1 Horse Play
The
only topic of conversation in the village was the impending Easter races.
We
had been away from Monkshithe for six long months, longer than we had stayed
there to settle its problems. Not
unnaturally we were concerned that what we had started might have fallen apart
a little; especially as we had already encountered a small problem that one of
our tenants had not taken to our steward.
Mind
you, John Belwether was a stubborn old fool at the best of times and would not
take any problem to any man, nor probably mentioned in his prayers to God
either. In any normal village so relatively wealthy a man would also hold
public office as churchwarden at least; but John was interested in John’s
affairs and no other and cared not a jot for any rough music the other
villagers might enact upon him as reproof.
But
it did make us wonder if there were any other problems unrevealed to James.
We
could not have been more wrong.
James
Sykes sober was a very different man to the dispirited bailiff we had found;
and as Steward with purpose in life and the Michaelmas rents and extra monies
entrusted to him to make such improvements as he saw fit, he was a most
excellent manager. With Vivian Brewis
to help him, and that rogue’s own brand of pragmatic good sense, he did a fine
job, even though Vivian had been
something of a shadow of himself the last two months after his wife died
birthing a stillborn daughter.
We
rode all about the neighbourhood to remind people who we were, and to see if
they had any needs; and the difference in the cheerful greetings as compared to
the sullen hopelessness we had found last year was most encouraging.
We
would hope that Pernel would be strong enough now to remain in England
for the next winter; or if not, that she have the confidence to travel abroad
just with a group of servants to care for her.
There
had been a few shakedowns of course; we learned that Kistur had fought both
Fidel and Oliver when they arrived in company with Crispin and Fanny; for
Kistur held something of a torch for Pernel and was like to fight any other boy
who might be either a more favoured companion or one who in any way should
disparage her.
In
the meantime, Easter was upon us and all its attendant customs and
celebrations. We had perforce to spend
last Easter in France, and were
determined to enjoy this Holy time of year properly at home; and such would
also help to make this new house more of a home.
We
helped decorate the church with such substitute palms for Palm Sunday as we
might find, which were chiefly withies from the riverbank; then we finished off
the garments we had been sewing, the girls, Fanny, Connie, Rosa
and me, for gifting on Maundy Thursday.
We had made a selection of garments for the poorest, especially children
who are hard on clothes and grow out of them so fast. Besides, it was nice for the little girls to
sew for other children. We also made
comfortable nightgowns for the inmates of the hospice, and took ancient Brother Hugh a bottle of
mead to toast his aspirations of reaching his hundredth year.
He
was in one of his lucid moments, and entertained us with Church scandals over
the last eighty years since he had entered his novitiate just turned fourteen.
After
a couple of glasses of mead he even sang us the words he and his fellow novices
in Norwich had
put to some of the sacred songs.
I
rarely heard smuttier lyrics; and Robin
and I laughed heartily, for young boys do such things with no thought of heresy
or blasphemy, especially when – as Brother Hugh explained – they learned the Latin
words by rote and had no idea of any meaning attached to them.
We
gave out Maundy money as well of course; but I had ever liked to be involved
with personal gifting that had more worth to it than the easy task of passing
out coin.
On Good
Friday we took part in Creeping to the Cross, and it seemed that we caused
great surprise in turning out to walk barefoot the mile to the church.
“Bit
o’ a change on Sir Lawrence,” remarked Edwin Attwood,
with his inevitable spit to end the comment.
“Him wass walked three steps on his knees jus’ as far as his own
chapel.,”
The
more I learned about Sir Lawrence, the more I thought that he really did have
everything coming to him.
If
only for not taking any notice of the abductions of young village girls. He ignored it for twenty years; we cleared
the whole thing up in a matter of weeks.
The
ruined Saxon church which had been used for such ungodly purposes we decided to
dismantle; its tower stood over the crypt as a reminder to bereaved parents of
their daughters’ sufferings, though we had filled the crypt in. We were robbing out the stone to build, we
thought appropriately, a schoolhouse, with a room for petties from the village,
who would be required to do three mornings schooling every week to the age of
seven; as well as permitted more an their parents wished it. There was also a room for starting scholars
and a third for advanced work, and we might add others as seemed appropriate.
Crispin
was also building a house for himself and Fanny adjoining the schoolhouse, and
had hired a brickmaker and his boy to dig the local clay to eke out the
stone. Robin had offered him land across
the river towards Hobbeshithe St Stephen, an Fanny wanted a totally separate establishment;
but Crispin demurred.
“We want
some good privacy, Rob, but we are happy still to be a part of your household
to the extent of joining you for most meals,” he said “It is for the good
company as well as the excellent board you keep.,”
Robin laughed.
“If
you are sure….we’d not want to put a cramp upon your marriage by having you too
close,” he said.
“Fan
likes to be around Felicia as I like
to be around you,” said Crispin
simply. “But we want our own chambers where too I may say that I am not at home
to pupils.,”
That
was sensible. And sensible too that they
should have their own house to love or quarrel in privacy.
It
they wished a quiet, intimate meal, Fanny’s
maid Lucia could prepare such for
them; or they might come to us for lively discourse.
Besides,
I felt certain that Fanny was breeding
by now; and they would want somewhere to enjoy any sisters or brothers to Sylvia.
Easter
Sunday dawned gloriously clear after a rainy night; a most excellent omen –
though some do say that a rainy Easter brings a good harvest. I fear that to many of the Parish the omen
was largely one of good racing at Beccles after Mass.
We
were to attend the races too, and Adam
was keen to enter Bucephalous against the wider field of competition than he
had found at Bungay. Kistur had begged
permission to ride Sir
Lawrence’s courser, Star; he and Adam had already held an informal race or two since
our return. We happily gave him leave.
In
the language of the Rom, Egyptians as they are called here, for some obscure
reason, Kistur means ‘rider’.
I’d
back that boy on the back of a hog against most on a courser.
Adam
would have to work hard to come close to him in a flat race, though Bucephalous
loved a run cross country with plenty of obstacles.
The
Easter service was very uplifting. Father
Philip Woodhill had a better rapport with his people than poor refined, erudite
Father Stackhouse in Lavenham.
Father
Philip’s family came from around these parts, which helped.
We
had prepared a feast for our people, of course; and made sure that it was all
easily packable into baskets, pasties and pies and cold meats, mostly fowl; for
Easter Sunday ended Lent. With such foods any who liked might fill baskets and
travel to Beccles to get a goodly place to watch the races.
As
the entire village seemed set to do this, we shrugged and joined them with our
own basket.
Why
preside over a virtually empty table?
James Sykes
did not wish to attend the races, and would keep an eye on any rowdier tenants
that remained yet in the village.
As
most of the rowdier elements were going with us, he would only have to break up
fights between such old codgers bent with eld that got bellicose in their
cups. James
should have a nice quiet afternoon of it.
We
rode in company with many of the villagers, with the whole procession making a
festive atmosphere; and we took along the sumpter ponies to carry the smallest
village children in pack panniers whilst their larger siblings rode. Oliver Grewel the miller loaned his cart and
his horse to pull it, for the comfort of the elderly; he had a beast that was
one of these new bred sturdy creatures out of French stock and destriers that
they call a Punch. Huelin Carpenter and Mhathan Smith
each produced mule carts, so none need stay for reason of infirmity.
Our
mule, Jester, was unreliable with a cart, though Connie was working patiently
to break him to it. This day however she
was riding him – in preference to a horse – with Vivian Brewis
and small Amadeo.
I had
ordered Vivian to go to the races to
help him start to put his life back together, by spending time with his infant
son.
Besides,
there was bound to be some skulduggery at a race meeting that would attract his
attention and cherk up his interest past his despondency.
Kistur
and Adam had ridden their mounts on before the rest of us got going, that they
then have time to rest them. Robin and I
chose to exercise Nightfire and Shadow, who had been in the stables when we
moved here; though of preference I rode Bronte that came from Kent, from the Blean. I had however put Bronte
at the disposal of Silas
Hunter, for his damaged knee, and
he took old Walter the bee keeper up
with him, as a rare treat for the old man.
Walter had not been to the
races in years and was quite cackling with joy.
Robin took Sebastian
up with him; and I took Tibby to act as my maid and her Peterkin. Rosa
had elected to stay at home with babies.
Pernel took her maid Viola up with her on the palfrey Dancer; and Emma had Tamsin with her on placid and overweight
Griselda.
Jerid,
Oliver and Fidel must run along with the village boys; and it would do the
Italian boys no harm to get to know the boys of the village, such as Josse
Carpenter, who was a crony of Adam. I was proud that Jerid felt now quite bold
to mix in with the other boys; but of course, they were used to his dark skin
now and thought it not strange any more.
Pernel
would, I wager, have liked to have run along with the boys too, as Fanchon
Tailor did; but we must ever still be careful of her health. As the rain had laid any dust there was, I
nodded when she gave me a pleading look; that she might join her friends for
some of the way at least, and give rides to others on Dancer.
Once
in Beccles and on the Common where the races were held, we caught up with Adam;
he was being very much the young Lord of the Manor, in charge of Simkin Caston
and his sister Maud, whose kitten face went well with the correct way that she
pronounced her name to rhyme with ‘cloud’ not with ‘sword’ as many start to
pronounce it these days. They all looked
dishevelled, but victorious.
Simkin
had been picking pockets – nothing new there – for the pickings being better
here than in his native Bungay; and a wealthy youth and his friends had been
about to take him up for it. Fortunately for Simkin, he had spied Adam and recognised him from our stay in Bungay; and
appealed to him for aid.
The
leader of the youths had, Adam
explained, a cruel mouth and nasty eyes and reminded Adam of Robert Belvoir of
evil memory; so he promptly picked Simkin’s pockets and deposited all his ill
gotten gains on this fellow, Nicol
Hartley. Adam used his fine clothes and air of address
to suggest to Hartley’s companions that their friend made game of them; and
they, not being used to encountering young lordlings who wore silk with so
insouciant an air had wavered long enough for Adam to demand that Hartley turn
out his purse. It had saved Simkin from
the justices, but the bully and his cronies were still spoiling for a fight.
“So
we gave them one,” said Adam, cheerfully.
He,
Kistur, Simkin and Maud
Caston had routed five older boys
quite successfully; and Reeve Greengrasse had seen the older ones ‘menacing Milord Adam’ and had sent
them on their way with thick ears to add to their other lumps.
Adam
liked Simkin well enough, but was alive to the likelihood that he was born to
be hanged; and was extolling to the boy the virtues and greater profits of
being an intelligencer over being but a thief.
Simkin
was listening with interest.
That’s
a very good boy we had there.
We
had been afraid to educate Simkin lest he enter the church and steal half of
Christendom.
The
usual villains were at the races of course.
There was Lowis Moyse with his cheap finery and ready, ingratiating
smile, that was wiped off when he saw me, remembering my little knife; there
was Thomas Catling and his dice, who gave us a sour look and slipped away
quickly; and Master Anthony Pigeon with his air of aplomb and a new henchman;
who was none other than another Pigeon, Adam of that name, one time steward of
Monkshithe and proven thief. Whether they were in any wise related or the
shared surname was a coincidence I could not guess; but it seemed that Adam Pigeon
had found his level. Both scowled in our
general direction. They looked quite alike.
Coney
catchers do not like to find that their coneys are foxes, as Anthony had; and we had deprived Adam Pigeon
of a comfortable and lazy living off our tenants. He was still wearing clothes
that I wager he had taken from Sir
Lawrence’s wardrobe though, a fine
broadcloth robe of dark, probably Alessandrino, blue, guarded with squirrel
fur. I looked at it pointedly.
They
too hastily made themselves scarce.
I
spoke rapidly to Vivian to keep an eye
on them. He had not seen our previous
steward before; and it were well that he knew that the fellow had teamed up
with a known gambler of dubious methods.
Peter Rumyelow
came over to greet us, and bowed unhappily.
“My Lady Felicia, I have
heard of the monstrous plot my sister was involved in with Marjorie – I am so sorry!,” he declared.
I
shrugged.
“Such
is not your fault, Peter. I blame Marjorie;
and I suspect too that your sister’s spite came all or most from that evil
woman’s quiet training long ere you placed her in Flixton Priory. What happened to Richenda?,”
Peter shrugged.
“She
was not indicted for heresy with Marjorie;
she is but one of the nuns under a new Mother Superior. She wants to get out of taking her vows when
her novitiate be up, but an she will not remain, she will be on her own for she
is no more kin to me.,”
Harsh;
but she had already got him into trouble, and would have landed him with an
almost un-payable debt, had Robin and
my grandsire chosen to demand the full price of the painting she had tried to
destroy. I nodded my sympathetic
understanding.
“Warn
me an she leaves,” I said. “I have no desire to wake up to find her firing my
house after the manner of her mentor.,”
He
looked aghast.
“Think
you she might? Dear God, what ought I to do?,”
“If I
were you,” said Robin “I’d tell the
new Prioress that you placed her in a priory in preference to Bedlam, for her
insane rages. Tell her of the incident
at Curtney Hall. She’ll soon display her temper to back up your words, for her
temper truly is insane, methinks.,”
Peter nodded.
“A
wise idea,” he said “I shall be glad to act on your suggestion, Sir Robert.,”
Walter Danforth
was there too, and he had taken his intense, hawkish visage to start
altercation over Kistur, claiming that the boy rode a stolen horse, for he
recognised it.
Star
was very similar to Danforth’s own courser.
I
sauntered over.
“I
pray you, Master Danforth, dost count it theft when a dead
man’s property is awarded elsewhere?,” I said sweetly.
“You!,” he said without any signs of
pleasure. “What do you know of this
horse then – and that Gyppo boy?,”
“Half
Gyppo,” I corrected. “His father is a good Beccles merchant, well known and
respected; and quite like to knock you down for miscalling his natural
son. Kistur here is placed as page to
mine husband in training to be his sire’s steward; and rides mine husband’s
horse that used once to belong to Sir Lawrence Stoke of Monkshithe. It is of the same siring as your good beast,
methinks?,”
Danforth
cooled down and sniffed. From him it was
half an apology.
“Well….whatever
else, I know you to be fair and honest.
Are those other Gyppos in your pay?,”
I
looked where he indicated and laughed.
“My
nephew Jerid whom we have as our ward is of blackamoor stock like me; and is
also mine husband’s apprentice. Fidel is
Italian, and tanned dark from warmer suns than grey England, and is an artist’s child
that hath also apprenticeship with Robin.
Oliver is another apprentice,
tanned as dark, but blonde from his Viking father. Art too ready to let your
prejudices hang out, and your unreasoning bitterness.,”
“Perchance
I have reason for my prejudices; and as for my bitterness, well why not? Do I
not feel embittered by the execution of Sir Lawrence,
a good Yorkist?,”
“He
was a bad Yorkist, Squire Danforth. Apart from failing in his duty to his land
and people, which a gentleman such as yourself must understand, he also made a
most serious error of judgement,” I said.
“What
was that?,”
“He
backed a loser. He threw in his lot with
a treasonous group who were very fools.,”
“How
can you call them treasonous? Henry
Tudor stole the crown!,” he
shouted in a prudent whisper.
“And
history is written by those who win.
This country needs no more wars, especially civil wars which are
anything but civil. Besides, all the
information in the letters the fool wrote point to Sir Lawrence
being more interested in the pay for his support than in the cause. In my mind a good Yorkist is one who sees to
the welfare of his dependants and proves himself as a good lord to them, not
one who throws away their lives and wastes their rents on dubious and generally
spurious claimants. Kings come and go; a
man takes his feudal duty from God, the King that never faileth any man.,”
He
gave me one of his curious, half-admiring half grudging looks.
“You
are a de Curtney for sure,” he said.
I
laughed.
“Yes,
but I do have some good points too,” I said.
Danforth
grudgingly joined my laughter.
He
took my points; for he was a
gentleman, for all that he had some dubious friends.
After
all, we too had some rather dubious friends.
And
one of them had sidled up to Danforth and was about to pick his pouch.
I
whacked Simkin across the wrist ere he could get his foist’s hand into the
pouch.
“Go
thou and steal from Master
Anthony or Adam Pigeon
or some other dishonest rogue, thou imp of Satan,” I admonished. “Master Danforth
is a neighbour of my grandsire and only occasionally in quarrel with him. Or shalt steal from the Broccs; canst steal
all you like from them and my blessing upon you.,”
He
grinned unrepentantly and ran off to make good my suggestion.
“You
can tame the Castons?,” Danforth raised an eyebrow.
“They
respect a firm hand,” I said “And one who is no fool and wise to all their
tricks.,”
Simkin,
I noticed, was busy signing to other pickpockets and thieves to leave Master Danforth
alone; this sign language is a development of the cant of the underworld that
is developing into a regular language.
Several ruffians appeared not to take any notice of Simkin’s warnings;
indeed they seemed to have little understanding of his signals and I wondered
if they were but amateur crooks. They
were eying Walter
Danforth thoughtfully as though
they had designs upon him. Which being
so they would be disappointed, for he dressed better than his means from old
made over garments. I had seen some of
them before; they had been with the rider of one of the other horses that was
entered to race.
Well,
Master Danforth was big enough to take care of himself, him and his man.
It
was a colourful spectacle on Beccles Common, with all the horses shining and
well curried for the occasion, and seemingly everyone for miles around gathered
to see them.
There
must have been hundreds of people there, all talking at once, and vendors
crying their wares. The noise was
incredible.
Simkin
was not the only pickpocket we saw; but we are used to such tricks, and –lest
he had not warned them to stay clear of us too – we carried our purses within
our clothing on such occasions as this, within our shifts or shirts hung about
our necks.
A
dummy purse which contained but a slip of paper and a drawing of a rude face
let any pickpocket know we were wise to them.
There
were flags and buntings brightly dyed, flapping in the faint breeze and causing
nervous horses to snort and shy at them; and everyone wore their best and
brightest clothes.
We
wore sufficient finery to make our people proud of us, and that was hard
wearing enough for the muddy ride to Beccles.
I was in my shot orange and black all silk taffeta that looked a russet
tawny but changed colour as I moved; which was also cool in the hotter part of
the day. The black and silver grey
embroidery upon it made it even finer. I wore it over my black silk petticoat.
I had
not fancied the dirt of the road getting on my pink and cream brocade. The taffeta launders fairly well, with care,
and better than my other russet taffeta which had gold thread and beads upon
it. Laundering brocade involves soaking it overnight in warm white wine vinegar
– or white wine if you are feeling extravagant.
And pale colours show the dirt so much anyway. Russet is a much more practical colour then
cream.
The
horses were called to line up; and after having studied the ground we made our
wagers.
It
was like, I thought, to favour Star, especially since Kistur had exercised him
all winter and knew all his foibles.
Accordingly I laid wager on Star to win, and Bucephalous to place; and
under due consideration I also laid wager on Master Danforth’s
horse to place too. Which was when I
noticed that Danforth was not at the line up.
I
turned quickly to Robin.
“Delay
the race,” I said. “Rafe, with me!,”
Robin
strolled off, all officiousness and idiotically aristocratic looking. He did it so well.
I
knew where I had last seen Walter
Danforth; and I crooked a finger
at Simkin and Maud
Caston.
They
ran up readily, hoping for largesse.
“A
groat for each of you an you might find Master Danforth,” I said.
They
grinned and ran off.
“But
you don’t like him, Mistress Felicia,” said Rafe, mystified.
“Nay;
but I’d not want anything to happen to him,” I replied. “My dislike of him is
not so hot as my loathing of Gervase Brocc whom I might wish to perdition. The fellow riding the big powerful roan was
watching Danforth earlier, and so too were some villainous looking fellows whom
I wager Master Roan Rider
knew. Call it a nasty suspicious mind if
you like….,”
Rafe
chuckled.
“’Tis
the best kind of mind to have for an inquisitor, methinks,” he said.
Maud and Simkin quickly reappeared, and grabbed me by
a hand each.
Their
little paws were loathsomely grubby; but I did not say a thing, for there was
an urgency in their actions as they dragged me off.
Master Danforth
was being scientifically beaten by the same toughs I had earlier seen watching
him. A broken set of dice lay on the
ground; and lead had spilled out to show that they were ‘highs’.
Walter
Danforth was no such fool as to cheat; and besides, these dice were clumsy, not
the fine ivory ones he was accustomed to using.
Besides,
Master Catling was in company of the attackers; and I knew him for a cheat and
an exponent of the art of legerdemain.
We
waded in, of course.
Simkin
and Maud did their bit, kicking men in
the ankles from behind, and Maud
kicked a good one up between the legs of one ruffian that was bent over Walter. She
was wearing wooden pattens so that was a doughty blow.
Rafe
was a good man in a fight any day of the week; and I picked up a stool and
wielded it to good effect.
We
drove them off quite successfully; though I will say they were no common
ruffians and knew what they were about.
Had we not taken them by surprise, and moreover knew a few tricks they
did not that Robin learned from
Venetian sailors we had been in for a bad time.
As it was they saw we meant business and those who were conscious
withdrew the field hastily.
Master Catling
was long gone.
Walter Danforth
groaned.
He
had a lump the size of a pigeon’s egg on his head, and a split lip; and his
right arm hung limp.
“Bad
dice,” he said vaguely, trying to focus his gaze on my face
“Switched…pretext…BLAST!,” he added and passed out.
“Maud,”
I said “Run to Pernel and tell her she shall ride Master Danforth’s
courser. Bet on it to place an you like,
she’s good enough. Where is his man
through all this?,”
“Here,”
said Simkin as Maud hared off.
His
man it seemed was already unconscious; and he had been hit a judicious blow
across the back of the head to stop him going to his master’s aid. The horse was unguarded.
Rafe
gave it the once over to check it was unharmed; and declared that no ill had
been done to it.
“A
maid to ride? That will not please Master Mysogenist Danforth,” he chuckled, tossing Pernel up
as she arrived at the run hand in hand with Maud.
“’Twill
please him less if that fellow on the roan gets away with it. Say she is his Goddaughter if any ask,” I
said.
Rafe
grinned and led her to the start while I physicked Master Danforth
and his man. Maud
squatted, watching and learning from me while Simkin ran off with two groats to
bet where he would.
“Gyppos
put cobwebs on wounds,” she said. “It seem to work.,”
“Possibly
it is to stop excessive bleeding,” I said dubiously. “Comfrey works better; and
there is plenty of that in this ditch here.,”
Fortunately
there was a brazier nearby that interested onlookers were cooking their meal
upon, and they had left it burning. I borrowed their pot to boil up some
comfrey leaves while I macerated other leaves just to bathe wounds.
His
man I might only make comfortable and bathe the wound, and lay him on his side
that he not drown in vomit an he cast up his accounts; and likewise for
Danforth’s head wound. Fortunately he
stayed unconscious for most of the time I was setting his broken arm; I had Maud hold firmly down on his shoulder and elbow with
all her weight while I pulled and twisted the forearm back to the shape it
should be. He screamed once as I
twisted.
“I am
most sorry, Walter, but ‘tis a bad
break. ‘Twil heal well enough if you
keep it strapped as I shall do,” I said. “I am sorry, I had to cut your sleeve;
I cut the stitching that you may have it repaired easily.,”
“So
you’ve not forgotten how it is to be poor,” he said harshly through gritted
teeth “Thanks, child,” he added as Maud
held a tankard for him to drink. I think
she had stolen it from the family whose brazier I was using.
“I
will never forget that, Master Danforth,” I
said “Nor will I forget to count all monies twice ere I spend them. I am an
excellent manager. Maud, pour off the
water of the comfrey and let us cool it ere I use it to strap Master Danforth’s
arm; an you recall your Pliny, the paste hardens to help to hold a wound
immobile, which I have seen work for myself helping to treat football
injuries,” I said serenely.
“Damn,
I should have married you when I had the chance, you shrew,” he said, still
speaking through clenched teeth against the pain.
“You
never did have the chance,” I retorted. “I’d picked my Robin
when I was younger than Maud
here. Regardless of my grandsire’s
machinations,” I applied the mess of comfrey paste; it was not so good an had
it boiled longer but it would help, especially with linen strips to hold it
torn from the shirt of one of the villains I had brained with my stool. “Did
you want to see the end of the race?,” I asked him. “Your man will be all
right, though his head will be sore for days, and I laid him on his side that
he not drown in puke.,”
“What’s
the point?,” he said hopelessly. “I’ve lost everything. I put all I had on myself to place, once I
saw that damned grey of yours.,”
“Your
horse is being ridden for you, Master
Danforth,” I said. “My husband delayed the start, seeing you missing and
fearing some chicanery.,”
He
gave me one of those queer sideways looks of his.
“Damned
if I can make you out.,” He said. He had a better colour since I had set and
immobilised his arm.
“Damned
if I’ll let some fancy stranger on a roan have his bullies ruin my neighbour,”
I said. “I might not go so far for Gervase Brocc, who has even less manners
than you; but then, he’s no gentleman, whatever arms his father may have
purchased for his squirey.,”
I
helped him up, with Maud on the other
side.
“Had
you been a lad I should have been glad to call you friend,” he said.
“It
need not stop you,” I said tartly. “And had I been a lad, I had been very wary
of the company you keep.,”
“Damn,
woman, I keep low company for the reason you yourself said – to keep my demesne
running,” he said. “My father paid heavy attainder, and I must repair the
cottages somehow.,”
“I
respect you for that, Squire Danforth,” I said. “I pray that your horse be
placed. It has every good reason, for
the rider is a natural in the saddle and rides light too.,”
He
blinked.
“Not
your blackamoor nephew?,”
“Nay.
My stepdaughter Pernel.,”
He
gaped; and I grinned.
“She
nearly had a fight with Kistur because he asked first to ride Star,” I said.
“She’s overjoyed.,”
“Huh,”
he said.
He
had no good opinion of women to speak of; though he’s had to revise his opinion
of me several times.
“Lady Pernel be a main
good fighter,” volunteered Maud “Ar,
and her roide loike a demon outa hell! I seen her huntin’ with Sir Godfrey, up
front o’ all the field!,”
“Huh,”
said Danforth again; but with less conviction.
Anyone
that can keep up with my grandsire on the hunting field when he was after
venison is worthy of respect.
I do
not even try.
Kistur
and Star romped in lengths ahead of the rest of the field.
How that boy could ride.
Pernel
and Adam were enjoying their own
sibling rivalry, as well as battling it out against the roan. It was a big, strong horse with a slight
enough rider; he knew all the tricks, including dirty ones!
Adam had to swerve Bucephalous to avoid his mount
getting a face full of some powder the fellow threw; and I saw him kick out at
Pernel.
Pernel
had had worse from her birth father when Richard Fosser
was drunk; and swayed easily out of the way.
She changed foot on Danforth’s horse with consummate skill that even
brought a whistle of appreciation to Danforth’s lips; and passed neatly in
front of the roan that it must needs slow up or stumble; and wrong-footed, lost
ground. Then she and Adam were ahead.
They
passed the line in a thunder of hooves neck and neck.
“That
girl can surely ride!,” breathed Danforth. “Is she betrothed yet?,”
He
was at least half serious.
“She
is but ten years old and she’ll choose her own when she’s old enough,” I said
tartly. “And I’ll probably advise her against you. But feel free to try and woo her; she don’t
lack for sense.,” I grinned. “And now
the question is how to pay back that fellow who thought you the best threat
that he must needs take you out of the race.,”
He
stared.
I
shrugged.
“You
wouldst have him get away with it?,” I asked.
He
shook his head and his reddish locks danced like angry flames.
“No,
I would not; but you already put me in your debt,” he said.
“Moonshine
and fiddlesticks!,” I said. “Art a neighbour.
Maud, another groat each to you
and Simkin to find out all you may about these bullies we beat so thoroughly.,”
She
grinned and slipped off.
It
was remarkably profitable, she had found, working for king’s agents. She and Simkin had each earned as much as a
Master Shipwright earns in a day an she found out what I wanted to know.
And
worth every penny to me.
I
might just steal Maud
Caston to work for me.
We
went to congratulate the riders.
Kistur
was as proud as proud, especially as his father, Henry Costyn,
was there to congratulate him too. Henry was busy telling all and sundry that
this was his son, and he was proud of him; and that such suited not a Master
Hartley, father of the same Nicol the boys had previously had trouble with
seemed to please Henry rather than dismay him.
I
gathered that they were business rivals.
The
rider of the roan started to raise a fuss.
“That
boy is a Tzigane – and Egyptian for sure!,” he shouted. “And begorrah, ‘tis
stolen that horse is that he rides, and I’ve heard another suggest the same, a
Master Danforth, who is not, it seems, riding…,”
“And
why might that be?,” called Danforth “’Tis because….,” I stood on his foot.
“Circumspect
for now,” I murmured to him.
He
grunted.
“….because
someone picked a fight with me on finding some false pretext!,” he said.
“Good
man,” I approved.
“It
must surely have been other Gyppos!,” hollered the roan’s rider.
He
had every stamp of the condottiere about him; all the arrogant swagger of the
sellsword.
“Got
too dangerous in Tuscany
did it, with the King of Spain out after King Louis?,” I said cynically in Italian.
He
jumped, and stared at me, and gave a nervous laugh.
“I’m
sorry, I don’t speak Gyppo,” he sneered.
Several
people hit him at once.
Slight
as he was, most of them only came up to his shoulder.
The
blow he went down under came from my husband.
Reeve
Greengrasse bustled up.
“Sir
Robert, I be main sorry!,” he said.
“Lock
him up for making malicious accusation,” I said. “We’ve not heard the last of
him, but slander is a good charge to start on.,”
“Ar!,”
squeaked Maud, wriggling through the
crowd. “Them ruffians be sowjers for hire wass come with un, ar and they picked
acquaintance with Tom Catling, thass the biggest cheat unhung, and what hate
Master Danforth account o’ Master Danforth floor un when Tom did try tu use bristle
dice on him. And moi brother be
follerin’ them.,” She added.
“You
two are invaluable,” I said, paying my debt. “Reeve Greengrasse, I beg you have
men to take in charge these free-lances, that I myself saw beating upon Master Danforth
and his man, after Tom
Catling palmed false dice. I did not see him palm the dice, I arrived
later, but I know his methods and I also know that the dice in question were not Master Danforth’s dice, which are ivory with red
pips.”
“Ar,
thass roight,” I received corroboration from the unlikely quarter of Lowis Moyse.
“I seen Tom Catling try to cheat Master Danforth. And now Tom
du hev a good long purse, for everyone know he be fer hire tu whoever pay the
most,” he smiled at me ingratiatingly. I
managed not to shudder.
He
was one of Danforth’s less salubrious intimates; and at least loyal enough to
speak up.
“Be
plain enough to me,” said Reeve Greengrasse. “Here, Maudie, you show me where
yore brother du be.,”
He
beckoned some men to go with him.
They
would get off with a fine, of course.
But I
should make a sketch of this condottiere, and Vivian Brewis
would pass word around about his activities, to Bungay and down as far as Sudbury and Ipswich.
He
would not find it so easy to pull the same trick twice.
I
might even write to Master
Alan Deverill
in Essex, and
suggest caution to him and his friends that doubtless liked to race.
He
had mostly forgiven me for not wanting to marry him and for insulting his
beard, methinks.
We found out later that the
sell-sword on the roan had entered the races as Rowle Kennedy;
which surname accounted for the traces of Irish accent and idiom. We should have to keep an eye out for him
when he got free of Master
Greengrasse’s custody, for the
look he gave us all was quite filthy.
We
appeared through this to have made a cautious friend of Walter Danforth.
He
was a complex man with many faults; but he had the soul of a gentleman
somewhere within his somewhat tarnished exterior, and he was at least prepared
to half acknowledge when he had been wrong.
I
should suggest to him that we might share stock for breeding that we all profit
from the training and sale of good horses.
He
liked horses more than men; and had told me so.
And I could see why.
He
had a sense of honour withal, that may be set to his favour against many
irritating flaws.
Hoorah, you're back. Great story and nice to see what happened to some characters we've already met in earlier books. MaryD
ReplyDeleteThank you - Walter wanted to be a more central character so I let him have his head. You'll be seeing a lot more of that young man.
DeleteI am working still on Julia's Journey after a break in which I have nearly broken the back of the name book and wandered off to write fanfiction to get me through a block.
This a lovely start to the new book. I, too, enjoyed getting reacquainted with the locals and the detail and descriptions were excellent. I’m giving Master Danforth the benefit of the doubt for now ......
ReplyDeleteBy the way, what did happen to Marjory? Is she confined somewhere in penance or was she executed as an heretic?
thank you. You learn a lot about Walter in the next few and why he's so prickly
DeleteMarjory is in a penitent's cell under Norwich Cathedral being 'saved' because she was happy to 'recant' lollardy as she never believed in it, but the Bishop is keen to make sure she doesn't go back to heresy. it would be bad for the church to execute a Prioress for heresy but she is going to be punished until she learns to love it! the Bishop of Norwich of the time was not a very nice man.
One small Grammary bit, which you’ve probably already amended. In the Easter decoration paragraph, you talk about sewing. “then we finished off ...., the girls, Fanny, Connie, Rosa and me,”. I think that ‘me’ should be ‘I’.
Deletequite right, and not often that I get caught on that one so I am embarrassed ... at least I don't change the ones which should be 'me' to 'I' as a matter of course in a mistaken idea that it is ungenteel without understanding of subject and object in the use of pronounds
DeleteAnd you explained it all very well in one of the Sisters books, I recall.
Deletethank you. It's a grammar point which is never taught well in schools, I figured it out for myself in one of those EUREKA!!! moments when thinking about thee and thou. And I will leave in the 'and me' in cases where it is children or the less well educated, simply because it is something few people get right.
DeleteI also grew up on 'Jennings' and the "Well, sir, Derbyshire and I or me ..."
I knew the usage but never understood the theory until I did Latin I have to say. Then you get the complication of ‘sum’ taking the nominative, leading to “It is I” and similar apparent contradictions.
Delete... which in my mind always trips to the Goon Show "It is I, Bluebottle ..." or 'Allo Allo, "It is I, LeClerc!"
DeleteWhat a lovely surprise! Thank you, I really enjoyed this. I have just finished The Convenient Saint so it was wonderful to move straight into a new story. Regards Kim
ReplyDeletethank you! glad you are able to move straight on. I have to do my editor's corrections on it so you guys have the raw version, possibly inlcuding extraneous commas where the global change didn't take account of exclamation marks... but meh, you know I'll polish it for publication.
DeleteLove our Felicity and Robin stories. Thank you. Glad you are back. Hope you had a great Holiday!
ReplyDeletethank you! glad you like them. I had a good time stepping away from writing to do some house painting and catch up on housework!
DeleteYay Felicia and Robin.
ReplyDeletePernelle is growing up well.
Loved to see Walter Danforth evolve and Felicia being kind even if he isn’t one of her favorite people.
(Sorry about the brevity, I’ve been ill since Tuesday and it’s not getting better)
Oh I am so sorry you feel ill, my fingers crossed all will be well.
DeletePernelle has blossomed ...
Walter was sort of growly and resentful at being lumped in with people like the Broccs ...