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too many white roses 7

 

 

Chapter 7 waiting around

 

As Robin and I must perforce wait until Vivian and his band of rogues returned we let the scholars have yet another half day holiday on the Thursday, while I sewed assiduously and Robin took Sebastian fishing and Emma took herself and various cronies fishing only wetter since she succeeded in finding a piece of dry land to stand on that turned out to be no such thing; and we then decided to organise them firmly on the Friday.

Emma was none the worse for her wetting; she never was. And she and Tybalt had already recovered from their damp encounter with a pike on Wednesday so I just told them they might help Mistress Julianne with the laundry of their stinking and muddy stockings and hose.

This was why all the boys had a goodly number of hosen and Emma had extra pairs of stockings that I paid Dorothy to knit for me, that then passed down to Dorothy’s Inogene as Emma grew since Inogene was as like to be in muddy trouble as any other child.

We decided that the scholars might well have a lesson in the wonders of nature, that they might then in future relate to the writings of such as Pliny; and so took them around the demesne to see what wildflowers they might find and to identify the trees by their bare branches. We took the starting scholars along and Cordelia to oversee them with Tawn’s help.

Piaz came along too and gave a good talk on which woods burn best and how to identify fallen branches; and imparted the curious fact that ash wood burns better green and is no good on the fire at all once it be seasoned. There is much superstition and folklore surrounding the ash, it being a sacred tree in pagan myth; and Pliny the Elder’s comments on the fear snakes show of the tree is a trifle suspect; but there is no doubt that the sap is a sovereign cure for earache, as Piaz confirmed, and told us how to put one end of the green twig in the fire and catch the sap at the other end as it bubbled out, as may be securely bottled and used as needed, warmed slightly. Our most common trees are the ever-useful alder, that resists rotting for being a tree that will grow right in the water; our staithe on the river is built of alder, and I was able to tell the scholars that without alder as the basis, the mighty city of Venice would never have existed. Brian, Rowan and Finnoula Smith told us that in Ireland it is considered unlucky to cut it because it bleeds; and it is true that the wood does change from white to a startlingly sanguine colour after a short while. Fortunately the Smith’s children have a fine knowledge of Irish folklore without a deep superstitious belief in much of it; smiths are themselves counted powerful beings in most ancient folklore and might scorn the normal superstitions. Alder leaves treat burns, as may be guessed from the Doctrine of Signatures by their damp location. The leaves also repel flies, and the timber is too an excellent source of fuel as well as fencing. It makes an excellent charcoal for gunpowder as Rowan Smith well knew, for he had helped make gunpowder for fireworks with Adam, and Jerid, when Robin had been preparing the same. Various dyes may be obtained from different parts of the tree, and the bark is used by our fishermen to preserve cordage; and Jacobi Tanner reckons the bark and leaves be almost as good as gongs to help tan leather. The Alder is a very useful tree.

We also have much birch on the heathland as is laxative and a blood cleanser; and Piaz told us how the Rom make a wine from the sap that is sweet and delicious. I told him an his people make wine as the sap rises in the trees in Hobbeshithe St Martin I should purchase the same from them.

We spoke of many trees and what uses they had, such as we had growing; oak and thorn, elm and gean, the wild cherry, apple and larch, walnut and hazel and chestnut.

Our other major tree in our damp environs is the willow that everyone knows has a bark that is efficacious against all kinds of pain and also reduces fevers; which with the fever ‘n’ ague rife near a marsh is a Godsend; for the Good Lord sets a cure in or near all the things in nature that may cause ills an we be but clever enough to find it; as the juice of the nettle is the most effective way to relieve nettle stings, and after that dock or plantain, both of which often grow near nettles. Willow too produces withies of course; and where would we be without such for hurdles, and baskets and all manner of such useful things.

“It all be very interesting but why do we need to know all this?” asked Grig “Can we not look such things up in books?”

It would be Grig.

“Ah, now that be the problem; you cannot look up such folklore and folk medicines in books, nor yet how to weave a basket of withies,” I said “And should you ever act agent to My Lord Charles, lad, you may need to live rough at this time or that, and an you be hurt knowing that you may ease pain and deal with fever by the use of willow bark steeped may save your life an you not be able to seek an apothecary. And an you live a bachelor with no laundress, you will need to instruct your man what would make the best ash for lye to make soap; and you may want to avoid a school near too many birch trees,” I teased.

Grig grinned.

“You mean, it be best to learn all we can about everything, ‘cos you never know when it may come in handy, at a time when you have no library nearby as might not have the knowledge in it anyway?” he asked.

“Precisely,” I said. “No man can know everything about everything; but an you know a little bit about as many things as possible such may give you clue to ask one that knoweth more. As I know to ask Piaz about more country herb lore than I know; and to ask Mhathan Smith about Irish folklore and legend.”

“An that Frogface fellow had known nightingales don’t sing in February, he’d have known he was under watch by our men,” said Emma smugly.

“Quite,” I said.

Jerid was taking the opportunity to survey the heights of trees with a scale and plumbob; and made notes in a little book he had sewn for himself.

“Practise or a purpose?” I asked, ruffling his curls. He was too old to do that too really but he forgave me as he knew I loved to do so.

“Purpose,” said Jerid “An I know the height I can always work out where I am; so an we need to drop ballista bolts on anyone else I’ll be prepared.”

Jerid took mathematics very seriously.

It helped save lives when the sell-swords attacked. He dropped a missile directly on their barge.

Fortunately Robin was skilled in engineering, both theory and practise; and Crispin had been interested enough to look at the practical applications of mathematics too that Jerid was getting as good a grounding in engineering as he might in any university and probably better than many.

He was also drawing a most beautiful map of our demesne to precise scale, with every building illustrated and every person too in tiny figures in the landscape, right down to Ursula of the Chambers shaking a mopstall out of the window.

 

Meanwhile, Pernel’s quick eye found red dead nettle and hazel catkins; Emma found snowdrops.

Snowdrops had been out for a while and Emma had known where to look, because she had been the one to gather them for Candelmas on the second day of February as an offering for Our Lady.

Tawn found white dead nettle, and explained the charming legend that the fairies hated having their shoes stolen by centipedes, and so hid them in nettles, making them harmless by magic; and showing us how, under the white flowers there appeared to be a pair of little black shoes. He also told us, and Piaz nodded sagely too that which I did not know; that the flowering tops are useful against rheumatism, women’s complaints and externally for many skin complaints and wounds. And also that it be good eating.

I showed the children how to tell a dead nettle easily from a stinging nettle; that no plant with a square stem will ever harm you. Balm is another plant readily mistaken for stinging nettle by the ignorant and that too have a square stem. It also be full of virtue, being balm to pain, albeit not so strong as willow bark nor so good for a headache as feverfew; but it hath the special virtue that taken with other herbs that dull pain it increaseth the effect out of proportion to the amount used as be most useful. It be also calming to the spirit when one be low, and as it stay green through the winter, albeit stragglesome and poor, we often include it in pottage to lift the spirits in darkling days when any man might feel low.

And bearing in mind Criseyde’s ignorance over how to handle stinging nettles, that have their own manifold virtues, I showed the children how to gather them too and taught them the old rhyme,

“Very gently touch a nettle

it will sting you for your pains

grasp it tight with all your mettle

it as soft as silk remains.”

 

We collected young nettletops while we were at it that Diggory Baker would, outside of Lent, normally sweat in butter and garlic; but would for now make into a good nourishing soup for this vegetable day; and Piaz told us of yet another type of food on our lands, that the root of the cat-tail reeds were nourishing and good added to pottage as might be found in the mud even late after the flowering reed be over.

Naturally it gave Emma and friends an excuse to get wet and muddy to try it for themselves and add to the nettles.

Piaz also encouraged our water nymph by showing us all how to weave a fish trap with withies.

I love learning things from people of different specialities; I could just wish that Emma were not most enthusiastic about those things that leave her looking like some slimy water monster.

Still, it was Eglantyne that managed to over-reach herself and fall in the big patch of nettles, screaming with fright as much as pain I trow; and Piaz plucked her out so fast he were not himself stung and spat on a dock leaf to rub on her hands and face.

“Thank you Master Piaz, but did you have to spit on it?” asked Eglantyne in a small voice, not wanting to be rude – she had come a long way – but faintly disgusted.

“Ar, I did that,” said Piaz “I know not why, but spit increase the virtue of the dock on stings. And were you not in bad pain, Burd Eglantyne I would hev suggested yew spit fer yourself; but I did think yew wanted relief from pain main quick. And I do not at least have rotten teeth as smell in it.”

Eglantyne managed a smile.

“It have helped the pain no end,” she admitted. “Lady Felicia, do you know why spit make it better?”

“I have no idea,” I said “I did not know it did; but I shall not dispute Piaz’ knowledge on herblore. Methinks spit – and it were but mouth spit not a hawk and spit sort – do have odd properties. For do not bread, an you chew it long for it being tough and a little stale, become sweet in your mouth, and what may do that but spit?”

It was an interesting question about why this should be so; and to my mind more useful and interesting than how to change base metal into gold; an only alchemists would study what makes herbs cure things and why rather than other more spurious studies.

 

When we returned to the house, Diggory thanked the children happily for the nettles, slightly dubiously for the cat-tail roots and told them how glad he had been of the fish the day before.

Diggoy was a great man; he would take every effort to cook the cat-tails according to the slightly garbled instructions the children passed on. He did not avoid doing something new just because it was new and had willingly learned how to make pasta pastry from me to make Florentine variants on the English macrows*.

We went to eat with sharp appetites.

The nettles and cat-tails we should have with the evening meal, it being too late to prepare them now for the midday meal; but we had good leek, or winter-onion as we call them here, pottage; pies of turnip and pum-kin, or what the folk of Norfolk call million or mullion, that also had onion and pease in them that were almost sweet in flavour; and too we had baked beans, but of course without the usual mutton or pork. We had instead carrots in small pieces that Diggory had roasted first on skuets before adding it to the beans. And as I was reared Italian, and having taught Diggory such ways, we had a good dish of macrows cooked with leek, dried sage and other herbs and spices that be a good filling dish; and of course there was as much bread as anyone might eat.

For doucets we had parsnips and carrot slices cooked on skuets as had been the ones in the baked beans; save that these had honey drizzled on them, since batter without milk or eggs be a poor substitute; and there were too a few wrinkled apples still left whole enough to eat that Pernel had not already munched her way through.

We never prevented the children from eating as much fruit as they liked.

 

Diggory asked me after the meal an he might put dumplings after the Norfolk fashion, made with olive oil like the macrows, in the nettle and cat-tail pottage for the evening meal; and I agreed it would be a good idea and suggested he cut onion small and use some more dried herbs to flavour the dumplings that can be a little bland otherwise.

“The macrows hath filled people well,” I said, “Meaning that there be left over bread; take of any that be broken or starting to stale and soak as sops in wine with honey and dried prunes and clove and nutmeg and serve this evening as a doucet.”

Diggory nodded.

“Excellent idea, My Lady; I were wondering an I should do something like that,” he said.

Though a cook should be left mostly to his own devices, that he not feel that his master and mistress interfere, it is well from time to time to make such suggestions to remind him that his mistress do know what she be talking about. And that she be taking an interest in what happen to the leftovers, such as may prevent any tendency towards either profligacy or dishonesty. I would gladly let any of the cooks take sundry leftovers to their own family members; an they ask first. Such should be a privilege not perceived as a right. Else there be a tendency to make sure there be more leftovers than really are left over. Our people were not dishonest; but such little things could start without people really looking on them as dishonesty if a housekeeper or mistress not keep a stern eye to the same.

Connie of course did so; but it never go amiss for servants to know that their mistress is nobody’s fool.

Digglory was actually quite glad of guidance in any case; he was happy to leave culinary adventures in fish to Blaise o’ the Blean as Diggory hated preparing fish; but he had had no experience as yet of preparing for a vegetable fast day.

The trick, of course, is getting a sufficiency of different flavours and textures to please the mouth; and yet remain nourishing.

 

 

I was filled with admiration for Crispin and Richard for the way that they coped with quite so many scholars as we now had, for having offered education to any in the village as could manage to keep up, that lively intelligence not go to waste. We thus had some two dozen or so, and that outside of the petties, with the village children, our own, our wards and the few paying students as we had, for we had made no distinction for maid children.

Consequently Robin and I divided the scholars up into their separate classes, he taking the seniors – some seven of them, and Harry Woolner the youngest of them at ten – and set them to write about something that had interested them on the morning ramble. The youngest scholars, under Cordelia, might write in English; the few older ones with the ability wrote in Latin and Robin’s scholars struggled to explain how to cook cat-tails in Greek.

It kept them mostly quiet, with free use of dictionaries permitted and not too many squabbles breaking out over whose turn it was to use them, all afternoon.

Some of the Latin and Greek was a little…..free. But then, there is a mort of difference between translating out of a foreign language where one might guess a precise meaning by the context and translating your own thoughts into it.

Wherein those who use Latin as a weapon, as Emma did against Curate Roper of Lavenham every time she saw him, had the advantage, for learning to converse in a language makes formulating sentences in it much easier.

The use of free Latin conversation in play-acting as Roman soldiers had brought the scholars along no end; indeed some of Cordelia’s starting scholars made a good attempt at writing in some specie of Latin and I was impressed by their efforts and told them so.

I suppose it were inevitable that Pernel should have written in Greek of her fish-trap being immured in the wine-dark river to show off her knowledge of Homer and to add a snide dig at Emma along the lines of Neptune’s bounty swimming into the trap an Emma not frighten them away by falling in.

It had been on the whole an enjoyable day.

We should however be very glad to hand the scholars back to their tutors when they returned.

 

 

Our Ecclesiastical Hunting Party returned in time – just – for the evening meal and fell to with a will.

Diggory got shouted for and applauded by our truants for sending better cooked and more interesting fast meals than William Fleury’s cook.

And how we laughed and applauded when they told their tale! It were better than a Greek farce!

“It do seem clear that our spy had a very good idea of what was afoot and left for aid as soon as the cannon was moved,” I said.

“We know too that the wheeled thing that left the gate was drawn easily by a single horse,” said Vivian “For such was the gatekeeper’s story; that argues a reasonably well designed carriage for it.”

“Why would it need that? An it be hidden on a normal cart, none would expect such to move easily, an it seem laden as of barrels or such,” wondered Adam.

“An the cart move easily perchance it also traverse easily that it might cover an range of angles of fire,” I suggested.

“Or it may be that they want it to look lighter than it really be to help hide the nature of it,” suggested Robin.

“Or to be pushed by hand, that it seem even less of a threat?” suggested Vivian.

A saker, that might be moved by hand? That was a novel idea.

“I think I know how they do it too,” said Crispin, excited “I heard tell from the curate at Ellough that a wheel was dug out of the marsh, that they thought to be Roman; and it had the oddest construction at the wheel hub; wooden rollers, hard wood, that would have turned against the axel with less friction. It were in the church as a curiosity, and he were complaining that it were stolen one night. I was taking a flagon of ale with him, last time I was in Beccles, he being something of a scholar as is unusual for a curate; for he were just a youth that took the job in hopes of getting better to help pay his way to go to Cambridge University, and glad of erudite conversation with another that find the Romans fascinating.”

“Cuh, that be a job for us to build in class,” suggested Pernel.

“Oh yes!” agreed Adam fervently “And better yet an I turn Portland stone rollers, that wear less!”

It would make little difference on the normal potholed tracks, but on our good ‘Roman’ roads it might be worth using such, an it worked, on all our farm carts. Which was interesting but not entirely germane to the point in hand.

“The question is,” I said “Do we go poking around tomorrow; or leave it over the Sabbath and see whether Piers return with information? How urgent is it?”

“He said ‘find it before it be too late’,” said Robin.

“Yes; and an we only had any idea when ‘too late’ might be,” I said “We might know what speed at which to work.”

“Could it be as simple as on St George’s day?” asked Richard. “The letter from de la Pole said ‘St George for England’; and it were an incongruous comment to be so bombastic as that after urging caution before.”

We gazed on him with respect.

“That,” I said, “Is a pretty good idea Richard! An they hope to kill the king, they must strike ere the campaigning season when he will be out of the country; he will not leave before Easter, methinks, and St George’s day be the day before Maundy Thursday.”

“Oh, that remind me of something,” said Connie “Sorry gentles all, it be a domestic detail but realer to our servants than kings. It be superstition to clean all through the house on New Year’s Eve, and let the fires go out and clean the grates and sweep the chimneys – well, sweep the chimneys first, else cleaning the grate be a waste of time – and the servants want to know that, as Easter Friday fall on New Year’s Day, Lady Day, does it count, or should that be waiting over to the fourth day of April being the first Monday after the Easter weeks when Lady Day be celebrated instead of on the twenty fifth of March?”

“It be superstition that grant ill or good luck all year for the same, correct?” I asked.

“Aye, I be afraid so,” said Connie who hated superstition as much as I did.

“Then tell them to do both to be on the safe side,” I said unkindly “The second cleaning will be easier of course, and must be carried out mostly on the Saturday not the Sabbath. They may let out the fires and sweep clean the hearths after sundown on the Sabbath of that second date.”

Connie laughed.

“That will teach them to get in a taking about it! Rehearsin’ after making a to-do some on ‘em! You be brilliant, Felicia!”

“New Year is counted from the twenty fifth of March regardless,” I said “But you know my views on superstition.”

“That too would fit with our plotters,” said Vivian suddenly “St George for England on the twenty-third; clean house by killing anyone against them in the various palaces over the twenty-fourth; New Year, New King, the House of York arise from the dead like Jesus at Easter. All mightily symbolic; and designed that way for gaining the superstitious acquiescence of the majority of the populace.”

I groaned.

“As if we had not had enough symbolic rubbish over Easter in France with the Wolf and that Malvais character!” I said.

“People are superstitious,” shrugged Robin “Like it or not; and they like clear symbols to believe in and follow. I agree; I think Vivian be quite right.”

“Well that does at least give us more leisure then finding the gunpowder in the Notre Dame,” I said.

“My arse still remembers that wild ride,” said Connie ruefully.

“You be right,” said Robin, looking happier “We can then afford to wait over the Sabbath and to hope that Piers return ere then. Tomorrow the children shall fill hempen sacks with sand from the sea spit; and we shall say it be as a measure against spring flooding. But there be naught like sand to stop a cannon ball. How does Huelin Carpenter with my gate, anyone know?”

“Mhathan Smith have taken possession of it and be adding the ironwork tomorrow,” said Adam, who is on friendly terms with both Josse Carpenter and Rowan Smith, the smith’s third and youngest son.

Those three have built quite ingenious infernal engines together that Jerid fired with aplomb, as would come in useful an we find ourselves besieged.

“Seriously, what do we do and we cannot stop this and the king be killed?” asked Crispin.

It was a sensible question; but it chilled my heart.

Robin considered.

“We send to Scotland for James IV that be wed to the king’s sister; that his children be claimants by that route, and also that he be blood of Bigod that would settle the concerns of many from Suffolk,” he said. “And hope that we may contact the Howards too and work with them on that.”

It was as good a plan as any.

In the case of something shocking like regicide, and by treachery not by honest battle, any clear plan is a good one.

Many – like the king’s navy – might support the king’s sister. Ned Howard was no fool. And the Howards, having done as my grandsire did, and accepted the fait accompli of the victory of Henry Richmond at Bosworth Field, might expect to be executed as traitors by a vindictive de la Pole, of that I was certain. It were better, however, an we might avert the disaster altogether and so we should work hard to do.

We left Hammet and Tom and Piaz and the other Rom watching by turn what went on in Ellough – with warning about Fleury’s veiled threat about hanging any trespassers – and spent the Saturday quietly increasing our defences.

Better safe than sorry; and an we be away searching, or going with news to the king when an attack came it were well to make the task of defending the hall as easy as possible for whoever held it in our absence.

 

It were quite sundown and we had almost finished eating when the door swung open.

We jumped; and the musicians eating on the gallery went for the crossbows we had issued them with.

We fairly laughed in relief that it was only Piers and Kistur, tired, salt-caked and in need of feeding. As we should have realised that it would be no threat; for Mhathan had worked like a Trojan and we had the big gate hung and overlooked by Oliver and Jerid who were the first volunteers to guard it.

 We fed our returned messengers first and I went into the solar so as to resist the temptation to ply them with questions ere they had sated their appetites.

When they had eaten and got warm they should come through and tell us what they knew.

 

 

Piers downed another tankard of ale and sighed happily.

“Ar, that be good to be back, Rob bor,” he said.

“Anyone know our dead spy?” I asked. Pleasantries be all very well but we had been on tenterhooks for news.

“Ar, and I tell it in my fashion, Felicia, or yew’ll get me telling it Suffolk-style, back about face to confuse furriners,” he said grinning slyly.

I laughed.

I had done just that when he first knew me to irritate that Venetian Ambassador.

Irritating Venetian ambassadors is a good and amusing pastime for its own sake; but I was trying to push the fellow into revealing how much he knew about the murder of the other Venetian ambassador, and his subsequent impolite encoffining in a barrel of pickled herrings.

“Dean Wolsey knew him not; but then I went to Sir Thomas Howard,” said Piers “Meaning to try old Foxe as the third an Howard know him not. But the Earl of Surrey did recognise him straightway as his man and grieved his loss. His name is John of Ashford and Sir Thomas begged you to say a Mass for him this Sunday – as Justin and I will do privily in your chapel for family and those close only, as I suggest.”

“Quite right,” I said “Fleury knows not who he is I wager and an it get back that we have a place of origin for him it would make him main jumpy.”

Piers grinned.

“Not half so jumpy, Felicia, as you’d have been an I had let Sir Thomas send that fellow Amery Sutcliffe to aid you. I told him, now you know you be part Bigod it gave you no cause to try to curb your temper and you’d likely break his other shoulder!”

“Be fair,” I said “I broke his shoulder because he and his ruffians set on Robin and threatened to break his hands, for not knowing that we were essentially on the same side. Still, I thank you Piers; I never liked Sutcliffe.”

“So too I thought,” said Piers. “Any road, Surrey sent this John out to visit every parish as was part of the land held by the erstwhile Duke of Suffolk, John de la Pole, claimed by Edmund as be in the Tower. The king you see is concerned about leaving the country for France with a Yorkist heir left in England; and what John found or did not find would determine whether or not the king would execute de la Pole ere he sailed. It seem unfair an he may have nothing to do with any unrest; but there you are. The king still feel his dynasty sit none so secure on the throne, methinks.”

“He do know,” I said “As we shall tell you presently. Go on.”

Piers shrugged.

“That’s about it really; John sent despatches from time to time. He had with him letters of recommendation covering every kind of higher servant; being a scholar and an educated man he could pass himself off as a chaplain, secretary or tutor as readily as a steward, bailiff or as here, groom of the pantry.”

“That do make a deal of sense,” I said “Any but an upper servant have not the leisure to poke around; but a servant may hear much. As, presumably, he indeed did. We thought we’d poke around a bit more then send a full report an we may; no point telling the king that there’s a plot that we have some guesswork about but that we know not any details nor where the main instrument of would be assassination lies hid. This is OUR story.”

I told all that had happened since Piers and Kistur had sailed away with the customary interruptions and additions from all and sundry; and told of our plan to be Rom.

“Anyone but you two would be insane to even try,” said Piers “They’re a good bunch though, as I have found out, willing to help out and main cheerful and merry people.”

“Had not Piaz hated me so I’d never have left methinks,” said Kistur “Though I be glad I did, that I have a father and stepmother and siblings as I love main well.”

“He’s a complex man,” I said “Shouldst have a long talk with him some day; he have spoken some to me about the reasons behind his despite for you and methinks a talk would get things into the air and clear much between you.”

He nodded.

“I will,” he promised.

“Did you manage to get some goods for your father?” I asked.

He grinned; it made him look about nine.

“A satchel full of small items as are expensive here; thimbles, scissors, pewter finger rings, fancy bells for horse harness, silken ribbons and such things,” he said “And I shall pay back out of my wages the loan you gave me and bargain with my father to go shares in the profits.”

I laughed.

“T’will endear you to him all the more,” I said “well, ‘tis time for bed methinks; the morrow is the Sabbath, and we will say our Mass for Master John of Ashford at Lauds an that suit you, gentlemen?” I glanced at Piers and Justin.

They nodded.

“Then I might be back for mine own parishioners for the High Mass,” said Piers, pleased “As was one object in more hurrying.”

He was a good conscientious boy was Piers.

And waking for Lauds would be a pleasure, that we should sleep the more secure in knowing that there was a sturdy gate to our Hall and it reaching to the top of the gate hole and fitting snugly that none might climb over it; and with Rafe sleeping in the gatehouse none able either to knock it down with impunity.

 

We had no night alarums, though we had set the verderers to patrol around watching; and the hounds were still loose in the courtyard.

Adam had cut a door within the outer porch door that hung on hinges of leather that they might come and go in and out the porch without there being such a draught.

The scholars too set up a serious of ingenious traps lest any break into their wing that was NOT protected by dogs; and caught only Richard sneaking down for an early breakfast and sliding out of the door in a manner meant to be furtively quiet that was in fact to the accompaniment of rather more noise than any man likes to be wakened by as he is enjoying – as most of us were – his last half hour’s repose.

Half the pots and kettles in Fan’s kitchen were arranged with a tripwire, which added to Richard’s curses for fearing that he had been jumped by some ruffians ere he realised that naught but linen line held his foot, and no hand, sounded like we were being invaded by France.

“Scolasti oppugnant Ricardum cum Kettlae,” Sebastian remarked brightly in his own mangling of Caesar after we had all run downstairs to see what was happening.

“Close enough, you young scamp,” said Richard, quite restored to good humour over his pupils’ ingenuity and Sebastian's Latin. “Here, I say young Sebastian, an you can work THAT out you be ahead of half the lads a year or more older than you and I should think you could join my class!”

Sebastian beamed.

He was delighted! Fond he might be of Cordelia but every child likes praise and to have the chance to move up a class.

 

Having started our day rudely early we all broke our fast and then went into the chapel for Piers to celebrate a Mass for the soul of John Ashford.

Piers did hold major orders after all.

It was a moving mass for though we had not known John in life, one might learn enough about a man during inquisitions post mortem that one did feel one almost knew him; moreover he had known of us; for Piers told us that Surrey had told John that he might come to Sir Robert de Curtney an he need extra aid.

It was nice of Sir Thomas to trust us so well at that; for we had not started out on so douce a footing. And when I remarked a little waspishly that it might have been nice to have been informed Piers told me that a letter had been sent to us; that Surrey had been surprised to find we not guess who John was.

It had never arrived; as Piers told Surrey.

Had it been intercepted? We had to consider that; but it seemed somehow unlikely. An it had been, John of Ashford had not lived to leave Fleury’s halls.

More like it were lost at sea; as happens often enough I fear.

We should, however, be on our guard.

It might yet have been stolen by an opportunistic rogue that would use it for his own cozening ends, pretending to us to be an agent asking aid.

However, that was to be worried about another time; today was to celebrate the bravery and duty of John of Ashford who did alert the only link he had with his master.

And we sang Mass for him with a will for he were a good and loyal servant.

 

---

* macaroni

too many white roses 6

 

Chapter 6 Thursday evening; no-one expects the Norwich Inquisition!

 

Vivian travelled by mule; Jester being the only beast that could be induced to go aboard Mark’s fishing smack.

He would make, he said, a virtue of necessity, emphasising the humility of a churchman in his choice of transport – that was actually a proper thing to do and so rare as to be notable – and the rest of his train walking.

With treacherous roads in February it were probably no slower anyway, and possibly safer, for an a horse stumble or fall in pot holes, it be possible for a man to be badly hurt or even killed; but an he fall over his own feet he have a better chance of survival, providing he can swim in the deeper holes he might tumble into. Hampered by being on a horse it was easier for a man to drown, dragged down by the frantic thrashing of the poor doomed beast, for there is rarely any way to get a horse out of such deep holes an they fall in. This is why no man in his right mind travels between Martinmas and St David’s Day.

They planned to make it to Fleury Hall in time for the evening meal, sleep overnight there, and start their inquisition in the morning before any broke their fast, when anyone be at their lowest ebb.

Naturally they would start to pry long ere then, one way or another.

Fabian Noy was so delighted to gain my sanction to flirt outrageously, he quite forgave the rough homespuns and frieze of a common church constable in which he was dressed. Being Fabian he soon managed to wear even such nondescript garb with a jauntiness that could make a mockery of another man’s finery.

 

 

Sir William Fleury was beside himself with rage by the time Vivian arrived; and that was not merely at having to delay the evening meal by half an hour for his expected guest. He bounced outside to meet the cavalcade. Richard trailed in his wake, every inch an hesitant clerk.

“Sir William insists on seeing your warrant, My Lord,” said Richard obsequiously and looking nervous.

Vivian elevated a supercilious eyebrow.

“Insists? Indeed. All in good time, my son; pax vobiscum,” he made the sign of the cross.

“This is an outrage!” cried Sir William “To accuse me and mine of heresy!”

“Heresy is an outrage,” said Vivian sanctimoniously “And it may be that you and your household might be innocent of all charges; the Inquisition is here to decide that. It is imperative to seek out heresy and destroy it, cutting off both root and branch. It were better to burn an hundred innocent souls that would then pass straight to heaven to sup with the Lord, than to permit one rotten branch, one stinking miserable heretic, go free. You have assembled all your household as I have sent on orders ahead? I trust, my son, you have complied with the orders of our Mother Church in that?”

“I have,” growled Sir William; who had not dared disobey. Especially not at such a time when the complications of a heresy charge might seriously upset his treasonous plotting.

“Excellent; Father Damian here shall find my warrant that he shall read out loud that you may all know me,” said Vivian. “My clerk shall render it into English for the ignorant fellows amongst your servants. We will go straightway to your great hall; it is too cold for you to keep me gossiping out here,” and he swept in ahead of Sir William leaving the knight spluttering at the unfair comment.

Vivian knew that the success or failure of a good imposture lay in the attitude.

Nobody would expect a counterfeit to be so impudent and arrogant!

 

Crispin read both warrants in the bored monotone of a man who had done it many times before that all but the details on the specific warrant be stale, old news. So well had he taken on the part he had actually learned the generalised warrant by heart, and most of the specific one, that he glance down at it only to verify names and dates on it.

Richard translated in the same fashion of bored indifference. Crispin passed both documents to Sir William to peruse for himself with a courteous half bow.

They would stand muster.

The general warrant looked as though it had been in and out of a scrip many times; we had rolled it up and had the children walk on it in a bag; we had flattened it out and ironed it; then folded it twice with some dried mud sprinkled on it and each sat on it, shuffling our backsides. Then we had cast it upon the floor and danced on it. By the time we had finished it looked very nearly as disreputable as our own.

“My sons and daughters,” said Vivian, when all that was over and Crispin had retrieved – rather pointedly – the general warrant “An you have ever dabbled in heresy, now is the time to repent your sins; only by repentance will your souls be saved! God knows the heart of each and every one of you, and be sure he will punish or reward in his own good time whatever may be in there! God may seem a remote and distant judge to you, especially those among you who are hardened of heart against His teachings; but the Bishop of Norwich is an altogether more immediate justiciar and so you will find out an you continue in foul heresy and inappropriate practices!” his voice ended on a howl that Richard later described as fairly bloodcurdling and made him check whether the mad froth of spittle lurked on Vivian’s lips from it.

The servants of Fleury Hall were busy crossing themselves in sheer terror.

It were a shame to frighten these commons, but better that than terrify more through war.

One man rose and tottered forward, almost unable to walk for fear; and flung himself on his face before Vivian, to that worthy’s distinct consternation.

“Oh moi lord, onct I did say as how ut ‘ould be whoolly noice tu read Boible stories in moi mother tongue!” he sobbed “I di’n’t mean no harm boi ut!”

“But you have taken no action concerning finding an English Bible?” asked Vivian.

“No moi lord; Our’d not know how ter goo about foindin’ such!” confessed the man with devastating honesty.

Vivian stroked his chin thoughtfully to help himself get himself under control and not laugh at the last comment from the poor fellow.

“What is your name?” he asked sternly.

“Ut be Higget, moi lord.”

“Well, Higget, let us rejoice and be glad that a soul hath come to repentance and may yet be saved, allelujah!” cried Vivian with awful enthusiasm. “As you have done no more than grumble, we will all pray for your deliverance from the wiles of Satan, and shalt say me a dozen Hail Marys every night before you sleep for all the rest of Lent!”

It was quite a stiff imposition, but better than being hied off to stinking Norwich Gaol; and as that be a penance for so light a deviance, the rest trembled appropriately for any that be found out at worse.

I have to say I cannot see any harm in reading the Bible in English.

It were written for those who would wish to follow Jesus after all; and an they cannot understand it, where be the point? It be all about the control of belief that be held by the clergy that they may interpret the words of Christ to their own advantage; and lest any of the uneducated peasants find out that some of the characters in the Bible were no better than they might have been.

Look at King David after all; who had the most shocking personal morals, and did not hesitate to have Uriah sent off to the battle’s most dangerous part so that Bathsheba might be widowed and the lecherous old turd get his leg over her. And had I been in a like situation I’d have poisoned him, but Bathsheba seems to have been an ambitious wench.

And Vivian must needs froth about minor transgressions for verisimilitude. He prayed fervently and degenerated into Latin of the most obscure.

Vivian was delighted that he had lost Sir William somewhere in the Macabees.

The Macabees, being militant upholders of their Faith are always good for a frothy zealot to fall back on; them or Paul. Paul manages almost always to sound sanctimonious; and then he writes something as beautiful as Corinthians chapter thirteen, and you wonder an this be written by the same person that is ready to condemn in one letter and then manages to say that the three virtues are faith, hope and love; and that the greatest of these be love. This was not a passage Vivian was using; for he was being a priest for whom the passage ‘vengeance is mine saith the Lord, I will repay’ has more meaning than Christ’s assurance that one should forgive one’s neighbour seventy times seven times.

Praying over the sobbing sinner did reduce the rest of the household to abject, cowed compliance; the false inquisition would have no trouble from them.

Vivian said that even Frogface – whom he had recognised from his brief intrusion into our halls – and Sir William looked faintly cowed. Which being so he sat down to an evening repast where the fast food of fish were served in every semblance of feast; and Vivian ate with great gusto where all the others of the household but picked nervously at their food, after pronouncing a long and ponderous Grace over it that Richard later complained was a penance in itself.

“You set a fine table, Sir William,” said Vivian and almost made it sound an insult or an accusation. He had refused the puffin.

“Aye; and thus it behoves a man entertaining a dignitary of the church,” said Fleury “Had you allowed me greater time I might yet have managed finer.”

“Oh dear me, Sir William that would never do!” said Vivian, sounding shocked “It is a fast period when we should all be frugal! You have, of course, remembered that tomorrow be Friday, that be a greater fast than the common Lenten one that nothing but worts and fruit be served?”

Sir William stared in horror.

I doubt he had ever observed the greater fasts in his life.

Vivian might have been happy to eat as well on Friday as any other day but he did it from sheer malicious pleasure in watching Sir William’s face.

We observe the greater fasts for very good reason. It were contumelious to partake every day of fish that must itself suffer somewhat in the winter months, even though not so much as animals on land; but that even so we would not wish the Good Lord’s stock of fish to be sorely depleted by being over-fished.

Eating vegetables only for two days of the week does no harm at all to the system.

Eating naught but worts all the time warps the brain; it be the only explanation I can think of to explain the madness of Leonardo da Vinci, who could not keep his mind on any one project at a time long enough to complete it. Myself, I put it down to the inevitable flatulence.

Vivian proceeded to indulge in purely verbal flatulence for the benefit of Sir William, and his own entertainment, describing in great imaginary detail the trial of William of Bungay, which poor old man had been burned for heresy –and a land dispute – some couple of years ago. Meanwhile his supposed man and constables were drawing out the lower table to talk about any strange actions their masters may have committed, with awful warnings that failure to speak out betrayed complicity.

Most people were prepared to speak out of turn to the detriment of others, even those they be loyal to, to save their own skins. And Sir William was not a man to inspire the sort of loyalty that would take any risks on his behalf.

Bowden Squirrel, constable at arms to Sir William, who had vainly pursued Dicelin and Jenkin over the matter of the stolen pearls was as cowed as any; that for a big bully of a man like him, Rafe said, was well worth seeing.

Rafe soon uncovered that a ware had come up river – past our very eyes, forsooth, for Monkshithe lays upon the estuary of the Hundred River that meander past Ellough – carrying mysterious crates and a contraption on wheels. The merest hint that such might be an heretical altar and Rafe had everything that anyone knew about it and all that they could imagine or wish that they knew; which unfortunately was in the first instance precious little, and in the second a wild excited piece of fantasy that he must needs unravel from fact.

One maidservant had seen ‘for sure with her own eyes’ an inverted cross and cabbalistic symbols on the wheeled thing when the cover flapped in the wind; though she was unable to draw the cabbalistic symbols she knew that she had seen them. Such a girl is a useless witness, for they are the suggestible types that have seen whatever they think you want them to have seen and even convince themselves that they have done so. As Vivian questioned her and found she was illiterate, any cabbalistic symbols she saw might even have been an inventory. Another fellow swore it was a cylindrical reliquary that doubtless contained the bones of Judas Iscariot that must be worshipped by heretics; and he might indeed have seen a cannon and let his frightened imagination do the rest for Rafe’s benefit. That were a relatively reliable witness. A third said he was sure one of the crates contained human skulls that were to decorate a heretic temple. That might even have been cannon balls an they had bought a few to fit the gun as well as the pistol balls I suppose; or it too might have been pure imagination.

None of them had any idea about Lollardy or what it entail; but must needs come up with excitingly fearful Satanic ritual that they thought was what Vivian must be looking for. It was all, Rafe said, depressingly like that nasty little fraud, the so-called Wizard of Shimpling.

And which goes to prove just how unreliable eye witnesses may be when they are trying to be helpful.

Give me a truculent type that has to have information drawn from him as painfully as a dentist draws teeth; at least what little you get is like to be truth.

As soon as one person started the tale of what they had seen, it grew in the telling, all wanting to be a part of uncovering heresy, and had no more value beyond that of entertainment.

Rafe listened with half an ear and kept half an eye on Bowden Squirrel, in hopes he not recognise him. It were unlikely, but one should never be overconfident. Last time Squirrel had seen Rafe had been at our High Table, as befits an esquire; not that such stopped us having him there for his good company when he was a yeoman. And he had looked every inch the gentleman. It was a far cry from the rather rough constable he played here, several levels of estate below Richard Orett, the Bishop’s constable seconded to Father Eusebius. Squirrel did at least do nothing to hush tales about what had been brought by ware; and that he knew nothing of any traitorous plans Rafe was certain. Indeed, it seemed that Fleury had kept all his people in the dark as to the same.

Which meant that were more likely to talk about putative heretical practices and potential heretical altars and such; and they talked and talked.

It were not really in some respects so far removed from the truth.

War is an unholy business and worshipping a family line for the sake of it, regardless of common sense is like unto heresy anyway.

If Diccon arose, like King Arthur, to lead his followers, I’d have to follow. But it isn’t going to happen.

 

The best information Rafe and the others got was that a couple of ostlers had seen something on wheels being taken out of the gate soon after Matins a day or so before our unknown spy crashed in on us so unceremoniously; and the night gatekeeper confirmed that, and said that it were Master Fitzedmund that drove it and two of his men with him that had not returned.

Presumably this had been as far as John the Spy had got, that he decided to head for the house of one he knew by some means who would be like to take the matter further.

He knew of us; and we did not know of him; as I resented slightly.

 

Vivian scrupulously observed all the offices in Fleury’s small chapel accompanied by Crispin and Richard; and for Matins, Rafe and Fabian joined him and proceeded to get lost on the way back to their chambers in the common men’s dortoir.

Fabian managed to lose himself all night with the household seamstress but had little to report bar that she had been helping with the costumes of the village mummers.

“I wager an the costumes be made at the Hall it must be enshrined in some ancient oath or at the behest of some other person than Fleury,” said Rafe “He seem not the sort of man to enjoy rustic mummeries, though an you ask me, his jester were crude and unfunny,,”

Coarse, cruel men like the sort of jests from their jesters that be coarse cruel japes; or that the jester be the butt of such unkind levity. And Fleury’s jester was a dwarf, not four feet tall, who tumbled with more or less skill, but whose main form of entertainment seemed to be to fall over regularly or be tripped by the men-at-arms to great hilarity from the hall.

The dwarf was not averse to getting his own back; for Rafe observed him rapidly undo his codpiece to relieve himself into a flagon of wine destined for the High Table that a serving man had set down while picking up another jug of ale too. Rafe took a chance on using the thieves’ sign language to indicate to Vivian not to drink the wine; and Vivian spoke low and fast in Latin to his compatriots at the High Table.

As the jester passed him by, Rafe grabbed the fellow by the arm, hard, but not cruelly.

“Thou coystril! Why didst piss in My Lord Dean’s wine? What harm have he done thee?” he demanded roughly.  “Art a canting heretic that piss upon a man of the cloth for despising clerical orders?”

The man paled in horror.

“Nay sir! Prithee, let me go, and I will try to warn him! It were not on my mind that the Reverend Sir would drink it too!” he said in his oddly childlike voice.

Rafe gazed into his face and read truth within the naked terror.

“I have sent message to him not to drink; but in penance, shalt seek privy speech with My Lord and beg his pardon for forgetting his presence in passing out thy comment to thy master,” he growled “Now get thee hence!”

He gave the man a light clip across the back of the head that would look harder than it was.

The Fool gave him a look of startled gratitude whilst playing along by falling to his knees and scuttling away on hands and knees. This brought hilarity from the rough men in Sir William’s employ who called out to the poor fellow that he were a good target to burn, that the Bishop of Norwich would need less wood for so small a fellow.

And that were not a funny subject to jest about.

 

 

The Inquisition started right after Lauds next morning; and Hal and Paul were sent to search all kine houses, styes, and other outbuildings of the demesne that might prove to have hiding places for heretical literature; that such places have been known to house secret meetings also, as Vivian thundered. It were a good covering reason to see an a wheeled saker had been poked in with any beast. And having been warned about a fierce bullock the pair were even more keen to search in his shed; wherein they found no more than a fierce bullock – that they handled expertly enough – and a hogshead of malmsey wine that should have been in the Hall’s buttery.

They permitted the kineherd to bribe them with a flagon of the good wine apiece, not wishing to turn him in to a nasty type like Sir William but not able to merely blink at it either.

The search of the Hall and outbuildings was extensive; and open. The inquisition was, after all, looking for small items like books; not large ones like cannon.

Of course it would be hard to hide a cannon an every small cranny be searched.

Fabian Noy, in Rafe’s laconic description, took the seamstress to search her smaller crannies in detail. Since she was also the laundress and complained – with his skilful questioning – of sundry stains of charcoal and the stink of urine on the persons of certain men-at-arms and Squire Fitzedmund, he was able to conclude that they had first tried to make their own gunpowder ere buying in the two firkin barrels and had succeeded in making nothing more than a mess of themselves.

It is not so easy to make gunpowder as it might sound.

It took Robin, Adam and Crispin long enough to work it out with much swearing and smelling foul from the dove droppings they used for nitre.

One might, I suppose, say they smelled fowl.

It is however a skilled process and not for the amateur that hath not at least some learning.

The determined firework maker will, however, find a way, especially when he have made it before in small enough quantities that he only singed his eyebrow and did not blow his head off.

The rest of the search of the inquisition was just so much misdirection as in a mystery play, and Sir William busy chasing around to make sure no valuables went missing, checking pointedly.

“Sirrah,” said Vivian in irritation, as the knight hovered over him “You impugn mine honour and that of my men by your imputations of dishonesty. Were I not a man of the cloth I would expect you to answer for such tacit accusation with your body; as it is, I say to you, the man who accuses another of a sin and speaks of a mote in his eye hath a veritable beam in his own; that an honest man do not accuse another of dishonesty without proof.”

“My Lord Dean! Do you call me a thief?” cried Sir William.

Vivian gave him a level look, reflecting that the fellow was trying to steal a whole country.

“No more than you call me,” he said coldly.

Sir William fumed wordlessly, trying to find a way to say it were not the Dean he suspected but his men, who were such common peasant born as must inevitably be thieves, in Sir William’s understanding of the way of things.

As it happened his imputations were quite correct; for while he stood close, calling Sir William down, Vivian had prigged a paper from his pouch and handed it off stealthily to Richard to make a quick copy that he might later replace the original; a trickier piece of work but one that Vivian was a skilled enough foist to carry out. Had Sir William but known it, Vivian was a very good pickpocket.

But that was neither here nor there.

 

Vivian and Crispin enjoyed themselves in Sir William’s library.

They swore that every book must be checked lest it hide heresies within, which was but an excuse to read some highly licentious works that were no good for Sir William’s soul at all, but not actually forbidden.

They declared that they needed the diversion from acting frothing zealousness.

Fabian meanwhile, still firmly doing his duty, persuaded the seamstress to show him the fine clothes her Master wore, that he might feel for documents in the linings whilst pretending admiration. As groom of the wardrobe he knew clothes better than any but a tailor.

He really was a clever scoundrel and well worth the large vail we later gave him on hearing all his manoeuvres.

He even managed to search the master bed while swiving the woman on it, to her great guilty pleasure, feeling under the mattress and tapping in appropriate rhythm the panels of the tester for secret cavities more hidden than the secret cavities he was so amply probing with his inamorata.

Sir William was too clever to keep anything that might be likely to convict him; save that document in his pouch. Walter had described him as ‘clever enough to be so much cleverer than most that he think himself cleverer than all’; which is a mistake. We be clever; but there always be someone cleverer. Raoul of Beauville was probably cleverer than we; but he lacked our ability to look from different angles at a problem and had not perchance as much sense of the ridiculous that sometimes might lead to a silly comment with enough truth in it to explore.

It is an equal error to look for more cleverness than may be there; to look for a subtlety that have not been thought of.

Sometimes what looks obvious really is obvious.

The paper from Sir William’s pouch was obvious enough; and moderately damning. It were a letter from Edmund de la Pole begging Fleury to show utmost caution in his venture and concluding bombastically ‘St George for England!’.

Idiot.

Richard did check for hidden messages as well by heating it – rather a rash act as it was supposed to be returned – but found none. And checking for such was probably good practice, but not without a good enough jarksman along to make a precise enough copy. Vivian was learning the skills of forgery but a florid and arrogant hand such as de la Pole’s would have defeated him.

Doubtless Fleury planned to burn the thing ere long; as anyone with sense burn an incriminating document.

Servants might be loyal; but one could not guarantee that all are loyal, if another gave them incentive enough to disloyalty. And Sir William did not go out of his way to inspire loyalty in his servants.

It made me wonder how such a knave came to follow Diccon of York, by all accounts a man who took infinite pains over his dependants; and on whom Robin modelled himself in such. Diccon was generous, noble and gentle in peace as well as a very lion in battle. And then thus, his would-be follower; mean spirited, churlish and cruel.

But even as a man sees his own sins reflected in others, so too may a good man see his own virtues an he not learned a healthy dose of cynicism. Diccon doubtless liked to believe good of people an he might.

He did not have to see the travesty of loyalty enacted in his name, thank God!

Vivian duly managed to replace the original letter and one might even hope that Fleury would burn it without looking at it further; he used one of the lewder works as excuse to approach Sir William in utter outrage, pointing out passages whilst thrusting the book at the fellow in order to get close enough to do his reverse foisting.

 

 

The search was interrupted for the first meal of the day; Fleury following fashion to eat at eleven of the clock and again at four, rather than having three smaller meals.

For us, breakfast was a time when small household grievances are aired in an informal court; but one could not see any of Fleury’s servants asking him to mediate in their disputes.

After the meal, the search being essentially concluded, Vivian took over the solar and questioned the household on their beliefs. Not to do so would be extremely suspicious.

He asked each to list the seven sacraments and asked which they thought the most sacred and why.

This second question led to so many a panicked “Our dunno Maarster,” as an answer that Vivian vowed that bucolic stupidity would drive him prematurely grey. Of the answers he did get he had a job keeping a straight face half the time; from the relatively serious comment that baptism ensured entry to heaven eventually to the belief that communion constituted the greatest sacrament that free wine be always welcome; through the answer from a maidservant that it be marriage that then the bastard have to pay for the bastards he gets on you.

Not all of the household could even name the seven sacraments; that some churchmen might have taken as evidence of heresy but an you ask me – and Vivian agreed this point – you have to know what the sacraments are in order to deliberately deny them as Lollards do.

As one of the ostlers said,

“Our do-ant need tu know them duzzy things, account o’ how Our got priest tu tell me and say do Our been breakin’ un.”

He had got them confused, evidently, with the commandments.

On being asked to hazard a guess, another frowned and said,

“Gwine tu confess; gittin’ a priest up wass some good; hatch, match an’ dispatch; an’ I dunno an’ I dunno.”

Five out of seven, albeit couched in his own individual vernacular was close enough. Catechism and Communion he just took, I wager, as normal part of the church happenings, things he had to take part in from time to time.

Vivian chid him austerely for his flippant description of such sacred things as baptism, holy matrimony and the Last Rites, pulling horrible faces as he did so to hide the fact that he was trying not to laugh.

The fellow left not entirely chastened and Vivian hid his head in a cushion to laugh out loud ere he sent for the next.

He did give the chaplain a hard time for permitting such ignorance.

“That not one have sufficient knowledge of the seven sacraments is a disgusting display of ignorance!” thundered Vivian hotly “Of the whole company of servants but three could quote me all seven; and of them only one had any idea what meant the words that they knew and could not then discuss why they have import! And I swear the hogs have more Christian knowledge than some of the lower servants, and it be your fault as chaplain that such pig-ignorance be rife, that I can scarce refer to this as a Christian household! I have every expectation that half of them may even be half inclined to believe in the pagan gods of the Vikings! What do you intend to do about it?” he threw that attack at the unfortunate chaplain.

“But I do-ant see harf on em harf the blummun toime!” said that worthy “And I be-ant even in major orders so do-ant yew push me around loike I be one o’ yore duzzy catmates or dogblates or whatever they du be called, whatever their duties may be! The people here du go tu church in Ellough twoice a year, loike they be ‘quired tu do and otherwoise, wass tu make un cum tu chapel? Sir William oodn’t loike ut above harf anywise an his servants be in his chapel.”

It was a lovely and not entirely veiled insult that suggested that Vivian should interfere with the little boys, the oblates; and a nicely chosen wrong word of catmates for catamites, covered in the equally nice word, dogblates. Clever fellow that chaplain.

And his words gave Vivian ammunition to thunder self righteously at Sir William that his Halls held not heresy but the darkness of ignorance and paganism and that it were his, Sir William’s, duty to see that the chaplain gave a good sermon once a week at least to the servants as High Mass each Sunday when he was to teach them about the seven sacraments and the ten commandments aye, and about God too that He not be someone known only to the ignorant pot boy as ‘ that fellow the cook swear about’.

“And when they know as much about God their Father and Jesus their Saviour as they do about Odin and his pantheon perchance your household might finally be free of suspect practices! He finished with deep sarcasm.

Sir William gritted his teeth and promised that the same should be so; and saw the supposed churchmen off his premises with great relief, Richard still apologising as they went for ‘vindictive calumnies’ and Vivian muttering about ignorant pagans.

They returned the way they had come; and not without those accomplished poachers Hal and Paul declaring that they were not followed past Weston.

They collapsed in tears of mirth and suppressed laughter in the boat and enlivened Mark’s and his sons’ lives with some of the choicer anecdotes.

They were all rogues.