part0007

Robert had summoned him to his London house a week ago. Clement had penned a rapid reply declining the invitation and pleading an infirmity for his lack of attendance. He knew his refusal would bring Robert to his offices, but it put off the meeting for another few days and Clement was, above all else, a coward.

He was now stuck between the lot of them. Richard Fitzwarren was a calculating cur, too clever for his own good, but it was his bastard brother Clement was justifiably terrified of. He’d been quite sure that the one who had escaped Marshalsea had been set to kill him if the other brother had not laid a controlling hand to stop him. Clement had drafted the legal documents for the bastard’s father to sign to acknowledge him as heir. Since then, he had not heard from them.

Richard Fitzwarren had provided him with an address he could use to send messages should he need to, and he had agreed that should he hear of anything that might be of interest to Richard, that he would communicate it promptly. If he failed to, then Richard had made it quite clear he would remove the restraining hand from his brother, and then Clement rightly feared he would be torn limb from limb by the dog. Robert Fitzwarren he feared, but he was utterly terrified of the blond bastard he’d helped to put into Marshalsea.

Robert was here now at his offices. He heard Marcus yelp as he was pushed out of the way and Clement braced himself for the confrontation. This was not his fault, it was that fool Kettering’s fault. Clement was going to stand by that.

The door slammed open, rebounding against the wall and sending a cloud of dust into the room.

“You had better make this good,” Robert Fitzwarren warned from where he stood in the doorway.

There was little Robert could do other than threaten, and threaten he did. Clement’s heart was in his throat and his knees shook. But Clement was not one of Robert’s servants, and the lawyer knew that no matter however much Robert wanted to beat him, he knew he couldn’t.

Clement swallowed hard and nodded.

“Him and that bastard are wanted for murder, not once now but bloody twice!” Robert stormed, pushing a stack of papers off the end of Clement’s desk and sitting on the edge.

“Murder?” Clement squeaked. Why did this not surprise him? Clement pushed his chair away from the desk in an attempt to put some distance between himself and his angry client.

Robert rounded on Clement. “Aye, not one but two it seems. They argued over a whore and killed two men. One of them had his throat cut so badly his body was drained of blood and there was little but a few strings of flesh holding his head on, by all accounts.”

Clement paled even further.

Robert sneered, “And the other one got a knife through his ribs. A knife in the back would be more to my brother’s liking, but never mind.”

“And have they caught up with them?” Clement was for a moment hopeful that his nightmare might come to an end if the blond bastard ended up swinging from a rope for his crimes.

“No. They’re cowards, tricksters. They’ll not be around now. They will have fled from the city,” Robert spat. Little did Clement know that Robert was trying hard to bury the uncomfortable memory of his meeting with Richard and the bastard he called a brother. Clement would have been heartened had he known as well of the painful cut, still tender and healing under Robert’s hose, where Richard’s blade had torn through the skin on his thigh. “That bastard will wish he was back in Marshalsea when they catch him.”

Robert went on to tell Clement of the enquiries his men had made which had eventually led them to the location of the inn where Richard and the bastard had been lodging. Robert had taken himself to the inn, and an open purse and his obvious rank had produced the information that linked Richard to the deaths of Colan and his cousin. When pressed with silver, Fendral had confessed to having been forced at knifepoint to help Richard move the bodies from the room upstairs. Fendral had gone further and told Robert of a whore who had also helped in moving the bodies, her name was Lizbet.

Clement took in all the details silently.

When Robert was finished, Clement did have some news that he thought might cheer his client. “I have had some communication from the lawyer in the De Bernay case, and there’s good news.” He hoped this would divert Robert’s attention away from Marshalsea and the missing man.

“Go on.” Robert was not going to be easily diverted.

“The woman’s family have sent through a deposition.” Clement fished through the papers on his desk. “Ah, here it is. He states that Peter De Bernay, as her closest living relative, will be happy for the girl to join his household and he states that her own family are rightly placed to manage her property affairs until the girl is wedded.”

Robert sounded horrified. “What’s in it for me? What do I get out of this?”

“Well, they say they will welcome her back to the family and…”

Robert’s fist hit the table hard, stopping Clement’s words and sending more files to slither to the floor. “Know this, you fool, I want control of Assingham. I took over as her guardian when her family spurned her. I’m not handing her back so they can dispose of her and her inheritance as they bloody well see fit! ”

Clement’s hand, holding the papers from De Bernay’s lawyer, shook.

“I have the girl, and I should have control of her lands. Why can’t you see that?” Robert continued.

Clement was forced to speak. “It’s not that simple, sir. Her family have accepted her and they are her legal guardians. We would have to assert that they are not suitable for this role and ask for you to be legally appointed her guardian.”

“Of course they are not suitable. It’s been nearly three years since her father was killed, and since then they have taken her lands and refused to acknowledge her as her father’s daughter. If she goes back she’ll not be safe, they only want her so they can control her wealth,” Robert spat.

“That very well might be the case,” Clement replied. Then more to himself, he added, “We would need to apply to Chancery for a writ of guardianship. That would provide you with the legal right to control her manor and lands until the girl is wedded.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get it done,” demanded Robert, sliding off the end of the desk.

William had sent for his physician, Master Juris. He had not wanted to, but in the end there was no one else, and he wasn’t prepared to spend his last remaining days alone in this room. There had to be something that could be done .

Juris arrived, and Edwin and Jon carried the aged lord as steadily as they could to the bed so Juris could examine his patient.

Propped up on pillows and panting from the exertion, William banished his servants from the room, leaving him alone with Juris.

“Well man, don’t bloody stand there, take a look,” William barked.

William was wearing a linen shift only, and his legs, bare and pale as bleached bones against the rich counterpane, lay outstretched and unresponsive. Strong muscle and taut sinew had withered, skin hung on the emaciated legs and the joints at the ankles and knees protruded viciously. The thin, narrow legs looked not at all like they belonged to the man propped up on the goose-feather pillows.

William was suffering a wasting sickness that was slowly stripping his legs of strength. It had started almost two years ago with an acute pain in his legs and a swelling at the base of his spine. His physicians had bled him, attempting to balance the humors, confining him to his bed, forcing vile smelling concoctions on him and wrapping his legs in a red curative cloth that had stunk of piss. William was convinced that they had robbed him of the last of his strength, for within a month he could no longer walk, and from then he had been confined to his room on the top floor of the house, transported between his bed and his chair by servants.

Juris lay his cool hands on William’s legs; the slack skin lay in loose folds where once it had housed muscle. William tolerated his prodding and poking fingers through gritted teeth. He was not prepared to concede defeat, not just yet. Richard might have removed a sizeable portion of his wealth from his rooms, but William had plenty more. If he made Juris understand just how much he was willing to pay, he was sure there must be something that he could do. He knew Juris worked with the monks at St Bartholomew’s in Smithfield, and perhaps they could offer him some earthly salvation from his condition.

“Well? What do you think?” William felt he’d waited long enough.

“My Lord, do you still have full feeling in your legs?” Juris enquired, and then pinched the skin of William’s feet. “Here, can you feel that?” William nodded. “And what about here? And the lump on your back, is that still troubling you?”

“Not so painful. It’s more a damned discomfort than anything else.” With Juris’ help he rolled onto his side so that the physician could view the swelling at the base of his spine.

Juris ran his hands over the darkened lump. There would be more, much more, inside, hidden between William’s organs, pushing them apart as it grew within the man, slowly taking over his body. Juris knew there was little he could do for William. That, however, was not what his patient would wish to hear.

“I think the swelling is lessening, and the heat has left the skin which is a very good sign.” Juris pulled down the linen shift and helped William to roll himself back to sit up once more on the bed .

“Is there anything you can recommend?” William asked, then, getting to the crux of the matter, added, “I am a man of means. I am aware that you work with the monks at St Bartholomew’s – perhaps they have some medications, some skills that might bring me some relief?”

Juris nodded. “I can certainly take your case to them, discuss it with Father Landown. He runs the hospital. If I have your permission, my lord.” Juris did not like the slur on his professional knowledge that William had just made. However, he could smell money and that would more than make up for any slight made against him as doctor.

“You have my permission. Do it with all haste. I am sick of being tied to these rooms,” William replied shortly.

Juris left him soon after, a new salve on the cabinet to be rubbed into his legs twice a day and powder to be added to wine three times a day.

William summoned Edwin and watched as he added the reddish powder to a glass of wine. It settled like dust on the surface. Taking a spoon, Edwin stirred it, and the spoon sent some of the powder into the air. Edwin grimaced as his nose registered the odour and the smell reached William’s nose as well, reminding him of the stench of rancid leather from the tanner’s yard in Grace Street. Christ only knew what Juris had put into it.

Edwin held out the glass, and William’s trembling hand knocked it, splashing a red stain across his linen shift .

“You imbecile! Once more and I’ll turn you out into the street with nothing but the clothes on your back, do you hear me?” William roared.

Edwin, eyes fixed on the floor, nodded and mumbled, “Yes, my lord.”

“Speak up man!” William had heard perfectly well.

“Yes, my lord,” Edwin said a little louder.

“Get out of my sight.” William waved towards the door.

Edwin needed no further invitation and, backing to the door, had it open in an instant and was through it before William could send another tirade in his direction.

All the drapes were drawn back around the bed and William could clearly see his wife watching him haughtily, her eyes staring into his from the painting that hung on the wall near the fire. Blue eyes, as bright as sapphires, held his own.

“You think I deserve this, don’t you, woman?” William said to his long-dead wife.

Pulling the door closed and hearing the finality of the latch click shut, Edwin met Jon’s eyes and shook his head. “It doesn’t get any better.”

“It’s words, Edwin, that’s all. It’s not like the young Master – he’ll leave you with a bleeding ear for just looking at him,” Jon answered from where he sat on the edge of the makeshift bed in the corridor .

“You’re right. It could be a lot worse,” Edwin accepted.

“You’re lucky to be just working in here for him. Look what happened to young Walt after that bloody horse was stolen from the stables? It was hardly the lad’s fault, was it? The Master beat him so bad he couldn’t walk for two days!”

Edwin’s expression twisted at the memory of it. Walt’s face had been left nothing but a blackened bruise; both his eyes were swollen and closed, and when they had opened again one was a milky white, the sight hopelessly lost forever. The other lad, Hal, had hidden, and it had been Ronan who had delivered that beating when he found him squeezing out from under a cupboard in the kitchens. Ronan’s temper had flared, but it was nothing compared to Robert Fitzwarren’s and Hal got away with boxed ears and a bleeding nose. He’d been lucky.

“Christ, the Fitzwarrens are a bad-tempered lot, down to the very last man,” Edwin grumbled, settling down next to Jon. It was a fairly safe place, as William couldn’t move. He was bound to his chair and all he could do was shout or pull on the bell-chain fastened to the table at his side, and Robert was not at the London house at the moment.

“What I want to know was what happened a few weeks ago. You’ve heard what old Charles said, haven’t you?” Jon mused.

“Everyone’s heard about that. He said it was Richard, back from the grave, but we’ve never seen him since and no one apart from Charles saw them on that night either. It could have been anyone. Charles can’t see past the end of his nose on a good day,” Edwin scoffed.

“Charles said it was Richard Fitzwarren who recognised him, and Charles said he recognised his voice. If you ask me, there is something going on. Master had a sore temper on him when he thrashed Walt, and I’m telling you, it was more than just a lost horse that put him in that mood,” Jon continued.

“Maybe, but I’m starting to think it’ll not be such a good thing when the Lord dies. We’ll not be sat like this then, will we? Robert’ll be in there and there’ll be no bloody hiding from him like we are now,” Edwin grumbled.

“There’s no bloody pleasing you, is there? One minute you want the old bastard dead and buried, the next you want to preserve him in his dotage!” Jon rebuked, spreading his hands wide.

“We shall have to wait and see what happens when Robert takes the title. He’s not like his father. William liked to be in London, close to Court, but Robert’s not bothered; he’d rather be out hunting, he’s hardly ever here. I’d wager that we’ll have a quiet enough life in London, and he’ll be away at the Kent manor. It’s a much grander place than here.” Edwin settled his back against the wall.

“Let’s just hope he leaves us here to manage this place rather than dragging our backsides there. My Marie will not be happy if I have to tell her I’ll be moving out of London, and I doubt she’ll want to come with me,” Jon said, shaking his head.

Edwin laughed and clapped him on the back. “And is that such a bad thing? ”

Jon screwed his face up in thought for a moment. “You might have a point. A life without a woman might be a damned sight less complicated.”

William was not a man who had ever felt that his spiritual values were under attack by the changing religious mood in the country. The break from Rome established by Henry VIII and the disbursement of the monastic wealth had been a programme William had not only helped enforce, but he had directly profited from it as well. Well placed, and in favour at Henry’s Court, parcels of monastic land had been his to purchase at prices that could not be turned down. Henry’s coffers swelled, and his key nobles exerted influence over land and property formally under the control of the Catholic Church – it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

When Henry died and Edward firmly marked England as a Protestant realm, William was happy to believe as his sovereign dictated. With the re-establishment of Catholicism under Mary, William happily switched back and accepted the Mass once more. His property rights were not assailed even if his religious freedoms were – but William was not troubled by this. He would worship where his sovereign directed and questioning the changes was not in his nature. Creation owed its existence to the Creator, and William took his lead on how to worship the Lord from the sovereign. If William believed in anything passionately, it was sovereignty and the divine right of kings. He respected the power he could see, not the one he could not.

Juris had close links with the Church at Bartholomew’s. He worked there offering his skills for free to the poor in the infirmary, and two days later Father Landown from the infirmary called to visit William.

When Father Landown was shown into William’s room, the old man sat, as usual, fastened to his chair. Edwin brought a second chair for Father Landown and set it at a respectful distance from where the lord sat.

“I believe Juris asked you to visit me. I am grateful, father. I had hoped that you might be able to abate my suffering,” William said hopefully.

Father Landown nodded. “Master Juris is a godly man. He helps weekly at the infirmary where we treat the poor, and has done so for years. He asks for no payment and uses his own salves and balms in the treatment as well.”

William nodded, although he had little interest in how Juris spent his time when he was not attending William, and even less interest in his help of the poor and destitute. He did wish, however, to avail himself of the expertise at Father Landown’s disposal, and he had more than Juris working for him. There had to be something they could do. “He has suggested that you might be able to help me. He has done much, but perhaps you can offer me more. ”

Father Landown smiled. “There is much we can offer, my lord. It would be a simple matter to arrange.”

William smiled as well. This was what he wanted to hear. “I thought so. Juris has only so much expertise. With your infirmary and the brothers in your service, you surely are so much more knowledgeable.”

“We can start now. We can include your name in our daily mass. The brothers would lift your name higher so the Lord God would hear your name and grant your passage to Heaven. A perpetual mass in your name. God notes such devotion and you can rest assured that your eternal soul would…”

“… I understand, Father, what you can offer my eternal soul. I have not invited you here to discuss my funeral! Your infirmary, your medical advice. Are you not experts in this field?”

A confused expression settled on Father Landown’s face. “My Lord, we are. Our Order has been offering salvation to the sick and injured since its foundation. Master Juris has discussed your case and has done as much as he can. It is your eternal soul we can assist.”

“I don’t want my eternal soul assisted,” William said through gritted teeth. “I want earthly assistance to get my legs moving and get me out of this damned chair, you hear?”

Father Landown paled. “My lord, we can offer hope and salvation. Earthly suffering is but fleeting in comparison to a…”

“Get out!” William barked .

Father Landown, even though he was seated, jumped and the chair legs scraped on the floor.

“Edwin, get in here.” William was yanking insistently on the chain to summon his servant. Edwin arrived almost instantly. “Get him out of my sight. Now!”

William closed his eyes and rested his head back against the chair and listened to the noise of Edwin closing the door and their footsteps as he walked with Father Landown along the corridor towards the stairs. Such a simple thing. To be able to walk. Damn them all to Hell.

When he opened his eyes again, he found he was not alone. Eleanor’s gaze lay upon him, and he was sure he could detect scorn in her eyes.

The following day saw Edwin and Jon labouring as they moved William and his belongings from the top floor to the ground floor. The house had a large hall affording spacious dining, and another smaller room which had been his wife’s, and it was here he moved. His bed was dismantled, carried down the stairs on the backs of his servants and rebuilt. His coffers, books and shelves were all brought down and the wall cleared of hunting trophies so that Eleanor could watch over her husband once again.

Sitting back in his chair, William smiled up at his wife. “You were right, I was giving in.” The scornful expression seemed to have left Eleanor’s face now and her eyes smiled at him once more.

The room was noisier, the sounds from the street making it inside. He heard the servants in the hall, and if the door at the end of the corridor were left open he could even hear the noise from the kitchens as well. The noise was better than the oppressive silence of loneliness.