings the landscape to life.”
We walk on in the knowledge that the others will soon fade away. I cannot say that this saddens me – in fact, it’s quite the opposite. It’s really rather nice to know that soon I will be the sole beneficiary of Charlemain’s knowledge and I’ll be able to ask as many questions as I please.
Charlemain, determined to try one last time, raises his right hand. “Friends, we are approaching Dead Morris Hill. The spirits of our ancestors roam freely at this place. If you listen carefully, you may hear them as we pass.”
Silence falls as we continue. More burial mounds give way to an extremely long barrow. I cannot tell the exact length, but it must be the length of at least fifteen people laying end to end, and as many as seven or maybe eight people wide. The structure, which is mainly hidden, appears to consist of dry stones that have been laid in such a way as to make it watertight. It is draped in grass and mosses.
Charlemain breaks the silence, “Although we can only see one entrance, there are more hidden away. Sometimes there are two, sometimes there are three. These entrances lead to the burial chamber where the bodies were ceremonially deposited.”
For a moment, we stop to pay our respects. I decide to leave the group and offer a silver coin to the spirits as a mark of respect. Others scoff at my actions, but I ignore them. Returning to the group, we begin to walk once more.
“Friends, it is not too many miles to Mundford where we will rest for the night.” Charlemain smiles as he delivers his words, but his eyes appear empty.
Anne has disgraced herself along the way and he is rightly annoyed at her state. I am also rather fed up with her behaviour and I am starting to doubt her. How could she have drunk so much ale while breaking her fast. Or did she fill her flask and drink while walking? How can she act like this on a pilgrimage? Due to Anne’s condition, it takes far longer to reach Mundford than expected. In her drunken state, she continues to sway all over the place until she finally slumps against a tree. Being such a large woman, I doubt that anyone will attempt to carry her, so we could be here for quite a while.
The light has started to fade, but at least we have made it. I was beginning to worry. Our destination for the night is a hostel located next to St Leonard’s church. Looking at it, I’m a little confused as it has the appearance of a large manor house, set within a moated enclosure. In my mind, moats are associated with castles, not hostels. On arrival, we are met by a slim young lady dressed in a dark-brown kirtle, over which she wears a tabard. I wonder to myself what she’s been doing as her tabard is completely covered by a layer of fine grey dust, as is her coif and her pretty face. Her hands, however, are perfectly clean.
“Charlemain, my dearest friend, I hope that you are well?”
“Hello, Lucy. I am very well and pleased to see you. Unfortunately, you were not here when I passed through last time.”
Lucy explains to Charlemain that she had been living in her workshop recently and that she rarely ventures out nowadays. A few weeks ago, she received an urgent missive from Sir William requesting that she produce one thousand pewter livery badges, two of which are to be enamelled, and a fine silver bracelet, as quickly as possible. While they are talking, I notice that her eyes are bloodshot and tired.
“Please let me take you to my mother. She is within and has prepared a meal for you all.”
“Thank you, Lucy, you are so kind.”
The hostel is warm and welcoming, and is obviously used to catering for large numbers of pilgrims, as a great many dishes are laid out in readiness. I can see parsley bread, cheese and salted eggs, and two large jugs of ale. I do hope that Anne refrains from drinking any more. After helping myself to a large chunk of parsley bread and noticing that Lucy is sitting in the corner on her own, I decide to go over and say hello.
“Mistress Lucy, I am Bethany. Please may I join you?”
Lucy smiles broadly, her red eyes sparkling. “How lovely, of course you can. It will be wonderful to have some company. I have been on my own for so many days now and I get very lonely.”
“Your work sounds fascinating. I have always wondered how livery badges are made. Please could you tell me?”
“Of course, but please let me know if I bore you. I’m so proud of my work that I tend to go on a little.”
“Oh, you could never bore me, I love to learn.”
“Well, the first thing I have to do is make the moulds. I do this by carving the design into some soapstone. It’s very soft and produces a lot of dust, which I then need to wipe away with a damp piece of linen. I use a selection of knives for the carving – it all depends on how fine the detail is to be. The design I’m working on at the moment is a five-leaf rose sitting inside a fetterlock. The rose has one large section, one small section and five leaves. The fetterlock is closed and is decorated with dots and binding. There are cut-outs, too. This makes the rose stand proud. Even though I say so myself, the design is beautiful. Then, to make sure that the moulds work, I make a wax impression. To do this, I pour melted beeswax into the mould. When the wax has cooled and hardened, I ease the badge out to inspect it. Sometimes things go perfectly and I can keep the mould, but other times I have to throw it away and start again. My work is governed by the Pewterers Guild, you see, and if I were to produce shoddy work, I would be heavily fined and our lord would be most displeased with me.”
From everything that Lucy has said, it is clear that she is also loyal to our lord as the badge she is making is his device.
Lucy continues, “When I am ready to make the real badges, I have to mix the powdered lead, copper and tin to make the pewter. Then, I heat it gently in my large cauldron. This is the trickiest part, as I have to stir it constantly and make sure that there are no lumps. I also have to make sure that I don’t overheat it, otherwise the pewter will turn brown and be ruined. Once the mixture is ready, I use a ladle to pour it into the mould. Then, finally, I push a pin into the pewter and leave the pin to harden. I try to make sure that all the badges are left for as long as possible before I remove them, just to make sure that they are as hard as possible. Then, all I have to do is polish them and pack them in linen bags.”
“Oh, Lucy, that’s such a lot of work, especially on your own. You must be shattered all the time.”
“Yes, I am, but our lord is in great need and all his men need to be clearly identified when the time comes.” We look at each other with fear on our faces. “But for now, Bethany, let’s enjoy this evening.” We quickly change the conversation and spend the rest of the evening talking and laughing until sleep becomes impossible to avoid.
***
When I wake in the morning, Lucy has gone – I presume to her workshop. By my side is a small linen bag, which has been tied with pale-blue laces. Inside, there is a fine silver bracelet and a note, which reads, ‘My dearest Bethany, please take this with you as a reminder of me and our lord. He wishes that you wear it always.’
My heart leaps with joy and sadness. Sadness that I may never see Lucy again and joy that our lord has given me such a beautiful gift. I secure it on my wrist, before turning it this way and that. As I move it, I notice that a small falcon motif has been carved into the clasp. I vow never to remove it. I am bought back to the present by Charlemain’s words.
“My friends, it’s time for us to leave. Today, we are set for Ickburgh. It’s a gentle walk and very beautiful one.”
Indeed, the walk proves to be an extremely pleasant one, which is punctuated with tales from Charlemain. I am glad to say that I now have him all to myself. I know that certain members of our party mock us both, but let them do as they please. Far from being deterred, I take delight in being able to ask even more questions. I’m engaged in something far deeper than a religious pilgrimage; I’m on a quest for knowledge, a quest to know myself and, ever since Bodney, a quest to protect my lord from his enemies.
“Ickburgh is a most splendid town, Bethany. It belongs to the Honour of Clare and has passed through the Mortimer and de Bohun families for hundreds of years. It’s a delightful place to visit and there are so many sights of interest that I would like to point out along the way. To be honest, I’m rather excited at the prospect of sharing them with you. It’s so nice to have someone to travel with who is actually interested. Most who travel this way don’t seem to care. They just want to have time away from their manors to eat, drink and dice.”
I nod my head in agreement, as I have suspected this all along.
Almost immediately, Charlemain raises his hand and points towards a flint wall. “I expect that you have seen a great deal of flint since leaving Weeting. It’s such a marvellous material. When it comes out of the ground, it’s just a dull lump of brown stone and to those with no knowledge it can quite easily be overlooked. Only when it’s broken open does its beauty become visible to the naked eye. It’s very hard-wearing and it can be used in so many different ways. Mainly in the construction of buildings, but – this is the interesting part – it can also be used to create mosaics. Small decorations that can be imbued with secret meanings and codes. I doubt that we understand all of the meanings nowadays, as many will have been lost in the mists of time, but the ones that remain speak louder than words.”
“Do you mean they can act like livery badges?”
“Yes, they can show allegiances, but they can also be used to signpost the way, to offer guidance and, most importantly, to warn of danger.”
My mind begins to race and excitement rushes through me, as I have never heard of mosaics before. “Charlemain, please do tell, where do I look for these signs?”
“Everywhere, my dearest, although they are mainly found on churches and inns. I will point them out as I see them.”
When we arrive at Ickburgh, the first buildings that we see are those belonging to the Lepers House. Slightly set back from the road, they appear dark and desolate. My eyes scour the horizon for lost souls, but I can see none. I wonder how many live there? In my mind, I imagine the inflicted to be shuffling around in the manner of ghosts, clad in dying skin, which is melting and falling off. I cross myself while remembering the Doom painting in the church at home. It shows people with broken bodies and mouths gaping. They are trapped in purgatory, with the fires of hell burning all around them. I wonder if that’s how it feels to be a leper? I drag my mind from such thoughts, as they are just too terrible for words.
Charlemain, calling everyone together, makes an announcement, “Friends, please heed my words. Very shortly we are to walk through a flood plain. I have been informed that it’s mainly dry at the moment and that the sinking pits of winter are no longer a problem, but please keep an eye out for the springs that bubble up through the surface, as these can make the ground heavy. Once we have crossed the flood plain, we will then cross the river. This can be done in two ways and the decision is yours for the making. The old bridge is rickety but free, whereas the new bridge will cost you a coin. Unfortunately, I do not know exactly how much it will cost as it’s kept by a hermit belonging to the House of Lepers, but I can ask when we arrive.”
Charlemain’s words ring true, for as we cross the flood plain, springs bubble forth and make the mud slippery – so much so that I can feel my feet sinking into the sticky clay. The two bridges come into sight and not a moment too soon. I, for one, will be glad of the respite. On viewing the two bridges, I decide that it’s well worth parting with a coin to arrive in one piece. So, it seems, does Pip and Charlemain. The others decide to take their chances with the old bridge. They stream over it, one after the other. Suddenly, I hear a noise.
“Oh no, what’s that loud creaking I can hear?” Looking to my left, I can see large beams of wood falling from the old bridge into the river.
Pip begins to shout, “Get off the bridge quickly. Get off! There are too many of you on it. Why, oh why, did you all choose to cross at the same time? Charlemain warned you that it was rickety.” Exasperated, he turns to Charlemain, “All this, for the sake of saving a coin.”
The creaking suddenly becomes an explosion. Bodies fall into the water. Manic screams and cries of despair fill the air. The scene is just too chaotic to comprehend.
“How many are in the water?” Ned’s call is distinctive.
Frustratingly, I cannot hear the answer. Neither can I see clearly enough to count for myself. There are so many clinging to each other that it’s almost impossible for me to distinguish who’s who, but – praise the Lord – I can see Alard dragging Ethel onto the riverbank. She’s crying, but I decide that’s a good sign, as it means that her lungs are clear of water. It’s often the silent ones who need the most attention. I can also see Cecily, but there is no sign of Anne. We run to their aid.
Among the sobbing I can hear someone say, “Why didn’t we cross the new bridge?” I ponder on this and conclude that all would have been well if it hadn’t been for the other group that tried to cross at the same time.
Pip calls to me, “Bethany, please be still. It’s extremely slippery and I fear that you may fall. Please wait for me and I will help you.”
I do as Pip asks. While waiting, I watch as Anne’s lifeless body is hauled from the water. Cecily begins to sob, crying, “She’s dead. She’s dead!” before falling to the ground in despair. Ned immediately drops to his knees and holds his head close to hers, so close that he can feel for her breath on his cheek. “No, she lives.”
In all the commotion I had not noticed the arrival of the hermit. He has with him a wooden sledge. Immediately, Anne’s lifeless body is heaved onto its wooden slats. I do not know whether the main problem is her water-filled garments or her weighty body. Either way, the task appears cumbersome and affords her little dignity. When we begin to move again, I notice that the men are finding it hard to shift the sledge.
“Pip, where are we going?”
“To the chapel of St Mary at Newbrigge. Once I am content that Anne is safe and that Ethel is fully recovered, we will be on our way again. I have no desire for us to spend a night here.”
On our arrival, many nuns are on hand to care for everyone, but in particularly Anne, who appears grey and waxen. As we enter the gloom of the chapel, Cecily becomes hysterical again. “Tell me, will she live? Will she live?”
These words appear to anger the head nun. “Please do not speak such words. She may wake and hear you. The shock could cause her heart to stop beating. Now, please calm yourself and do not fret. We will take good care of your friend. Sister Annette and myself will sit with her until she regains consciousness, then we will call for the apothecary who will tend to her. Afterwards, she will be transported to a safe house within the grounds. She will come to no harm, as the lepers do not roam the grounds.”
Looking on the scene before me, I am surprised to feel such detachment. I certainly wish Anne no harm, but I sense that something is amiss. Turning towards the doorway, I notice that Pip has returned and is holding Anne’s bedraggled possessions. He must have collected them from the riverbank. From the look on his face, I have the feeling that he’s found something that displeases him.
Charlemain, also noting Pip’s presence, shifts his weight from side to side. “Well, everyone, I think that the time has come for us to leave. We are all present and correct, are we not? Ethel, I can see that you have new clothes, courtesy of the nuns, and the colour in your face has returned. If we make a move now, the shock will disperse quicker than if we wait. Aches and pains will slow our progress enough as it is.”
Cecily begins to scream and stamp her feet.
“Cecily, please calm yourself. I know that you are distressed, but we must go. Anne is safe and the nuns have assured us that they will keep us informed of her condition.”
Not wishing to witness another scene, I take my leave. I just cannot understand why Cecily is acting the way she is. Outside, I join the rest of our party and wait for those inside to emerge. When they do, I notice that Cecily’s face is a deep shade of red and her eyes are black. I cannot determine whether this is anger or sadness. My mind begins to race. What on earth could have caused her to become so hysterical? Is there more to this than meets the eye? Could Anne and Cecily be the traitors among us? Do they threaten our lord’s life? If so, who is the main perpetrator, Anne or Cecily? Or is someone else involved? Somehow, through my confusion, inspiration hits me and the way forward becomes clear. I know what I’ll do. In future, instead of watching everyone from afar, I will befriend them each evening and see if I can learn their secrets. I will trust no one but Pip and, to a certain extent, Charlemain.
As we begin to walk away, my thoughts return to Ethel. Accompanied by Ned, she walks closely behind. Her spirit has returned, but she appears frail. I hear that she is chilled to the bone and that she fears the river has entered her body. Even as we walk, Ned attentively wraps lambs’ fleeces about her person, while silently signalling to Pip.
On seeing this, Pip requests that we turn around immediately and return to the chapel. “I am sorry, Ethel, but I think it would be wiser for you to stay here with Anne. I can tell from the look on your face how disappointed you are, but it’s for the best, believe me. When you have fully recovered, you can rejoin us. I will leave instructions stating that you are to be put on a cart and carried the rest of the way.”
Sister Louisa, realising that we have returned, now joins us.
Pip addresses her, “Sister, I would like Ethel to remain here until she is better. Please can you see that that she is attended to by the apothecary? No expense is to be spared – our lord will reimburse your house.”
“Of course. We will happily tend to Ethel and restore her to health, have no fear.”
Gratefully, Ethel takes Sister Louisa’s arm. She lifts her hand to wave goodbye, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I will miss you all. God Bless.”
Leaving Ethel is heartbreaking, but it’s for the best. We walk away in silence. Tonight, we are to lodge at a strange-looking inn, just off the main road, in the village of Cockley Cley.
“Charlemain, please can you tell me more about this place? It intrigues me.”
“Ah, yes. Well, where do I begin? This village is not really a village, after all. It’s made up of two settlements – one old and one new. The oldest part is Cley St Peter, which is just beyond those trees in the distance over there. It has a fine church and is the manor of Thomas Oldhall, a distant relative of Sir William. Whereas where we stand now is the new boundary and all the land to our right is known as Cockley Cley.”
“Cockley Cley? What a strange name. Whatever does it mean?”
“Cley refers to the soil and Cockley refers to a wood that is frequented by birds.”
“Oh dear… that sounds ominous.” In my mind’s eye, I envisage clouds of birds circling high above me. Some are swooping down to earth, attacking anyone who gets in their way, while the others perch high in the trees, waiting for their prey.
“Do not fret, some of the locals are prone to exaggeration. They are trying to persuade everyone to move to this side of the trees. In reality, they fear the leper hospital, which stands just beyond St Peter’s, and will stop at nothing to get their way. They have even built a new church, All Saints, to try and tempt people away from St Peter’s, although I doubt it will work. Not all folk are superstitious.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Alard knocks loudly on the inn’s large oak door, but before it can open a terrifying silence descends over our party. A herald has appeared from nowhere and is now dismounting his horse. His dark blond hair tumbles about his face as he removes his cap and bows low.
“I am seeking Pip.”
“Here I stand.”
“Sir, I am Robert the Herald. I bring news of Anne.”
“Thank you, Robert, let’s step aside.”
With that, Pip and Robert are gone. Cecily, on hearing Anne’s name, begins to protest.
“No, Cecily, you will not follow Pip and the herald,” says Alard. “Let’s go inside and make ourselves comfortable. I’m sure that Pip will return soon and let us know the news.”
“No. How dare he leave us? I have a right to know what’s happening.”
“And you will, but not yet. Step inside, Cecily, and stop making such a scene. Our hosts await us and your rudeness will not be tolerated. I suggest that you remember your manners and sharpish.”
Shocked at Alard’s temper, Cecily is one of the first to enter. Inside, it takes a while for my eyes to get used to the gloom. The hall is more akin to a barn and we are greeted by an elderly couple. Both have bent backs and they shuffle as they walk.
“Greetings. We thought that something bad must have happened, as you are much later than expected.”
In Pip’s absence, Charlemain steps forward. “Please accept our apologies. Today has been trying in the extreme, but I will tell you more about that later. For now, I would be grateful if you could show everyone to their rooms. Pip will be in soon and it would be nice if we could eat as soon as possible.”
“Don’t fear about that. Maud has the pottage ready and waiting. You’ll want for nothing here.”
“Thank you, Davy, you’ve never let me down.”
Both men smile at one another and it’s obvious to all that their friendship is an old one.
After Cecily’s earlier hysterics, things gradually begin to return to normal and by the time Pip returns to the inn, it’s full of locals merrily eating and drinking. Cecily, having noticed Pip’s return, is now edging towards the door. From the look on her face, she is planning on eavesdropping. I must do something and fast.
Standing, I walk over and block her way. “Cecily, how is your room?”
“It is adequate.”
I had not expected friendship, but I had not expected such bitterness. Cecily’s eyes are cold and full of spite. However, a strange feeling deep within my gut tells me to carry on. “Cecily, I am sure that Anne will recover soon. I am sure that there is no need to worry.”
Her reply is sharp. “Yes, Bethany, I am sure that you know better than anyone else what’s happening.”
Cecily’s coldness is accompanied by a hard stare. Undeterred, I invite her to sit by the fire. “Shall we sit and await the news in comfort?”
“No, I do not want to sit and I certainly do not want to wait with you.”
Cecily’s words echo all around the hall. Silence descends. Embarrassed, I gaze down at the floor and wonder what to do next. Fortunately, Alard joins us.
“Ladies, have you heard? Our landlord is just about to bring in another large caldron of steaming hot broth.”
Cecily’s anger, as hot as the broth, boils over. “I am not hungry. Just go away and leave me alone.”
I look up and assume that Pip has heard everything as his face is now purple with rage, but Cecily seems undeterred. In a flash, she’s by his side and spoiling for a fight. “I wish to hear of Anne’s condition.”
Pip’s words are slow and considered. “She is stable.”
With that, Cecily spins about to face our group. “He will not tell me the truth. Will no one else ask after Anne’s condition?”
Alard is the only one to respond. “Cecily, please calm yourself. Pip has just said that she is stable. What else is there to ask?”
“But what does stable mean? I want to know more.”
Pip’s face now betrays a deep anger. “Well, you will be sorely disappointed then, won’t you?” With this, Pip turns and disappears into the night.
“He is so rude. I hate the way that he lords it over everyone. Who does he think he is”?
Alard, intent on calming the situation, tries once more. “Cecily, I think that you need to rest.”
“I do not.” With that, Cecily turns her back and heads for the door. On her way, she pushes through a group of rowdy locals playing dice. Amusingly, some of them pinch her bottom as she passes. I doubt that will improve her mood! I decide to have one last bowl of steaming hot broth before I retire to bed.
Upstairs, my room is cool and I sink down onto my mattress. The solitude of the night is a welcome relief. Today was so fraught. Tonight, there will be time to dream. Time to plan my future. I wonder where my life is going. I wonder where I will end up. Perhaps in our lord’s household or maybe even Sir William’s. I have heard that times are changing and that women are being valued for their writing skills and their knowledge. Perhaps I could make my mark. I think of Christine de Pisan and Margery Kempe and of their writing. Maybe I will follow their lead. My thoughts are interrupted by someone knocking on my door. Who on earth could it be? Hesitantly, I walk across the room and place my ear against the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Bethany, it’s me. It’s Pip. Please can you open the door?”
Quickly, I unlatch the door and look both ways before inviting him inside.
“Oh, Bethany, please forgive me for visiting you in your room, but I must speak with you and what I have to say cannot wait until the morning.”
“Please come in.”
I watch as Pip strides over to the window and strains to look out through the shutters. I expect that this is an automatic action and one that he does without thinking. His fingers tap on the window sill as he talks. “I have news about Anne. It’s as I expected. She’s a spy alright and, even worse, she’s from Ormskirk – a manor that belongs to Richard Molyneux. He’s a nasty bit of work and he’s married to the daughter of Sir Thomas Stanley.” I consider that name before Pip continues, “When I went through her bag, I took the liberty of examining her papers. Not only did they identify where she was from, but they confirmed that Cecily is her daughter.”
Reeling from the shock, I sit motionless until I can find the words to express my hurt. “How could she? How could she befriend me in Ely? Worse still, how could she lie to Ethel? Kind, caring Ethel, who would harm no one. Does anyone else know of this?”
“Ned has always suspected that something was amiss. Hence he has been by their side all the while, telling jokes and stories, and trying to get them to lower their guard in the hope that he could trip them up. He even tried using his musical talents to impress them.”
“Where is Cecily now?”
“She has been arrested and charged with theft.”
“I don’t understand. What’s happened?”
“After you retired, Cecily returned and, by all accounts, began drinking heavily. Then, not content to sit on her own, she went over to the group of locals who had pinched her bottom and made fun of her. According to Alard, she was all over them. Something had to be done. So, a plot was laid. Ned paid one of the men to leave the table to get her a bowl of broth and when he returned, she was gone and so were his coins. She had taken the bait. This means that we can hold her for a while. As for Anne, she will stay at the House of Lepers indefinitely. Holding them brings danger, but letting them go would bring even more. Stanley will no doubt hear of their plight and try to rescue them, but I will deal with that when it happens. I have men everywhere and they will keep me informed. Oh, Bethany, now you see why it was so important for me to come to your room. I hope that you can forgive me. I would never want to damage your reputation.”
“Don’t worry about such things, Pip. We know the truth and that’s all that matters. Why don’t you fetch your mattress and place it by the hearth? I can push mine back and make more room, if you would like?”
“You are very kind and I wish I could, but Ned and Charlemain are expecting me in the hall. We are taking it in turns to keep watch. Alard is on duty now, but it’s my turn next.”
“Alright, I understand, but please take my sheepskin with you. I have no need of it while I’m here and it’ll keep you warm when your shift is over.”
“Thank you, Bethany, now that’s an offer I can accept.”
***
The next day begins not only with breakfast, but with gossip. Lord forgive me for joining in, but I need to find out whatever I can. News of Cecily’s confinement has broken and Agnes is holding court.
“I always knew that she couldn’t be trusted.”
I smile to myself as Ned gently taunts her. “That’s easy to say now, Agnes, but I cannot recall you having mentioned this earlier.”
“Oh, well, you know. I thought I would give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Realising that there is nothing to be gained from listening to this conversation, I sit down next to Charlemain, who is in very good spirits.
“Good morning, Bethany, did you sleep well?”
“Oh yes, did you?”
“I was a touch cold but once I got off, I slept soundly. Are you aware that today is the Feast of St Anthony of Padua?”
“Oh yes. We always celebrate his life at home. I particularly like the stories about him preaching to the fish and the half-starved mule who ignored the fresh fodder to bow before the holy sacrament.”
“Well, later this morning, there will be a service held in his honour at the church of St Peter’s. If it’s anything like last year, it will be a joy to behold. The monks from Castle Acre always attend and chant throughout the whole service. Their voices are quite unique in both pitch and tone. I could listen to them for hours on end. Afterwards, there’s always a feast of fruity buns and blue cheese.”
I lick my lips in anticipation of blue cheese. I love the strong, salty taste.
“Do I take it that you will join me?”
“Of course, I would love to. I will go and fetch my belongings and meet you back here as quickly as I can.”
“Excellent; while you are gone, I will extend the invitation to the rest of our party, but, to be honest, I cannot see anyone else joining us.”
Gathering my belongings together takes no time at all. Ever since Bodney, I have taken great care to keep everything packed as securely as possible, especially our lord’s letter. The only items that need packing are those that I use on a daily basis. My spoon, my cup and my bowl. Once everything is in order, I make my way back downstairs to the hall, where I find Charlemain addressing the group.
“The offer to join us is still open should anyone wish to change their minds.”
Unsurprisingly, everyone is shaking their heads. It seems that they are loath to leave the hall, where there is food and drink aplenty, and yet even more pilgrims to talk to. I fear that the fresh conversations are more of a pull than religious devotions.
The short walk to St Peter’s church is a very pretty one with lots of flowers. When we arrive, we are greeted by the sound of handbells ringing out from high up within the battlements. The outside of the porch has been decorated with white roses, while the inside has blue, gold and white ribbons accompanied by pots of wildflowers. The pathway to the church door is also lined with ribbons, which move gently as we pass. Inside the church, it’s breathtaking. Painted shields adorn the walls and they sparkle in the sunshine. I gaze in wonder, as I have never seen so many all in one place before. Then, there’s a finely painted screen that divides the chancel and a statue of St Anthony of Padua just in front of the altar. The statue has been decorated with flowers and matching ribbons, as has the Lady Chapel and the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Her face is kind and loving. She is dressed in blue silk and her cloak is adorned with pewter pins. Many of the pins are unknown to me, but I can see that she’s wearing my favourite – a double-handled jug with a single lily in it. This represents the Annunciation. The one that intrigues me, though, is a heart with a crown above it. Upon the heart is a serpent.
“Charlemain, what does that badge mean? The one with the serpent on it.”
“That one, my dear, represents healing. It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”
Walking towards the high altar, I gaze once more on the shields. They are closer now and I can see the decoration better. Two stand out immediately, as they are the closest to my heart. One for the Mortimers and one for the Plantagenets. The Mortimer shield is an emblem that I know well and I can read it like a book. The blue represents the sky, the yellow is the desert, and the silver is the water. It commemorates Geoffrey de Mortimer, who was a Crusader – a man with true Christian morals. The Plantagenet shield is quartered, with each section showing the arms of France and England – golden lions on a red background and golden fleur-de-lis on a blue background. Moving on, the other shields display a variety of designs. There are castles, stags, barrels, chevrons and stars, to name but a few. I can now see the high altar in its full glory. It has been elaborately decorated in honour of St Anthony.
We decide to take our places on the floor and listen to the monks chanting. To my surprise, Pip has joined us. I am so happy and I wish that this moment could last forever. The sound is rhythmic and atmospheric, and I feel completely safe.
On our way out, we pause to light candles in memory of our loved ones. These are then taken and laid out on the flagstones by a small boy. It is obvious from his actions that he takes his role extremely seriously. All of the candles are placed with precision. Neither too close, nor too far from the others. He seems to be arranging them in the design of a flower. On closer inspection, I can see that he is using a traced design on the floor.
Outside, there is much hustle and bustle. The village appears to have woken up, so much so that I am relieved when we return to the inn and rejoin the others in the garden. It seems that the ale has been flowing since dawn and Ned is in high spirits. Owain catches my eye and rolls them at Ned’s antics. Looking around, I notice that Alard and Davy are resting by the arched gate, which leads to the river. Davy looks mournful today. I wonder why.
The landlord’s wife, Maud, joins us. “Hello, I hope that you are having a good day? How did you find the church?”
“Oh… it was absolutely perfect, thank you. There were handbells and chanting, and you should have seen the decorations. There were blue, gold and white ribbons everywhere. They were divine.”
“Aye, they certainly go to town when it’s a feast day.”
While talking, I notice that Maud is dressed entirely in white linen. I would have thought it inappropriate at this time of the year. Surely people only wear white at the Pentecost. She also has a variety of linen clothes stuffed into her belt.
“Well, let’s see if I can’t make the rest of your day even better. Today is bathing day. The air is warm and dry, so there’s no chance of anyone catching a chill. Therefore, I am inviting all of the ladies to come inside and enjoy some much-needed luxury. I know there’s little comfort on the road. Agnes has just finished and is now sitting by the hearth in a clean kirtle, which I sold her. They are good value at just one coin. Would you like to do the same?”
I think about it for a few seconds before committing myself, “Yes please. I have felt sticky for days and I have a spare coin.”
“It’s harder for us ladies to get clean. The men can just strip down, but for us it is a major effort. Come, let’s go inside.”
As we pass, I notice Maud’s daughters wiping down all the surfaces with steaming water and what smells like rosemary oil. Maud exclaims, “I like a good clean inn. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, after all.”
As we enter the bathing room, I breath in and smell the gently fragranced steam. To my joy, a barrel has already been prepared. It is lined with heavy linen, so there’s no chance of getting splinters, and rose petals have been scattered over the top of the hot water. It’s very enticing and no doubt a good money-spinner for Maud and her husband. What a good idea!
Before I latch the large oak door behind me, I give Maud and Alice one coin each.
“No, my dear, its only one coin, you keep the other one for Walsingham. They’ll be plenty to spend your money on there.”
Latching the door behind me, I notice that my clean kirtle awaits. It has been hung on a wrought-iron peg. I undress with energy and fold my clothes neatly, before placing my satchel next to them. I don’t want to get anything wet as we still have a journey to complete today. Carefully, I climb the steps and lower myself down into the barrel. My legs knock against the stool that waits for me. I sit down and enjoy the water lapping against my shoulders. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax.
Getting out is harder, but I manage to do so without slipping. Once out, I dry myself carefully with a large linen sheet, before putting on my clean kirtle. I feel good. Some people think that bathing is dangerous, but I disagree with them. My mother was an advocate of a clean body and a clean mind. She taught me to wash as often as possible, whether that be in a barrel or in a stream. Some folks in our village used to moan that washing was not for our class and frowned upon us for no good reason.
When I am ready to unlatch the door, I pull the bell handle as instructed and ring for assistance.
Alice appears. “There’s no need to hurry, mistress. Charlemain has just informed us that everyone will be staying another night. Unfortunately, you will be in a different room and you will be sharing with one other. Alas, by the time we knew of the change of plans, we had already rented out most of the rooms. Would you like me to help you with your belongings?”
“No thank you, Alice, I only have my satchel.”
Although I’m a little surprised to learn that we are staying another night, I’m very happy at the news. Alice leads me to my new bedchamber. It’s a large room with a central hearth and two mattresses. Looking around, I can see no one else’s belongings, so I choose the mattress closest to the fire. Since I am sharing this chamber tonight, my satchel will become my pillow. I will wrap it inside my cloak to make it more comfortable. I wonder who will be sharing with me. In the meantime, I decide to sit down and allow my hair to dry completely before joining the others. After a few moments, I hear a knock at the door.
“Come in.” I look up. I’m surprised to hear Pip at the door.
“Bethany, it’s me. Pip. Please may I enter?”
“Yes, of course,.”
Once inside, Pip dances awkwardly from foot to foot. “I hope that your kind offer of sharing a room is still acceptable. If not, I can sleep in the stables with Davy.”
“What? Davy is to sleep in the stables?”
“It’s unfortunate, but all of the other rooms are full.”
“That accounts for his mournful face earlier.”
“Yes. He drew straws with Ned and Owain, and lost. Alard has been trying to cheer him up ever since, but nothing’s working. When I left, Ned was trying to ply him with mead – it’s good for us that he’s not needed as a lookout tonight.” At this, we both laugh. “I know that it’s unorthodox for us to share, but I have recognised some of Stanley’s men masquerading as pilgrims and I want to make sure that you are safe.”
“Pip, there’s no need to worry on my behalf. I am more than happy to share.”
“Well, that’s all sorted then. I shall have the mattress closest to the door.”
“Just out of curiosity, where is Charlemain sleeping?”
“Oh, he’s in the room next door. Well, I say it’s a room – it’s more of a cupboard really.”
When we rejoin the others, it seems that Ned’s plan to cheer Davy up with mead is working. I would even go so far as to say that it’s working a little too well. I sit quietly and listen to the conversations. They wash over me, while I enjoy the excellent bread and cheese that has been provided. After eating, I retire early, wishing everyone a good night as I pass.
Agnes catches my hand and kisses it gently. “Sweet Bethany, I will see you in the morning.”
This makes my heart sing and silently I ask myself once more how Cecily and Anne could live with themselves for deceiving Agnes and Ethel. Tonight, I feel safe. Far from being concerned about the arrangements, I relish Pip’s company. He has a rough beauty about him and is rather mysterious. I avert my eyes as he removes his jerkin, although I cannot help but notice that his body is very muscular. He is every inch a solider and has the scars to prove it.
“Goodnight, Bethany, I will try not to wake you too early. Until the morning then.”
“Yes, goodnight, but please don’t worry about waking me. I’m a light sleeper and it’s usual for me to wake before dawn.”
As I drift off to sleep, I can hear the revellers returning to their beds and think on poor Davy and Alard in the stables.
***
Morning breaks far too soon for me. My sleep was unusually heavy and now the sunlight is streaming in through the shutters.
“Good morning, Bethany, you slept well then.”
“Oh yes, far better than usual.”
“Perhaps you benefitted from my presence.” Pip, to my delight, is smiling from ear to ear, while stoking the hearth. “The day ahead promises to be a good one. The sun is getting hotter each day and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Alard and Davy are up and about already. Surprisingly, neither are worse the wear for a night in the stables. Owain and Charlemain are also up and about, but I hear that Ned is still in bed nursing his head.”
I stretch and yawn as I stand.
“Would you like me to leave while you get ready?”
“Oh no, there’s no need for that.”
“I made sure that no one saw me leave your room this morning. Thankfully, they’ll be no gossip to contend with, but even if there would have been that’s a small price to pay for your safety. Stanley’s men are the very worst kind of thugs. I was heartened to hear from Maud and Davy that they barred the doors themselves after counting everyone in last night. Anyway, we will soon be leaving for Swaffham. Others are joining us, taking our numbers to twenty in total. Alard is anxious about this, but I feel that it’s the safest option. Anyway, it’ll only be for a few miles, as we are to break away from the main group and travel to the manor in North Pickenham for a day or two.” My heart leaps with joy as I know this to be the manor of our lord’s late stepmother. “Ah, I see you recognise the significance of this manor. Well, they’ll be eight of us in total. Charlemain, Alard, Ned, Davy, Owain, Agnes and us two. Oxherd, Robin and the others have already left us and returned to Ely. They were sad to leave without saying goodbye, but Oxherd is not one for goodbyes. He did send you his warmest wishes and said that if you were ever in the area, you would be a very welcome guest at his home.”
I am saddened not to have had a chance to say goodbye. I will miss Oxherd’s booming voice and extravagant ways. I will also miss Robin’s mumbling, as he’s a kindly soul, but the memories that we have made will last a lifetime.
There is no road to North Pickenham and we must walk across the fields. However, I do not believe that we are the first to travel this way, as there appears to be a dusty track. It’s lovely to be in a small group once more and it’s even nicer to walk arm in arm with Agnes. We do not speak of it, but I know that she misses Ethel. Charlemain has resumed his role of guide and, as we walk, he explains the importance of the manor.
“North Pickenham is a most beautiful manor, with a very fine church. It was originally held by Ralph Neville, the first Earl of Westmoreland, our lord’s guardian. It’s now home to George Neville, the new Lord Latimer, and his beautiful wife, Elizabeth Beauchamp. She’s a most spirited lady and always great fun to be with. In fact, it’s hard to believe that she’s the daughter of Richard Beauchamp, the Earl of Warwick, our lord’s tutor, as she’s so down to earth and welcoming. We will enjoy our time at North Pickenham, I have no doubt.”
I notice that Charlemain’s eyes are moist. “Oh, Charlemain, what troubles you?”
“Please forgive me. I am a foolish old man. I was just thinking about our lord and King Henry. How they were bought up together and how they learnt together, but now they are being torn apart by the dark forces that surround the king.”
Unable to find the right words to comfort Charlemain, I take his arm and we all walk together, three in a line. Our mood is lightened momentarily as we pass a shepherd who is crouching over his long crook. Our first impression is that his flock is completely out of control, for they are all leaping around and running in different directions. But no, there’s more to this than meets the eye. I can now see that his left hand is placed on his head in despair, while he frantically waves the other one high in the air. As we approach, it has become obvious that they are not playing, but they are running for their lives. At this distance, there is nothing that we can do but make a noise and cause a disturbance. If the fox senses that we are here, it may retreat.
Agnes is the first to call out. “Get away, you rascal!” She is now clapping her hands together and dancing from one foot to the other. Then, we all join in.
The shepherd calls out with relief, “Thank you. I am most indebted to you all. The fox has gone.”
When we arrive at the manor of North Pickenham, it feels good to be in a Yorkist stronghold and to know that we have nothing to fear. Our security has been bolstered even further by breaking away from the larger group, as spies have nowhere to hide in such a small, intimate party. A beautiful orchard has now come into view to our left. The trees stand side by side in neat rows for as far as the eye can see. The fruits appear to be varied. There are berries a plenty and, in the autumn, there will be an abundance of apples. Walking on, I muse on how small the manor is. It consists of a manor house, a church, a watermill and a few small homesteads. All of the buildings are thatched with reed and most have moss on them. The manor house is set within green fields, which have been scythed expertly to make them appear as velvet. To the back of the manor house, I can see a high stone wall. I wonder if it’s defensive or just decorative.
When we arrive at the front door, Charlemain firmly grasps the heavy metal knocker and knocks three times. Immediately, the door is opened by a young lady in a fine green kirtle.
“Good day, please may I see your letter of introduction?”
“Of course, but, Brody, surely you know me by now.” The parchment that he produces from his linen bag is tied with a pale-blue ribbon and is sealed with our lord’s wax seal. Before he has time to close his bag, I notice that he, too, has a small fox broach pinned to the lining.
The young lady unties the ribbon and breaks open the seal. I find it strange that the seal is intact. Upon closer inspection, we are welcomed inside. “Come, please enter. My name is Brody and I will be looking after you.”
“If you follow me, I will take you to the garden. Refreshments have been laid out in readiness for your arrival.”
At the back door, Brody pauses to inform us that Lady Latimer is waiting for us in the arbour and that her ladies are with her. As she speaks, I realise just how young she is. Her face is round and her features are soft. Outside, the view is breathtaking. If I thought that the lawns surrounding the front of the manor were like velvet, the lawns at the back are like emeralds. Unlike monastic gardens, with their formal paths, cloisters and central gardens, this garden has random rose beds and pots of all shapes and sizes. Some of the pots are yellow, decorated with red bands, while the others are various shades of red. All appear to have been decorated with bands of grey, brown and black. The one thing that they all have in common is that they are overflowing with flowers. However, the most striking feature in the garden is the large arbour, which is laced with ivy and flowers.
Sitting within the arbour and surrounded by her ladies is Lady Latimer. It’s a blissful scene of calm and serenity. The ladies have obviously been reading and playing music, as books and instruments are scattered all around. Having seen us, Lady Latimer gets to her feet and walks towards us! Her ladies follow suit and are now standing behind her.
“Welcome to my home.” Her eyes shine as she smiles. She is petite and unassuming. For one of such high birth, she wears a modest yellow kirtle and a plain girdle. Only the keys, which hang from her waist, convey her status. “Please join us in the arbour. In preparation for your arrival, I have had sheepskins placed in the shade for your comfort.”
It’s clear from the actions of her ladies that they love her and I can understand why. Instead of asking others for help, she is the one fussing over us. Once seated, ale and a selection of cheeses are brought to us by Brody and a young lad. Lady Latimer continues.
“Once you are refreshed, Brody will show you to your rooms. I want you to feel at home during your stay. Please do not stand on ceremony. When you are settled in, you are free to do as you please. All I ask is that you do not leave the boundaries of this garden. This area is as safe as it can be, but, as you all know, war looms and quite a few of my neighbours are bent on antagonising one another. Only recently, news reached me that Sir Thomas Tuddenham and Sir John Heydon, along with men from the West Country, attempted to ambush our lord as he rode out of St Albans. He was on his way to meet with Sir Thomas Hoe. Fortunately, both are safe.”
Lady Latimer looks concerned and pauses for a moment, before continuing, “Now, I’m aware that this news is shocking, but please try not to be alarmed. We are strong and extremely capable of protecting our manor. I am only seeking to forewarn you. Word has also been sent to my husband and, in the meantime, a contingent of Swaffham men are on their way here. They will camp in the west field, which has already been prepared. Barrels of water have been filled, the firepits dug, wood provided and charcoal stockpiled. Soon, the encampment will grow and encompass our lord’s retinue. The Swaffham men are hardened and self-reliant. That said, they are friendly and completely loyal. Their strength is in their brotherhood. I fear nothing when they are close by and neither should you.” Lady Latimer’s smile returns once more. “We will not allow thugs such as Tuddenham and Heydon to ruin our life. We will continue to make merry and enjoy our days.”
The mood lightens instantly as Lady Latimer and her ladies return to the arbour. One of them picks up a harp and plucks it energetically. Ned, needing no invitation, produces his shawm and begins to play along, while Agnes and Owain begin to dance.
After the refreshments, Brody shows us to our rooms as promised. My room is adorned with fresh flowers and honeysuckle. It has a four-poster bed, which is dressed with embroidered curtains, pillows and a fine coverlet. I must be in the wrong room.
“Brody, this room is beautiful beyond words, but surely it cannot be for me. I am but a pilgrim. Such a room is way beyond my status.”
“No, Mistress Bethany, there is no mistake. All of our rooms are decorated as such. Lord and Lady Latimer ensure that all loyal supporters are taken care of. Their home is a haven to any that need rest and protection.”
“That is so kind, Brody, thank you.”
Once I am on my own, I walk over to the window and lay out my belongings along the top of a medium-sized wooden trunk. The view from my window is splendid. Just over the garden wall, I can see the west field. Men are coming and going, picking the crops and making way for the ever-growing encampment.
I eventually manage to pull myself away from the window and rejoin the others outside. Marie, one of Lady Latimer’s ladies-in-waiting, is reading a tale from a large red leather-bound book. Oh, how wonderful, it’s The Cook’s Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. It’s one of my favourite tales. So much so that I can recount it from memory. How I love the story of Peterkin, the devilish kitchen hand who sings and dances with his friends to the annoyance of his master. What is this? Ned has taken to his feet and has assumed the character of Peterkin. He begins to prance around, swaying this way and that, bowing to all the men and kissing each lady in turn. Now he has fallen to his knees and is serenading Lady Latimer, who – to everyone’s amusement – takes on the role as his mistress.
Rising from her seat, she raises her hand and says, “Dearest Peterkin, you are corrupt and have to go. Dance to the door and leave alone. Do not stay and lead the others astray. Let me be, to enjoy the day.”
With this, Ned skips away in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Marie to finish the tale. Tranquillity resumes for a few minutes before we spot Brody approaching from the kitchen, carrying a large jug. I doubt that she is aware of Ned creeping along behind her. Charlemain calls out, but it’s too late. Ned has launched into song. Surprise is plastered across her whole face as she jumps into the air.
Lady Latimer, who is laughing heartily, gently berates him, “Oh, Ned, you are a rotter. Don’t just stand there, help Brody with that jug. It must be heavy.”
“Of course, my lady.” Immediately, Ned flings himself at Brody’s feet. “Forgive me, sweet child. Please let me take that from you.”
Brody, unsure of what to do, stands stock-still. Ned carefully takes the jug and, in the process of doing so, steals a kiss on her cheek. After the refreshments, we all rest for a while before I decide that it’s my turn to entertain everyone. Ned had played the part of a fool. Charlemain and Alard have spoken of their travels to Calais and beyond. Agnes has sung songs from her youth. Even Pip and Davy have joined in with a dazzling display of sword-fighting. Now, it’s time for me to take the stage. I stand upright and take a couple of deep breaths.
“I have composed a poem about the colours of life and the gift of sight.” To my surprise, everyone is very enthusiastic. So, once they are all comfortable, I begin. To aid my memory, I close my eyes. The words flow perfectly as I describe the beauty of the world as I see it.
Even as I speak, I’m aware of the rhythm rising and falling in the manner of a sweet melody. When I reach the end, I open my eyes, only to realise that everyone is staring at me. Some have tear-stained faces. Even Lady Latimer’s eyes are wet and shine like mirrors. Fear grips me. On no, what have I done? Have I said something wrong? Worry clouds my mind.
“Mistress, have I displeased you?”
“No, Bethany, far from it. You have moved my heart. You have a gift so powerful that you can paint a picture with the use of words alone.”
Relief floods over me and everyone smiles. Alas, the moment is interrupted by the sound of a distant horn. Three sharp hoots and a long blast echoes on the breeze.
Lady Latimer immediately jumps to her feet. “My husband is here. That’s his signal.”
Now, the sound of approaching horses’ hooves can be heard, along with the rumble of carts. The horn sounds again, although this time it’s much closer.
“They have arrived, they are here. Lord Latimer and our Lord of York, they are here.” Lady Latimer beams with joy and is gone in a flash.
She is followed closely by Pip, Davy and Alard. They rush past Lady Latimer and position themselves by the front door, unsheathing their daggers before stopping.
Pip breaks the silence and falls to one knee. “Lady Latimer, I beg your forgiveness, but we must be prudent. We live in uncertain times and the horned message could be a trap. Please move well away from the door. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to go out.”
Pip’s words are wise and his message is heeded by all. Lady Latimer moves away as Davy cautiously opens the door. At the same time, Pip and Alard take up defensive positions, ready to attack should they need to, but, to everyone’s relief, Lady Latimer is right. It’s not a trap, but her husband and our lord. Men in red and gold stand shoulder to shoulder with men in blue and white. Behind them stand Lord Latimer and Duke Richard.
“Brody, quick. Please go to the kitchen and request that refreshments are brought to the hall immediately. Also, please tell the kitchen to take plenty of meat to the west field. The men will be hungry.” Brody nods and disappears at a pace.
Lord Latimer and Duke Richard dismount. As they do, the boys from the stables step forward and prepare to lead their horses away. Duke Richard’s is a Welsh Cob – sturdy with a quick turn of foot. Lord Latimer’s is a dark-grey colt – taller than me with a mane of flowing silver. I realise it’s imperative that I do not give myself away. None of the ladies must know that I have met our lord before. I curtsey as low as I can without falling over. Agnes and Lady Latimer’s ladies follow suit.
“My Lord, you are most welcome. Please come inside and rest. Refreshments are being prepared.”
“Dear Elizabeth, you are most kind, but please do not worry about me. Please welcome your husband.”
Antonia, Lady Latimer’s maid, smiles alluringly at our lord as he passes by, but, to my relief, he ignores her and heads straight to the hall. I do not like Antonia. There’s something about her manner that seems false.
Inside the hall, we seat ourselves to the left-hand side of the table and listen as Lord Latimer explains how our lord will not be staying for long. “My dearest wife, I hate to disappoint you, but our lord must be gone tonight. He will stay for an hour or two, but certainly no longer. Just enough time for his horse and men to rest. We have received word from our scouts that the immediate danger is over, but – just to make sure – he must ride to Bodney this evening with a handful of retainers. I will remain here with the Swaffham men until the morning and then I must depart to Fotheringhay. Life must carry on as normal for now.”
“Speaking of normal, I am over-hungry today. When are we to eat?”
“Oh, Duke Richard, there’s nothing new there. You’re always hungry.” Lady Latimer chuckles and, with excellent timing, Brody and the boy appear with a feast. I notice that the boy has changed his smock and is taking great care not to spill anything down his new one.
“On no, I expected refreshments, not a feast. I fear that my horse will be sluggish later and dislike his load.” With this remark, everyone laughs.
The table groans under the weight of roast meats, green peasen, lumps of fried bacon and fresh bread rolls. To accompany the food, there is a delicious ale. It has been infused with rose petals and is very sweet. I must take care not to drink too much as it’s rather moreish and may be stronger than I think.
Once everything has been eaten and cleared away, the benches and tables are removed and replaced with sheepskin rugs. Sitting down, I notice that Lady Latimer is beckoning to her most senior lady-in-waiting, Isabella. In a split second, she’s by her side. I wonder if something’s wrong, but I cannot make out a single word of their conversation as they are shielding their mouths. Finally, Isabella rises and strides off purposefully, stopping only to request that Ned accompany her. They disappear out of sight for a short while, before Ned returns dressed in the manner of Peterkin. The vision before us is hilarious. His short smock finishes just above his knees, while his bony white legs dangle beneath it. His face is smeared with charcoal and, in his left hand, he holds his shawm. He enthusiastically begins to pirouette around the hall before dancing out of the back door in the direction of the arbour.
He is closely followed by the younger members of the household, who mimic his actions. Finally, Brody emerges from the kitchen. She is grasping an extremely large pewter platter. We all strain to see what it holds but to no avail, as it’s covered with a white linen cloth. Finally, Brody lays the platter before our lord and removes the cover. His delight is clear for all to see.
“Marchpane, my favourite. Brody, did you make this for me?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Why, it’s a work of art. You are very skilled. I just cannot imagine how many hours it took you to hammer the gold so thinly.” Brody blushes at the compliment. “Gather around, everyone, I am going to break open the golden fetterlock.” We all move closer and watch as he uses his eating knife to ease the sugary delight apart. “Brody, please be so kind as to cut this into pieces. I would like to share this with everyone.”
Our lord’s generosity is astounding. To share such a delicacy is beyond kindness. Seated, I wait for Charlemain to join me before I begin.
“Have you ever eaten marchpane before, Bethany?”
“Oh yes, but only once. My mother made it when her uncle visited us at our manor.”
To this Charlemain nods and smiles. “Your uncle. Yes, he was a good man and indeed worthy of such an extravagance.”
“Alas, I cannot remember him as I was very young.”
“That’s a shame. I will speak about him later, but, for now, let’s just enjoy this treat.”
As I take my first mouthful, I feel the smoothness of the almonds and sense the freshness of the rose water. Then, I notice the crunch of the sugar and the silkiness of the flattened gold. As far as I can remember, this is even better than my mother’s.
As the light begins to fade, our lord sends out orders to his men to ready themselves and to bring his horse around to the front door. Turning to Lady Latimer, he smiles and says, “Elizabeth, I am sorry that I must leave tonight, but Sir William is expecting me and we have a great deal to discuss. Tomorrow, we are travelling to London together. We will gather men along the way and when we enter London, we will be a show of force to be reckoned with. I will not cower and I plan on letting everyone know that. I will fight where necessary. Latimer, I will meet you in London as agreed, but before that you need to strengthen the defences both here and at Fotheringhay.”
Apprehension fills the air and I turn my face away, unable to watch our lord prepare to leave.
***
The morning breaks and it’s time for us to depart. No breakfast is required as we are all still full from last night’s feast. However, our bags are overflowing with food to eat along the way. Brody has provided us with bread, hard-boiled eggs and cold meat. After expressing our grateful thanks to Lord and Lady Latimer, we wave goodbye and walk away. We have not been walking for very long before Charlemain stops and turns to our party as a whole. With elaborate hand gestures, he calls everyone together. The look on his face is one of a man who has a secret to tell and can contain it no longer.
“Before we reach Saltrey and Prior Thorns Manor, I have a great surprise in store for all of you. We are to make a slight detour to the church of St Mary’s at Houghton-on-the-Hill. It’s sometimes known as High-Town due to its position on rising ground. I can promise you that the views from outside are spectacular and when we go inside, even more delights await us. Every inch of wall is completely covered, from floor to ceiling, with the most magnificent paintings. They are inspirational, to say the least!”
Charlemain’s excitement is infectious and has set the mood for the day to come.
As we walk, he continues, “In fact, the whole manor is ancient. Tales are often told of how it was inhabited when large mammoths roamed the earth. A time when we were joined to France and there was no sea between us.”
As we approach St Mary’s, it appears the same as any other church, but once inside its beauty shines brightly.
“I am heartened to note from your faces that many of you are interested. Would you like to learn more about the imagery within the church?”
Davy, animated as never before, answers before anyone else can draw breath “Yes please, Charlemain.”
“Excellent, I had hoped that would be the case, especially as I have organised a storytelling session with John Ryder.”
Looking around it’s clear to see that, for once, everyone is enthusiastic. Strangely, the church somehow feels detached from the earth. I decide to take my cloak off as I’m warm from the climb. Others do the same. Agnes and myself now position ourselves towards the main decoration on the east wall. A thought comes to mind. The wall appears incredibly thick – thicker than I’ve ever seen before. They must be at least as wide as I’m tall. I also notice that there are two arches that have been hollowed out. As we chatter, John Ryder appears from nowhere. He is short and fat with puffed-out cheeks. His nose is bright red and he waddles as he walks.
“Good day, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Please draw close and get yourselves comfortable. For those of you who find it difficult to get down to the floor, I have two stools that you are welcome to use.”
With this command, everyone follows John’s advice. Everyone, that is, apart from Alard. I expect that this has less to do with being watchful and more to do with him not wanting to get his cloak dusty and creased. As expected, he has bagged one of the stools for himself. I smile to myself as Agnes commandeers the other. I’m not really sure that I like John Ryder. He seems rather pompous. In his left hand, he has a long willow cane, which he is now waving around to make sure that he has everyone’s attention.
“Come on let’s begin.”
With these opening words, I decide that I really do not like him at all and, within seconds, he has launched into what I suspect is a well-rehearsed routine. His manner has certainly turned me off and I do not want to listen to him. So, I allow myself to slip off into a trance. I begin to look deeper into the paintings. Over the central arch is the Last Judgement – an image so powerful that I cannot help but review my life. Difficult questions pop into my mind. Have I always been kind and obeyed the Ten Commandments? This will take far too long to consider, so I decide that it will be the subject of my next contemplation, but, for now, I will return to the images before me and make the most of my time here.
Over the chancel arch is the Trinity. It depicts the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, all set within a triple mandorla. To the left are the souls waiting to be saved and to the right are the souls that have been dammed forever. How I wish to be saved. The thought of roaming around in heavy chains, among the hideously deformed, chills me to the bone. Further down the wall are the twelve apostles. From left to right, I recognise them all. Firstly, there’s St Peter with his crossed keys. Then St Thomas, who’s better known as Doubting Thomas, for he questioned Christ’s resurrection. I scan the faces until I find my favourite, St Matthew. Somehow, he appears to be calling me. It feels as though his eyes are looking straight into mine. They appear as pools of light, reflecting images for me to decipher. I can see the image of an angel or is it a winged man? I am unable to tell for sure. I can also see God’s chariot waiting to be pulled forward. There are four empty harnesses.
All of a sudden, the image is gone and I wake immediately. I realise that John Ryder has just finished talking and it’s of no great surprise that he has produced a brown leather collection bag. I search for a coin and contribute readily to such a beautiful church, for I am leaving with precious memories.
At the foot of the hill, I notice a section of free-standing flint wall. It seems a little strange and does not appear to have a purpose. “Charlemain, please can you tell me about this wall?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a way-marker. It’s used by travellers to aid their passage. Please let me show you.”
We walk over to the flint wall. “Now, mistress, if you stand in front of the wall, with your back against the flint, you will notice that the signs indicate that if you turn left, you will travel towards Castle Acre. Whereas if you turn right, you will travel towards Thetford. Ah… if only we had time to visit Thetford. It’s a beautiful town. Compact, yet all encompassing. It has three friaries. One belonging to the Blackfriars, one to the Cluniacs and another to the Canons of the Holy Sepulchre. The latter is a most interesting place, as it’s the starting point for pilgrimages to the Holy Land. It was endowed by William de Warenne just before he went off to the Crusades. The Lord de Warenne was a most generous benefactor as he also provided for a nearby hospital called ‘God’s House’. It’s a little run-down now, but it’s still used for its original purpose.”
I take a moment to contemplate the Holy Land before returning to the here and now. “And the symbols, Charlemain, please can you explain these to me?”
“Ah yes… well, let’s start with the one on the right. It’s the Star of David and a symbol of hospitality. It has been used by the Knights Templar since the time of the Crusades. It indicates that all who arrive at the Priory of the Holy Sepulchre in Thetford will be provided for. They will be given food, drink and shelter. Then, on the left, we have a chalice. This is the sign of spiritual refreshment and the Last Supper, and it leads to Walsingham.”
Excitement wells up inside of me.
Agnes calls to Charlemain. “Are we close then?”
“Unfortunately, not. We still have a long way to go.”
“Oh dear, my poor feet. They are so sore and blistered.”
“Well, at least we only have about three or four miles to go until we can rest. Luckily, the journey is all downhill and on flat ground. Prior Thorns Manor has a well-stocked apothecary, so, as soon as we arrive, I will get some foot ointment for you. This will hopefully ease your pain until someone can look at your feet.”
On hearing this, Agnes nods and smiles gratefully.
Charlemain goes on to announce that by travelling directly to Prior Thorns, we will make a slight diversion and avoid Swaffham. “I hope that you will forgive me, but I think that it’s wise to avoid Swaffham at the moment, as it’s overly busy at the best of times with people constantly coming and going. Its market has an excellent reputation, but the town has very little else of interest and it always seems to attract the wrong sort. Our time will be better spent at Prior Thorns.”
My mind immediately returns to Newmarket and to my ordeal there. I, for one, am glad to be avoiding Swaffham.
When we eventually near the large wooden gates of Prior Thorns, I notice how the torches burn brightly from within and how the brothers are standing ready to welcome us. I cannot help but wonder if they aren’t expecting another party as they seem so formal. Within seconds, Davy has uncharacteristically broken from our group and is now kneeling before the prior.
“Davy, please rise. You do not need to kneel before me. I am your uncle and I love you wholeheartedly.” Standing eye to eye, both men smile. “I have good news for you, Davy. I have a collection of letters from your mother. We have a great deal to catch up on.”
Two holy brothers step forward to greet us. “Welcome,” they chant in unison.
It’s obvious that Charlemain knows them both very well. Smiling, he shakes their hands. “Please, Brother Luke and Brother Ackolyte, let me introduce you both to our party.”
One by one, they shake our hands and talk at length about our travels. I soon decide that Brother Ackolyte is my favourite. He appears to be kind and gentle. His skin is the colour of olives and his almond-shaped eyes are dark brown. Brother Luke, on the other hand, has ice-blue eyes that chill me to the bone. I swear that I can see right through them. His manner disturbs me, too. He laughs like an imbecile, but I must try not to judge him. Surely, Charlemain would not favour an idiot.
Once inside the gates, we’re taken directly to the hall where refreshments have been provided. The coolness of the hall is most welcome after the heat of the day. How lovely – spiced buns are accompanied by a rich malty ale. Charlemain breaks the silence as he calls to Agnes.
“Agnes, I have not forgotten my promise to you. Brother Luke will collect you in a short while and accompany you to the apothecary. Brother Ackolyte will see to your feet while we are at evening prayers.”
“The Lord be praised; I knew you wouldn’t forget me.” Agnes giggles.
After prayers, everyone apart from Davy returns to the hall and settles down for the night. The hall is very well lit with beeswax candles. The smell is delightful. Agnes returns after what seems an age with her feet bound with strips of fresh white linen. Pointing down to them, she proudly announces that she’s been healed.
Charlemain, supressing a smile, explains that the brothers here take great pride in their preparations and that feet are their speciality. “They wash the feet of travellers before anointing them with hot oil. It’s reminiscent of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. They offer this service to all who enter. If anyone else would like to partake, please do tell and I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
This offer is far too good to turn down, so, after a brief discussion, we all decide that the best course of action is to stay for one more night.
“It’s agreed then. Tomorrow, I will ask the brothers to treat us all. They will anoint our feet and we, in turn, will dedicate all our thoughts and prayers to St Thomas and St Philip. Indeed, this cleansing process seems fitting as when we leave here, we are to visit two holy shrines. The first being West Acre Priory and then Castle Acre Priory.”
The thought of the priories excites me. I watch as Davy enters the hall. He has an air of confidence about him that I have never seen before. Crouching down next to Charlemain, I can see that Davy is pleased to hear of our extended stay.