Walking two by two, we head away from St Helen’s Nunnery in the direction of Bishopsgate. As we approach the gate, the street widens considerably. This area of the city is completely different to Ludgate or Cheapside. From what I can see, it consists mainly of monastic foundations and markets.
Owain leans over. “I love this part of the city. I’m always at my happiest here. The religious houses and the markets give me a sense of security. Somehow, the people seem different, too.”
Smiling, I agree. “The air feels much fresher here. It’s almost like being in a village.”
“You know, I’d never thought of that, but you’re right. A village with lots to see and do. If you don’t mind, I would love to point out some of my favourite places as we pass, but I promise not to bore you. It’s just so nice to have a companion to share my thoughts with.”
“I agree. We can learn together.”
“The church that we are just about to pass is dedicated to St Ethelburga. A rare dedication. By all accounts, she was a very strong woman. A natural leader. I wonder if her namesake within our party shares the same values?” Laughing, he continues, “I always think the stones of the church sparkle brightly in the sunshine. Mirroring the bright light that St Ethelburga witnessed when she was blessed with a vision at Barking Priory, where she was the abbess. Jesus Christ appeared to her and requested that she dedicate her life to caring for others. This she did to her dying day. I have often prayed to her for guidance when I have faced difficult situations and I know that she hears me and guides me.”
I find it strange that Owain should mention a vision, as this is what I pray for night and day. I wonder if that was a sign from God? Turning the corner, Bishopsgate comes into view. Completely different to Ludgate, it’s crenelated to look like a castle with rounded towers flanking both sides of the actual gate. The tower to the right is topped by a small wooden building. I expect that it’s used as a lookout, but I decide not to ask, as Owain is now enthusiastically pointing to the House of St John & St Charity.
“Here, the brothers mourn continuously for the souls of the departed. Their services are well rewarded, especially at times of war.” We cross ourselves. No doubt remembering our loved ones and dreading what should happen if our lord’s protectorship should end. I am relieved to have this thought banished from my mind by Owain, who has moved on already and is pointing with an outstretched arm. “Now, this street is very interesting. It leads to the Augustine Priory of the Begging Friars. It’s well known that the brothers who reside within are the most pious in the city. They’re often seen in the streets, speaking to people and spreading the Word of God. Although, I’m embarrassed to say that I try to avoid them as much as possible, as they have such strict beliefs and are a little frightening.”
Changing the subject, I ask Owain about the many markets that we have just passed.
“Well, some are formal and have charters, but for the most part people just sell what they grow, where they grow it. Why pay for a plot when you can sell it for nothing on your own piece of ground? Bartering is also commonplace in these parts. I often return with items, just so that I can sample the fruit here. The plums are the tastiest I’ve ever had.”
In the distance, I can see ridge and furrow everywhere. They abut the city walls and stretch for as far as the eye can see. On reflection, I can well understand Owain’s enthusiasm for this area. Alard halts our group just in front of the gate. Standing slightly to the left of the road, we are surrounded by a moat of camomile flowers and wild herbs. The smell is amazing!
Owain leans over, before whispering in my ear, “Alard will be happy. We’ve made it in good time.”
Nodding, I make no mention of my thoughts. I’m also surprised by just how quickly we have travelled, especially as both Ethel and Agnes appear to be of a great age. Sadly, their backs are bent. That being said, however, they are far more sprightly than Anne, who puffs as she waddles. The gate is a wonder to behold and must be the depth of at least two carts. If only all defences could be so beautiful. I can clearly see the metal hinges, which secure the wooden gates to the stone wall. They shine brightly and are in good order. I can see no sign of rust or deterioration.
Owain explains that the gates are maintained by the Bishop of London and that it’s in his interest to keep the gates in pristine condition. “For every cart that passes through this gate, the bishop is given one stick of wood in payment. I hear that his household is bright and cheerful, and that they never know the cold.”
Alard, raising his right hand to get our attention, calls out, “The formalities are now complete and we can leave the city. All that remains is for us to visit St Botolph’s church. Here, we will join with other wayfarers. Some are praying for a safe journey, while others are giving thanks for their safe arrival. When we leave, all I ask is that we walk together. If anyone needs to stop, please just call out and we will move to the side of the road and rest. Davy, please can you walk at the back? And Ned, please can you walk in the middle? I will lead all the way to Cheshunt.”
Everyone nods in agreement. Looking around, I notice that Ned has a wry smile on his face. “I’ll play a tune as we walk.”
Once through the gate, I peer down into the deep ditch that runs the entire length of the wall. I fear for anyone who falls into it as the sides are extremely steep and there is stagnant water at the bottom. Looking up, I am taken aback by the number of people in front of me. The quiet calm of the monasteries and markets has been replaced by a wall of noise.
“Stay close, Bethany. In fact, why don’t you take my arm?”
Gratefully, I hold onto Owain. The queue of people waiting to enter the city is orderly in comparison to the crowd that swirls around St Botolph’s church. As we get closer, I notice that there are tramps everywhere. Most are wearing little more than dirty rags. Alarmingly, some are nearly naked. A few are standing, while others are lying down under hedges. All are filthy and some appear to be stained with what looks like dried blood. I try not to stare, but I find it almost impossible to avert my eyes.
Ahead of me, Alard looks concerned and raises his hand sharply. “Please, everyone, come close. I just cannot understand what is afoot. I have never known such a scene. It’s not safe. I tell you, it’s just not safe. Ned, did you see those beggars in the ditch back there? Well, I’m sure that I recognised two of them as Somerset’s men. I fear a trap or even worse. It’s far too dangerous to enter the church. We must walk on by as quickly as possible. Ned, Davy, Owain, unsheathe your daggers. A drawn blade will act as a deterrent.”
Looking from one face to another, I can’t help but think that Anne and Cecily seem unaffected, whereas Agnes, Ethel and myself are visibly shaking.
“Try not to worry, Bethany. Alard is right; we need to get out of this place as soon as possible.”
“Owain, what did Alard mean when he said that it could be a trap or even worse?”
“Ah, well, you see that building over there? The one that’s setback and guarded. It’s a hospital for those whose minds have been damaged in ways that aren’t fully understood. It’s rumoured that some may be violent murderers, but no one knows for sure. Word has it that the Duke of Somerset’s men have been trying to free those who are imprisoned within. The duke will then use the ensuing pandemonium to blacken the protectorship of our lord.”
As we begin to walk away, I decide to sing quietly to myself. This will divert my thoughts. My fear begins to subside the further we travel, but I am still concerned about Anne and Cecily. I wonder if I should mention it to Owain tonight when we are alone. To everyone’s relief, the road begins to widen out and the crush disappears. Ned, Davy and Owain put away their daggers and we all begin to relax.
Owain once more begins to comment on our surroundings, “This road will take us all the way to Cheshunt. It’s called Ermine Street and it was built by the Roman invaders hundreds of years ago. Straight as a die, it is. I like to think of it as the backbone of our country. It runs all the way from London to York.”
I ponder silently on the latter city, which shares its name with our lord. “Owain, have you been to York?”
“Yes, many times. Mostly walking, but once on horseback. I had to run an urgent errand. It was all very exciting! Such a fine city.”
With this thought, I let the beauty of the day wash over me. The clear blue sky is uninterrupted by clouds and the hedgerows are snowed under with late blossom. New green leaves continue to unfurl themselves and the earth waits patiently for the full force of the sun. Looking over my shoulder, I realise that the city has disappeared.
Along the way, we pass through manor after manor, all of which appear to be very similar to my own. To the right of the road, flooded fields stretch into infinity as pools of mud mix with the river. They create the illusion of a very large mirror. In this mirror, I can see all manner of wildlife. Birds swoop high in the air and then dive straight down to the ground, singing loudly to announce their presence and to attract potential mates. Such is the time of year.
Owain breaks the silence to tell a tale. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I always think that the River Lea looks magnificent at this time of the year. Although, you have to be very careful and stick to the road. Even though the ground can appear quite solid, its often marshy underfoot. When I was young, I ignored the advice of my elders to my peril and I nearly sunk. Luckily, Ned was on hand to pull me out.” Chuckling loudly, he continues, “And he’s never let me forget it either. I’m sure that tonight, after a couple of tankards of ale, he’ll tell the story again and embellish it, as he always does.”
We laugh in unison. “I’ll look forward to it and act surprised when he mentions it. I wouldn’t want to ruin his enjoyment.”
“That’s very kind of you, Bethany, but don’t be too kind or he’ll tell his tales all day long – and he’ll keep playing that blessed shawm. I’m sure that he likens himself to one of Chaucer’s pilgrims in his mind.”
“I wonder which one?”
“The miller, no doubt.”
We laugh at the very thought it.
Further down the road, Alard announces that we are nearing Cheshunt. “Not far now. When we arrive at the next junction, all we have to do is to turn right and the abbey will be directly in front of us.”
True to his word, once we turn right, the abbey stands before us.
Alard rubs his hands and smiles. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it, and tonight we’ll be staying in the great hall. We’ll also be joined by the last two of our party, Bernadette and Ursula. In fact, I think I can see them now, standing just to the left of the gatehouse.”
Ned cranes his neck and then calls out, “That looks like Bernadette and Ursula to me.”
On arrival, Alard and Ned greet them in turn. Ursula is noteworthy for her warty nose and lopsided mouth. I try my hardest not to stare, but I find myself drawn to Ursula’s nose and protruding hair. Bernadette, on the other hand, is very beautiful, with skin as white as milk. Alard knocks loudly on the abbey door.
Cautiously, it opens. “The Lord be praised. Alard, my dear friend, you have made good time. We were not expecting you so soon.”
Alard bows. “Brother David, it’s good to see you. It’s been too long. We made good time as we travelled direct and avoided St Botolph’s.”
Brother David’s face momentarily crumples. “So, the rumours that I have heard are true. Somerset’s men have flooded the area?”
“Yes, it looks that way.”
Regaining his composure, Brother David’s smile returns. “Well, let’s not dwell on that. Please come in and we’ll get you all settled.”
Inside the hall, I survey the scene before me. No fine linen or soft mattress for me tonight, but the floor will suffice. I have my cloak for warmth and there is a hearth. The light inside the hall fades faster than I had expected. Alard was right to be concerned about the clouds this morning. I shiver a little, but this is more to do with my nerves than the cold. In truth, I am a little worried about the sleeping arrangements. However, this soon fades when I realise that the men have made their encampment at the farthest end of the hall by the door and us ladies are positioned at the kitchen end. Fortunately, I am nowhere near Anne and Cecily, for they still concern me. I have managed to position myself between Agnes and Ethel.
Suddenly, and quite by surprise, Ned strides purposefully into the middle of the room. Clapping loudly to get everyone’s attention, he announces, “Let the entertainment begin. Yes, now is the time that you have all been waiting for. I am going to play my shawm. Tonight, we will eat, drink and be merry.” With this, Ned notices that an embarrassed Davy has retreated into the furthest corner. “Why, Davy, are you shy? Do you not want to dance to the tune of my shawm?” Silently, Davy shakes his head.
Owain, who now stands beside me, explains what is about to happen, “Here we go. I told you this would happen. As soon as he has an audience, especially one as bewitched as Agnes and Ethel, he begins to play his shawm manically. Then, he’ll dance and prance around, jumping in the air, before tumbling to the ground. After our meal, he’ll drink two or three cups of ale and then the storytelling will begin. Then, who knows how he’ll finish the night?”
“Oh, Owain, what fun! It’s just like April Fool’s Day all over again.”
“Yes, I’ll give you that.”
Ned, who has assumed the position of the ‘Lord of Misrule’ is now wearing a long floppy, pointed hat, which he produced from his satchel. It’s rather worn and adorned with a great deal of small silver bells. This means that his every movement will be accompanied by jingling. Everyone – apart from Davy – is either clapping or stamping their feet until the door at the farthest end of the hall opens.
Two surprised brothers enter. Both are carrying food and both seem bemused by the sight before their eyes. For a split second, the music stops, before starting again, but this time as a fanfare. I sense that the brothers are enjoying their part in the entertainment a little too much and I wonder whether this is not an entirely new situation. Maybe this is a tried-and-tested ritual? Eating, on the other hand, is a rather more sedate affair. The exertions of the day seemingly affecting everyone, even Ned.
Owain nudges me gently. “Bethany, I think that we may be saved from the storytelling tonight. Ned’s audience has fallen asleep.” Laughing silently to ourselves, we gaze around the hall. “Well, I think that now’s as good a time as ever to settle down for the night. Goodnight, Bethany.”
“Yes, goodnight, Owain – and thank you, I’ve had a marvellous day. I cannot wait until the morning.”
***
First light brings with it cheery faces. Alard, as organised as ever, announces that we should leave by the striking of the hour. “Waltham Cross awaits us. It’s not very far and it will provide us with an interesting day. We will be staying at The Falcon Inn, which is right next to the cross. The rooms are very comfortable and will serve us well, as tomorrow we have a long walk ahead of us. When we arrive, the innkeeper and his sons will show us where to go. I think that most of us will have to share, but, rest assured, the innkeeper will let us know.”
On the road again, we walk in the same pairs as yesterday. Our pattern is now set for the pilgrimage I expect. Time passes quickly today and before we know it, we have arrived at Waltham Cross. I am surprised by its size, as it has two main crossroads and I have already passed three large inns: The Lion, The Four Swannes and The Welsh Harp. I play with the names in my head. They appear to be linked, but are they? Royalty, could this be the key? The Lion – well, that could be King Richard, Coeur de Lion. The Four Swannes – again, swans are a sign of royalty and are linked to our lord’s father, Richard of Conisbrough, the late Earl of Cambridge. The Welsh Harp – well, that’s more difficult. I know that King Henry V was of Welsh decent, so it could relate to him. How strange! Usually, it’s very easy to read the signs, to discover whether people are friend or foe, but not this time. I wonder why.
When we arrive at the cross, I remember Bill’s comments and silently nod my head in agreement. The original cross that stands before me is far more beautiful than the one being constructed in the city. The stone is aging gracefully and its hard edges are softening with time. The base consists of three layers, which in itself is intricately carved. I cannot say exactly how high the cross stands. All I know for sure is that it stands higher that the roof of the neighbouring Falcon Inn. I long to investigate further, but we are being called to enter the inn. Inside, a huge fire burns within the hearth.
“Welcome to my inn. I am Samuel and these are my sons, Jon and Robert.” My attention wavers slightly, as I am surprised to see that both Anne and Cecily have pushed their way to the front. “Your rooms are ready and in a moment, we will take you to them—”
Rudely, Cecily interrupts, “I want to share with Anne.”
Shocked by her tone of voice and rudeness, Ned turns abruptly to face her. His jovial manner is completely banished. “You will sleep where Samuel has put you and if you don’t like it, there’s a hedge outside. You can sleep under that.”
An obviously annoyed Davy strides forward. “Apologise now, Cecily.”
Reeling with annoyance, Cecily blurts out an insincere, “Sorry,” before stomping out of the inn.
Having regained his composure, Samuel picks up a handful of keys, all of which have large leather fobs. Some are green, while others are red. “Jon, please can you handout the green ones? And Robert, please can you handout the red ones?”
Owain, who has been silent throughout, tugs at my arm and draws me to one side. “The green fobs relate to the rooms inside the inn, while the red ones relate to the rooms in the courtyard. The red rooms are maintained for travellers whose backgrounds are unknown. It’s a way of ensuring that those lodged outside are only able to access their room and the downstairs area of the inn. Their ability to spy is severely curtailed.”
“Surely, we do not have to worry about such things on this pilgrimage?”
“Oh, yes. We must be on our guard at all times. Allegiances can change.”
Relief floods over me as I am given a key with a green fob.
“You never thought that you’d be given a red one, did you?” Owain laughs before continuing, “Come on, let’s explore our rooms.”
It turns out that our rooms are next to each other on the first floor. Surprised to have a room to myself, I decide to explore it thoroughly. Although, in reality, there is very little to explore. It is small and cosy. New rushes have been strewn across the floor and I sense that they have been sprinkled with rosemary, as each footstep releases a burst of fragrance. The window is quite small and seems to be in the shade. Looking out, I am surprised to see that I am within touching distance of the cross. Fancy crockets and statues are but an arm’s length away. The temptation to reach out is almost unbearable, but I am stopped by a knocking on the wall.
“Bethany, can you hear me?”
Walking over, I put my face as close to the wall as possible and answer, “Yes, Owain.”
“Good, are you ready to explore?”
Excited at this unexpected invitation, I reply, “Oh, yes. I’ll meet you on the landing.” I lay my cloak on the bed and change into my new boots.
***
Outside, we make our way to the bottom of the cross. Looking up makes me feel quite dizzy. Owain’s excitement is palpable and infectious.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? The craftsmen certainly didn’t cut any corners. The leaves and berries are so real, and then there’s the heraldic shields. Can you see the one closest to us? That’s the arms of England – and the one over there, that’s the arms of Castile and Leon.”
I gaze in awe, unable to speak.
“Please excuse me for asking, but can you see the buttresses?” Owain asks.
“Yes, just about.”
A sad-looking Owain drops his eyes to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I shouldn’t have asked you that, I’m sorry.”
Without thinking, I take hold of Owain’s hand and squeeze it tightly. “Please, don’t be sorry. I’m not offended. In fact, I would be very grateful if you could describe the bits that I cannot see.”
A smiling Owain looks into my face. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes are happy once more. “That would be a pleasure.”
The rest of our day flies by in a haze of discovery. Surprisingly, we only saw Bernadette on our adventures. Strangely, she was loitering by one of the outside rooms! After a late meal, we pass the evening by the fire. Beeswax candles splutter and flicker. The smell reminds me of home. Inside, I feel a sense of contentment and peace. Ethel is reciting a passage from the Bible. I listen intently, as it’s a strange passage and one that I have not heard before. Looking around, I quickly realise that no one appears to recognise it. Agnes, however, is the first to speak.
“Ethel, what on earth does it mean?”
With a kind smile, Ethel replies, “I’m very sorry, my dear, but I have never understood it either.”
Laughter rings out and continues to do so until we retire.