Too Many White Roses now live

 so, the next Felicia and Robin book is live in pb and ebook. 

UK & US and any other market place. 

re writing, I'll be posting soon with another Quester story.

Too Many White Roses 1

 

Chapter 1 Shrove Tuesday, February 8^th 1512 old calendar 1513 modern reckoning.

 

 

When there is a rude interruption to one’s merrymaking of a fellow who positively falls in the door, staggers towards the high table and falls to his knees gasping, “You have to find it before it be too late,” ere pitching forward to fall on his face, it is just a bit of a shock.

 

We do not, in England, celebrate Carnevale with the exuberance with which it be celebrated in the Latin countries, but we were naytheless having something of a feast in using up all our fats and eggs in the traditional way before we enter the fast of Lent; and the musicians and John Jester had donned masks to entertain us with a sung play loosely based on the Comedia de’l’Arte and large portions of their own imagination and quite recognisable satires on local notables. The arrival of this unexpected guest brought their performance to a rather abrupt halt.

The reason for the poor fellow’s indisposition became immediately apparent as he fell forward; being a good clothyard long and much of that buried under his shoulder blade that meant he was probably a dead man walking from the moment it hit him. I leaped up to go to his side; but it was too late. The pulse in his throat was still and his eyes stared with that blankly knowing expression of a man who has seen the hereafter.

Justin Kemp, our chaplain knelt at his side to start the prayers for the dead the moment I shook my head.

There was nothing more anyone could do for the poor fellow.

 

We had scarce had time to draw breath over this unexpected intrusion when there was another; and four armed men burst into our Hall, brandishing their longbows as though they were longing to use them.

The servants screamed. Adam and Jerid, covered by Robin leaping to his feet, slid through the solar door.

“What I’God’s name is the meaning of this?” bellowed Robin in fury.

The leader of the group, in the Lincoln green of a verderer, lowered his bow. The others copied his action. He were a heavy featured man, with a sallow, jowled face and long brownish blonde hair.

“My apologies, good sir, that I so abruptly interrupt you; I did fear that this very ruffian of a poacher,” he indicated the body of our first uninvited visitor, “Might have come in here to menace the ladies; but I see he did not get very far. Is he dead?” he turned to me and asked peremptorily.

He had neither doffed nor louted, so I stood to stare down my nose at him and waited coldly for some kind of courtesy from the fellow that seemed not to be forthcoming.

Robin growled,

“An you wish an answer from My Lady wife, naughty fellow, I suggest you find some manners; and after you have louted and craved pardon of her for your rudeness you may then leave; for the only one menacing my household right now is you!”

The fellow looked startled, looked at me dubiously and louted punctiliously with as much insolence as he might muster, murmuring,

“Why I do beg your pardon – My Lady.”

WHY does my dark skin always make these limited types assume I be a slave? Honestly! In fine pink camlet – and quite sixteen yards of it in my gown – with expensive brocade sleeves in a pattern of a pink pæony on a silver grey ground and silver thread in the pattern, then mine estate should be obvious. Not to mention my manner towards him that was of cold hauteur.

Did he have such foolish views that he did not imagine the mistress of a house be not the first to check the health of a sick stranger?

“Good; and now you will do as my father commands, and leave,” said Adam’s calm clear voice from the balcony. “These crossbows have double beds; my cousin and I have two bolts each and can drop any man ere he knock an arrow. My father likes not armed ruffians in his halls; so begone.”

“Well done you lads,” said Robin cheerily.

The verderer looked up into two pairs of implacable young eyes; and the horror on his face that one of those who covered him and his men be blacker than me was quite delightful; ‘deed, almost comic.

The boys had collected them from the solar where they hang, against possible nocturnal trouble, from the bedposts at the foot of our bed, inside the curtains.

Robin and I could probably have dropped them with thrown knives; but it were better not to let such fellows know that an we not actually plan to kill them.

“Uh…. If we might take the body now?” suggested the verderer, taking a step towards it.

Adam let him see that he took up more pressure on the trigger and he stepped hastily back.

“You need not bother; we will bury him here,” I said coolly “Perchance ere you leave you may furnish us with a name of this poacher?”

“He – uh, he was known as John,” said the Verderer. “Really it is no trouble for us to take the body with us,”

“Well he may then be buried as John Attwood Poacher,” I said carelessly “Shut the door gently on your way out, no need to be as noisy as on your entrance.”

There were enough discrepancies to the body of this supposed poacher, as well as his cryptic utterance, that I wanted to examine him closely.

“I – did he say anything ere he died?” asked the verderer.

Robin regarded him coldly.

“Why would I care to listen to any incoherent cries of a dying poacher?” he said “Out, sirrah! You have been dismissed, and your continued presence mislikes me! I will count to three, and an you not be gone you will lie beside him in the church for my son and my nephew will kill you all as brigands!”

Adam and Jerid sighted theatrically down their weapons as Robin started the count.

The intruders fled.

I signed to Rafe and to Ellery Juby.

They grabbed a loaf each and a chunk of fat bacon to put in it and glided off after the fellows, going through the pantry to use the kitchen door.

Rafe would track them well enough; and would send Ellery to get our verderers and poachers to help.

Rafe would then leave sign for Tom Partridge and Hammet Lever to help them catch up with him; and leave the rest to them.

We had some remarkably good rogues in our employ.

 

We took the dead man temporarily into the chapel, where we might also later examine him; and I made sure the men who carried him there also washed their hands under the piscina before returning to their meal.

I was approached by one of the musicians who removed his mask to reveal it to be Dicelin o’ the pipes as I returned from the chapel; and he louted low.

“My Lady, excuse me,” he said “But my brother Jenkin and me, we seen that man in verderer’s green afore; and the fletching of the arrow in that poor soul’s back do agree. The arrow be one o’ Fleury’s, the flight feathers dyed tan, grey and all scarlet tipped; and that verderer I have seen at Sir William’s Hall in Ellough too.”

“Thank you Dicelin,” I said “You and your brother drink deep to this poor soul’s memory then,” I added as I passed a vail. He grinned, pleased. He and Jenkin had been most careful, as I recalled, to keep their masks on all the time the verderer was in the Hall; and I could not blame him.

He and his brother were wanted dead by Sir William Fleury for a daring theft that, on account of the mean swine’s nature we had connived at covering up, merely passing the fruits of the theft to the orphanage at Bungay.

I had not missed the colours in the fletching and had wondered, for Sir William’s livery be tan and grey; and the three accompanying men had worn besides their Lincoln green jerkins hose with one leg grey and the other tan. Confirmation of mine own guesswork was right helpful.

 

Robin was still furious.

“This is getting ridiculous!” he stormed “Even with a porch, we seem not immune from ruffians storming our Hall! What price the king’s peace? I swear I shall erect a gate at the gatehouse as in times of yore when the Roses still raged!  Aye, and hire a guard to man it day and night too!”

“An we have made an enemy of Sir William Fleury that had not been a bad idea,” I said dryly. “As Jenkin and Dicelin so identify his man. He be the last sulky Yorkist in the county and identify us as Lancastrians rather than recognise us as pragmatists; and in that I fear too for Tybalt’s safety.”

I nodded at our young ward as I spoke, stuffing himself unconcernedly now the excitement be over, as a boy not ten years old will; he having been awarded to us for his safety and that of the realm, having been made the focus of a plot as a spurious grandson of Richard III for his uncanny resemblance to the old king.

“There is only one Yorkist claimant that counts; and he be in the Tower,” said Robin, meaning the White Tower in London.

“Why pa?” asked Emma. “Why do he be in the Tower, I mean?”

Robin laughed; the children always lightened his mood on the rare occasions he felt angered or depressed.

“Oh, ‘tis a prodigious old story! He and his older brother - his brother was Duke of Suffolk – rebelled against Henry VII; and the older brother died in battle. This be about the time I was at school with Tom Wolsey. John de la Pole being dead, Edmund his brother was then Duke of Suffolk. He stayed quiet for a while but in the year Pernel was born he decided he would like to be king and went to get help out of England from the Holy Roman Empire.”

“Why pa? Aren’t they our allies against France?” demanded Pernel.

Robin spread his arms wide.

“Alliances? Such change from year to year,” he said “We weren’t allies with the German Empire then. And Edmund de la Pole got others to help him, like Sir James Tyrrell, who got caught and was…. persuaded….. to say that he had killed the little princes in the Tower on the orders of Richard III.”

“But why would Richard of York need to kill them? He had them declared illegitimate because of Edward IV’s bigamous marriage to Elizabeth Woodville,” said Adam.

Robin shrugged.

“A Bella Figura for Henry VII by painting Diccon black I suppose,” he said “Or provided explanation an he had them killed himself because bastards or no they were still raised as princes of York. Plenty would see the irregular sons of Edward IV preferable to Henry Richmond, whose own claim to the throne descends through illegitimacy.”

Adam nodded understanding.

He had spent time in Italy; he understood Bella Figura.

“You mean this Sir James was tortured until he said what the king wanted,” said Pernel disapprovingly.

“Yes,” said Robin shortly “And the rebellion sort of fizzled out like a damp firework; and Edmund de la Pole stayed quietly put in the Low Countries. Until Emperor Maximilian’s son Philip the Handsome got blown off course and got to be the er, guest of Henry VII.”

Emma giggled.

“How come they called him ‘the handsome’?” she asked puzzled “Aren’t all these Hapsburgs tutmouthed?”

Robin looked helpless before a question he knew not the answer to.

“I never saw this Philip,” he said “Maybe it were irony; or mayhap he escaped the prognathic jaw that runs in the family and was handsome by comparison. Anyway, Henry VII made a bargain with Philip that he could go home if he gave up Edmund de la Pole; and he promised not to execute him. And he never did; and nor has our king, Henry VIII.”

“What relation is he to Richard III then?” demanded Adam.

“Good Lord! I don’t know,” said Robin “Get not Yorkist ambitions in thy head, boy; peace is good. The de la Poles are descended from one king or another of the house of York; I never cared enough to find out exactly from whom or in what degree. Edmund is the grandson of Chaucer, as I believe, his mother being Chaucer’s daughter; and as Chaucer was an Ipswich boy for a while that was ever of more interest to me in my childhood, dreaming of being one day as great as Chaucer.”

“You be greater father,” said Adam, who was partisan; though I tended to agree. As an artist Robin was a very genius. “I had not Yorkist ambitions as it happens; I was just curious. Being Chaucer’s grandson is more interesting as you say; kings aren’t very. The king was nice enough to us; and I liked Francis of France very well, but princes and their trappings make me nervous.”

“Well keep it that way and meddle not in inflammatory politics,” said Robin.

“Is Fleury an heir?” asked Pernel.

“I think he’s a relation of the de la Poles; as de Curtney is of Bigod,” said Robin “Tenuous of connection but it exists.”

Emma giggled.

“That make Walter Danforth a claimant too; he be a cousin of Fleury and de Curtney!”

“And that, my poppet,” I said “Is why Walter lies low; save when he may assist the peace of the realm. He have no desire for any man to recall that he have such nervous albeit tenuous claim to the thrones of England and Scotland.”

“Scotland?” demanded Adam.

“A Bigod married a daughter of Robert the Bruce as I understand,” I said “Or rather, a Bigod descendant; like the de Curtneys they bred only girls for several generations, at least, only girls that produced their own offspring. The family name is Stuart, but King James IV is a Bigod. It’s what make him obstinate and pig headed as well as erudite and inquisitive.”

Adam grinned.

“And that’ll be something to tease Walter over,” he said.

Poor Walter.

At least he could now take teasing since he had become used to it. Adam used him as an older brother in many ways; and methinks Walter was not so averse to that.

 

We decided to leave the body overnight that we might have better light to examine it in the morning.

On Adam’s suggestion we also locked and barricaded the crypt door to prevent anyone stealing the body as the verderer and his minions had seemed keen to take him away; and we barred the front door into the Hall stoutly too, and the kitchen door for both open into the porch area.

“Shall I keep vigil, My Lady, Sir Robert?” asked Justin.

He was a very conscientious chaplain.

“Yes: do,” I said “The poor soul was concerned that something be found that was on his conscience more than anything else and our prayers will help him. Be sure and wear a fur-lined cope and boot hose; and take Connie’s favourite skillet with you too. It make a satisfying BONG noise when hit with a ladle as will do for an alarum bell to summon help an any come; and at a pinch will serve as a weapon too.”

Justin grinned. He would defend his charge from interlopers cheerfully and was young enough to welcome trouble an it came.

Adam spoke up.

“Jerid, Oliver and me will sleep there in blankets and spell each other in keeping Justin company,” he said volunteering those of the boys he thought most reliable.

“What about me?” demanded Kistur, hurt.

“You and Maud and Fanchon and Pernel will watch in Rafe’s tower chamber of the gatehouse against visitors from the front,” Adam said “Being all good shots and under Rafe’s orders there.”

“We’re hardly needed, are we?” said Robin, twinkling at me as he ruffled Adam’s hair.

Adam grinned.

“Well I won’t learn any younger,” he said.

True enough; but Robin’s face at being quoted back at himself was a study.

Hobbes Hall and its demesnes would be Adam’s one day; he might as well practice defending it now as later; when it might be too late.

“We’ll listen for anyone trying to get in the crypt door, Uncle Robin,” said Jerid seriously “Should we pour nightsoil and hot oil on them like the Aldous girls did when the mercenaries came?”

“No, lad, no need to let them know we know they come; unless they should manage somehow to break in and Justin must needs rouse us. If they fire the place, say, or try to break an entrance.”

Jerid nodded seriously. He was a very solumn little boy but now at least no stranger to fun and laughter.

Crispin made decision to move his family into the main building; the school wing was vulnerable to attack. We had chambers wherein we place guests after all; and Sylvia slept in the chamber for the older girls on the top floor in any case.  Those paying scholars who boarded in the schoolhouse might sleep in the boys room and with plenty of room as our boys were not this night. Lucia moved in with Rosa for the time being, Richard elected to take his turn with the boys in the chapel, being scarce more than a boy himself, and Labhoise, also moved into a guest chamber. Tawn and Cornelia had not moved into the schoolroom since they planned to build a house for themselves in Hobbeshithe St Stephen in the better weather where Cornelia would teach petties and start scholars, though she made herself useful for now starting smaller scholars on their Latin ere they went to Richard. Our Sebastian was learning from her and thought her wonderful.

 

Rafe and Ellery returned and I waved them to eat what we had left for them ere they told their tale.

Rafe could eat and talk at the same time without making a mess; and did so.

“We went out through the kitchen door at the side of the porch to see them across the courtyard; then went through the undercroft to the family wing and out through the parlour window,” he said. As Rafe, being sensible, would think to do; and Ellery would never have the temerity to do. Nor the keys, as it happens; the door from undercroft into our studio is kept locked and Rafe was one of the few people to have a key to it. “They were hanging around watching,” Rafe went on “Checking, methinks, that they were not followed out of the gatehouse, so I was main glad we did it that way. I sent Ellery for Tom and Hammet as be our best rogues now Tom’s leg be healed – though I suppose Piaz and his family be so too now – and waited, watching. They still hung about; and the one clad all in green took one of them to scout all round the house while two stayed to watch, painfully deep in gorse bushes. I wager they’d have preferred the gorse fortress we had to burn those mercenaries out of.”

“It was a shame to lose it too,” I said “We should encourage the growth of others; perchance by planting gorse bushes in a circle, and with overlapping ends that it not be easy to find the entrance an you not know where it be. And build secret tunnels to such too an we be like to have a private war on our hands again.”

Rafe grinned enthusiastically.

“Rob and I can manage that,” he said. “And perchance too a maze in the Italianate fashion as they say is becoming fashionable here; that also be reached by tunnel and hide all manner of things for our defence.”

That idea I liked. There was not a lot that man could NOT turn his hand to; he and Robin were a formidable team, especially with Adam too.

“What happened next?” I asked.

“I took decision to follow round the ones on the move,” said Rafe. “After dark it was child’s play. They looked hard at the crypt door and wondered what manner of building works the start of the loggia might be. But the crypt door interested them and the one in green declared that you would never bother to move the body at night but would leave it in your crypt most likely.”

“And that door ready barred and barricaded,” I said “Adam saw to that.”

Rafe nodded.

“He’s a good lad….then they retreated. I heard Hammet Lever give me a call whistling like a nightingale’s song and I replied with an owl hoot. I don’t whistle too well,” he added.

“Sure it was Hammet not a real nightingale?” I asked.

He sighed.

“In February?” he said, patiently.

“You KNOW I’m not familiar with birdsong,” I said “I only know that owls are loudest in January when they mate because Chel told me so.”

“And I made sure Hammet know it were me that I gave a call half way between that of a tawny owl and a brown owl,” said Rafe.

I frowned suddenly.

“One moment – would not a verderer know that? And know when nightingales sing?”

Rafe looked surprised.

“He were no verderer; I thought that were obvious. He be a bowman at arms or some such. He wore green but he carried his quiver as a soldier wear it, not a verderer; and he had no huntsman’s knife, nor horn, and his boots were too fine.”

“Rafe, you’re brilliant,” I said. “And I should have noticed his boots though I knew not to look for the rest.”

He grinned.

“You have taught me to look for discrepancies,” he said “And you notice most the things you know. And I know a verderer’s job; and I have had enough to do with soldiers to recognise one when I see one. I wager from the way he gave orders as well as from the fineness of his boots that he was a squire; or at least a well trusted and wealthy yeoman. I think you were too busy noticing that poor dead soul to take as much notice of the green clad fellow,”

“That would agree with his rather arrogant manner in the Hall an he have higher estate,” I said “and it be a lesson to me that I should have noticed him too; and not merely for irritation of his manner. We do have something very odd going on here. DICELIN!” I called.

The musician came down.

“Lady?” he louted low.

“You said you had seen the verderer before,” I said sharply “Was he a verderer then, in Lincoln green?”

He shook his head.

“Last time I see him he wore not green at all but Fleury tan and grey,” he said. “But I questioned not; for I know not how Fleury like his men liveried within doors so when I see him in green this day I thought no more of it. I had thought him more important; but a verderer may be a favoured servant, especially an he be say a natural son.”

I nodded.

That was fair enough

They had not, after all, been long in William Fleury’s halls to learn his custom and usage.

 

 

We discussed the idea of letting Artemis and Orion loose in the yard; and decided to leave the door to the porch open for them, and blankets at the bottom of the stairs, for the nights were still bitter cold.

“And I’ll sleep in the porch room upstairs,” said Jem Sykes “Those dogs will do anything for me; and I can keep an eye out too.”

“Bless you Jem; an you be certain you will not be too cold I’ll not say no,” said Robin.

“Oh never mind about me, Sir Robert!” said Jem “I’ll be just fine with a pile of blankets and I shan’t disrobe. With coney fur boothose I’ll be as warm as warm; a man with warm feet feels not the cold.”

“We could shut the porch door and put a dirt box for them that will stop any coming in,” said Robin.

“That will stop any using the main or the kitchen door,” I said tartly “But not our solar studio door, nor the laundry, nor any of the windows. Without a gate at the gatehouse this house be indefensible unless there be guards at all times. An Jem be willing I say thank you very much.”

“Hmm, yes, I do take your point, my dearest dear,” said Robin. “And even with the porch door open, above stairs is at least out of the draught; and warmer in the Hall for those who sleep on the gallery than it was before we built the porch.”

 

 

The dogs set up a barking about two hours after Matins.

We had gone to bed partially clad against such sudden alarums and were soon at our fine oriel windows with crossbows and pistols.

“Thieves! Murderers! Vagabonds!” I screeched with histrionic fervour. “Alarum! Alarum! Brigands and thieves!”

“See them off Orion! Eat them Artemis!” cried Robin, over acting as much as I. “Why my dear, there must be a veritable gang of ruffians – first that poacher fellow, then the ones that followed him and now this!”

We fired our pistols.

A fat lot of chance they had of hitting any target at such a distance and in the dark; but there is something eminently intimidating about firearms.

Our unwelcome visitors were intimidated.

They fled incontinently with lymer hounds baying at their heels and, judging by the odd yelp in human tongue, getting close enough to nip.

The dogs had been well trained by Jem and knew how to see people off. He had a special command an he want them to actually bring a man down; but that were not needed.

We only wanted rid of them.

We knew – more or less – who they were.

And had we taken them prisoner, doubtless the fellow who posed as a verderer would claim either that he was pursuing another spurious poacher; or admit to criminal intent and say that he wished to steal our gold and crystal Salt, aye, and our fine silver, too; that Sir William would then pay to compound him and nothing would happen. And an we question him too closely he would know that our dead guest had left an urgent, if rather cryptic, message.

 

We all convened at Lauds.

“Exciting night, or what?” said Adam laconically.

“They tried to get in the crypt,” said Oliver “I was on watch. They had a whispered conversation but I had the small bit of the window open that I might hear them; and they were discussing what to do. They thought mayhap that as the door look all rusty that you have stuff stored against it and never use it.”

That had indeed been the whole idea of leaving the door looking all rusty. The hinges are actually very well oiled; but since the alarum of the sell-swords we had painted vinegar and salt onto all the metalwork of the door that showed, to encourage rust.

It WAS a rather vulnerable back way into the Hall after all.

“And they read what we wanted them to read,” I said with satisfaction, grinning at the boy.

“Anyway,” said Oliver “They then decided on the bold approach round the front; and shortly after then we heard the dogs and My Lady and Sir Robert waxing duly outraged with the spirit of Melpomene upon them.”

I grinned.

“I’d have said it were more farce than tragedy myself, but as there be no muse for that we had needs make it up as we went along. It seemed appropriate anyhow. Whatever is going on here is not farce however; one man have died to prevent whatever it be, who sought us out. And thus our comedy; for an we seem no more than outraged householders it may buy time to find out what it may be. We may hypothesise that William Fleury owes us a grudge or two and seeks to pay them off; and the dead man came to warn us that he plan some attack, and to first glance looking more an indoor servant than a forester of any kind, legal or illegal; that we shall study in more detail later. But we are forewarned that something untoward is afoot; and better, an we have dissembled well enough, that Fleury not know that we so surmise.”

“An attack on us seem the most likely idea based on what we have to go on,” said Robin “Or an attack on someone we be close to, like Sir Godfrey.”

“What can we do?” asked Jem Sykes.

“You warn the verderers and steady men; and Rafe should issue those as be trustworthy with crossbows; people like Hobb Husbandman, aye and his wife Dorothy too that took up crossbow at the windows when the sell-swords came,” said Robin “The verderers all be better skilled at longbow that be a better weapon in any case. Rafe’s been converting all our crossbows to double bedded ones that there be a second shot from them; and that a surprise to any enemy. We’ll have hurdles ready to make a barricade as I hope won’t be needed, and tell people to be ready to withdraw within the Hall too, as before. As I also hope will not be needed. Ellery shall warn the Jubys, the Aldouses, the Rom-folk and Father Piers Alcock; who shall ready St Stephen’s to be defensible.”

“Is this Sir William Fleury likely to go for all out assault?” asked Fanny incredulously “He knows surely that we fought off the sell-swords; were he so rash?”

“I don’t know m’dear,” said Robin “But he have a foul and nasty temper and be hasty in dealing out blows to underlings that may scar them for life; even his own nephew as a page. And we DID catch one of his sons out in naughty murder over land fraud; and Sir Godfrey have given succour to the widow of his other son as would not go anywhere near her father-in-law; and we did help deprive him of a young bride for the want of a stolen betrothal gift. And perchance worst of our crimes against him, we have accepted the Tudor boy as King, as the Fleurys have never done, methinks. And he is a mean-spirited yet choleric man. Such is oft times difficult to second guess; save that he would do us ill an he might.”

“He didn’t know how we helped hide the pearls, pa; he still thinks they were faked by his father and that the hog ate them,” said Adam.

“He suspects that we laugh at him over it,” said Robin “As a man of his stamp hates worse than anything. Princess, why so glum?” he turned to Pernel who showed a less than douce face to us.

“Rafe doesn’t think we can train owls like hawks to fly at villains at night,” mourned our eldest daughter. “And I did think that as they be good hunting birds it might be possible.”

Good Lord, whatever next.

Scarily, I could actually see in my mind’s eye a picture of Pernel with a highly trained attack barn owl, like Minerva on one of her retributive quests.

 

Christmas vice and seasoning 1

 

1 Not Quite Allin-A-Dale part i

 

 

It was good to be back at Monkshithe; and the new hawks and falcons were settled in our mews and under training.  Rafe had roped in anyone who knew anything about birds and insisted that Oliver train a goshawk to his own use.  The boy will be a squire as ranks a lanner; but he’ll never learn younger to hawk a crossgrained creature like a goshawk.

I am not sure how the law stands as regard to Pernel firmly using her new goshawk, Gellert; as a child she should use a kestrel: as a woman she may use a merlin, or a sparrowhawk like a priest.  And the law states that it is forbidden to use a bird above one’s estate.

A goshawk is a yeoman’s bird; that ranks below a lady.  And I really could not see anyone trying to cut off the hands of a knight’s daughter; especially a knight’s daughter who has hawked with the king.

Naytheless, I suggested that Pernel should write to the king and explain how she had effectively rescued Gellert since the only man that could handle him was murdered; and that he had defended her valiantly from ruffians since and to ask the king’s own permission to fly the wretched bird.

The king, after all, had been known to grant exemption from the sumptuary laws; so why not from hawking etiquette? And one reason we wished to have a Flemish loom or two brought to England was that the law forbids anyone under the rank of lord wearing foreign wool; and the Flemish woollens were definitely superior.  That way we might claim such were woven on our own looms and let anyone disprove it.  An anyone actually take any more notice of the sumptuary laws than they do.

Women are exempt from them; the king believes in a pretty woman turning herself out as finely as she might.

 

The first thing we did when we got back was to arrange the celebration of Connie’s wedding to Vivian; we sent Valkensluft straightway to sail as far as Brent Eleigh up the Stour and its tributary, where so trim a craft might reach up river; and Vivian accompanied the ship, he said to be safe from the wedding preparations, but mostly to address Connie’s father for his permission as well as her mistress’s – me – to wed her and beg the attendance of Connie’s mother Grissel at her daughter’s nuptials. 

We had sent a man and his wife to ask Master Paul Cattermole to help him find work, who had taken him on himself; and with the fast travel made possible by a trim little ship, Paul decided that the whole family should come to see Connie wed since the harvest was in, and there were but the beasts to see to until the most of them be slaughtered at Martinmas.  Connie therefore had bridesmaids in her little sisters Jillian and Marigold, that being close enough in age to Pernel and Emma,  but a little younger, might wear gowns our girls had grown out of this year, made in identical style the larger in sage green kerseymere the smaller in sky blue, guarded with black silk, made as separates of doublet and skirt with separate sleeves; that our generous girls suggested giving to Con’s sisters rather than just loaning that they have something to remember the day with.

Grissel was overcome, but what are friends for but to give gifts to and do nice things for?  They should have some pretty things! Especially with Loveday, the eldest to dower.  And Paul was delighted that Vivian waived a dowry for Connie, saying with as much truth as jest that the good training in keeping house and cooking that her mother had given her was dower enough that she might bring in a wage as a housekeeper and quite three times as much as a maid of the chamber; being on a par with a secretary or chaplain. 

Con herself was ecstatically beautiful as a bride; looking an absolute picture in my cream silk with azure silk sleeves and stripes of the same applied to the skirt that made her eyes an even brighter blue; for we had not had time to make a new gown for her, for I could not sew on one when I was from home that she not be there for fittings.  Altering mine was a lot simpler.

She might have borrowed mine own wedding finery an she had wished, for pink too suited Connie very well; but she turned that down as too fine.

Connie had very fixed ideas about the rightness of things sometimes; that she actually took a fit of unwonted superstition over wearing her own best gown that we had made her for MY wedding, the pale silvery blue satin.  Mind, that WAS a rather thin garment for this weather; and she wore a blue woollen gown bodice, sleeves and all under the silk in addition to a petticoat, for Connie was no fool.

And she let me gift her with the gown as well, after arguing; for I wished her to feel as lucky in it as I had always done, my first true fine gown.

And all the house turned out to wish her well and cheered Vivian when he gave her a hearty buss after the ceremony.

 

Meantime we were continuing to really stamp the personality of our own family onto Hobbes Hall; and that of our Italian connection.

Robin decreed that his apprentices should learn the art of fresco painting as being a good standby and even practised – however unwillingly – by that nasty-tempered genius Michaelangelo, who was in the throes of the last stages of finishing painting a ceiling in the new Sistine Chapel in Rome, and Rafael had written to us recently that his language about it was quite intemperate and inappropriate for a Holy Place.  Mind, after painting for four years lying on his back, for one who was primarily a sculptor not a fresco painter, one might almost forgive him for that save that he had never been so douce at the best of times.  Fresco painting is notoriously badly paid but I wager Michaelangelo managed to wring better than the going rate of a ducat a foot out of Pope Julius by one means or another.

The fit of fresco madness had come on Robin back in the summer because of how much better he might have painted the ceiling in the Great Hall at Wytch Hall in Dorset with its diseased sheep that may have been meant to be clouds.

Robin picked the long North Wall of our Great Hall to so decorate and modernise.

We were making additions to the house on this wall, and had pierced a door through it, equidistant from the eastern end, where the kitchen is, to the door into the chapel from the western, or solar end.  And this door was kept securely locked while it still opened onto a long drop; for the Hall, being built over an undercroft, is on the upper storey.  It would open eventually onto a balcony running along our projected loggia, that would be a dry place for the children to play in winter and a cool place to eat as an alternative to the Hall in summer.

Whilst we had the wardship of Criseyde and Eglantyne we had access to the stoneworks Criseyde owned; digging good Portland stone, that would make splendid pilasters for our loggia, and the flooring too.  It would reach two storeys high for that door and balcony, the hall and undercroft to back it, one end enclosed by the chapel’s east wall and the other two sides open and overlooking the garden.  That was now much more a garden and less a plot of weeds, and would be a shady haven to enjoy it in summer.  I looked forward to dining in it with the scents of mine herbs redolent in the warm evening air of next summer.

This Italianate conceit of ours was to begin with the fresco within, that was to be a simple garden scene, light and airy, that would delight the senses of our less well educated dependants and servants as well as pleasing us; and it would provide a source of botanical education too.  The two doorways were to be incorporated in the design as archways, with brick walls covered in climbing plants painted as coming to meet them from each end; and by the use of perspective, seeming to turn away to make a large enclosed garden of the central section of the wall. With climbing roses and woodbine and travellers’ joy covering the archways they would be pretty indeed and the doors no intrusion.

It was Oliver's idea to add a view of Florence in the background as though looking over the ‘wall’ of the ‘garden’ towards it; as a reminder of our ties to that lovely city. And we all concurred with such a suggestion enthusiastically.  Robin and I got out our sketches from the library, drawn from hills overlooking Florence, that the children might work from; for we have many of such sketches.  And as Robin had not been looking for them lately they were still exactly where I had placed and inventoried them in the library.

In the months since we had taken over the wardship of the two young girls, Eglantyne had shown an interest in our art, stemming from the portrait we had painted of the girls’ dead mother.  She had a surprising degree of talent, too.  Robin therefore enrolled her as his apprentice, that as a younger daughter she might always have a means to earn for herself.

I had initially been rather dubious; for Eglantyne could put on the parts of a spoiled brat.

I was to be much surprised; to my gratification the child took to running errands and doing dirty menial tasks as an apprentice far more willingly than she had in her training to run a household as a lady.

Perchance it was just that she saw more point in it.

Perchance it was that she had ever had the itch to draw and create and had not had the outlet for her talent before – and it was a more than moderate talent by a long way – and such had fuelled her resentment of doing anything else and soured her disposition.

She was a nicer child almost over night and I was glad for her.

It made her easier for the other children to get on with, and even Emma, who had once asked an we had to have her live with us, had told her,

“I’m glad you’re here with us as an apprentice, Egg; you’re all right really.”

Criseyde showed no inclination whatsoever to draw; but she was the heiress to a considerable fortune as needed no trade, so long as she not perceive it as an excuse to idle.

Besides, she had settled very well to housekeeping; and her creative abilities showed themselves in a good eye for sewing. She was now learning to measure by eye and cut out garments; which skill I have only ever trusted Emma with of all our other children and wards.

I would no sooner trust Pernel with shears and fabric than I would Robin; both were far to likely to fall into a brown study over some obscure literary reference and create havoc fit only for Germans, as like their garments slashed as though they had already been into battle.  And that in the sense of the word ‘havoc’ meaning to show no mercy nor expect any; and the crying of havoc long banned by the Pope.

 

Frescos, if not complex and awkward things like ceilings, are quick to paint, by their very nature.  One binds the pigment to the wet plaster, in which process that horrid substance lime is used; but fortunately in small quantities that did not constitute any real risk to the youngsters.  Especially Emma who was prone to fall in anything that may be loosely described as wet.

The two doors in it gave easily completable sections and the end sections less complex and so good for the children to practise on.

Half the village had managed to find errands at the Hall to gawp at our younglings at work; and those of our wards and such who were not artisitic stood watch to prevent the disaster of curious pointing fingers coming too close and ruining careful work.

We had some finishing to do on our return from the Low Countries and celebrated the final completion at Martinmas, the feast to celebrate St Martin of Tourse, tutelary saint of Hobbeshithe St Martins; and so invited Berengar Woodhill and his chaplain as well as the whole village.

Martinmas is also the day the majority of the animals are brought from pasture to be slaughtered; and the entrails are traditionally fried as a means to use them up quickly as a Martinmas dish; which is another day on which goose is traditionally served.

It was a tight squeeze to get everyone in and required several trestles, and those at the low tables must needs be very friendly but we got them all in, though some of our own servants must sit at tables on the gallery above the hall, where too our musicians played merrily.

Jodoc had a new song for us, that he thought came from Scotland and that he had been saving for Martinmas, called ‘The Wife of Usher’s Well’.  It tells of a goody whose three sons are drowned at sea and who prays so hard to see them again that they are permitted to visit for a single night, Martinmas, and must needs be away by dawn.  The poor woman’s anguish is poignant.  We applauded loudly for the song and Berengar was moved to send up a purse to them.

The feast went down well.

How many of our villagers would subsequently fall down the steps from the door to ground level on the way out was debatable; for ale and cider had flowed quite freely.

That was another piece of building that we had just had completed; a porchway enclosing the steps and door alike that was a further bar to winter weather, even as the loggia would help keep draughts from the northern side.  A fireplace at each end of the great hall did NOT combat draughts from a door directly onto the outside, even if it did face south.  The porchway encompassed the kitchen door also, and that would too help to keep the kitchen cooler in summer.  We had placed hooks such as are in a garderobe to hang garments on, for the purpose of leaving wet garments at the bottom of the steps that servants might take them through the kitchens to the laundry to dry and clean any mud out of them.  We had taken the idea from a more modern house we had seen: and had been much taken with its practicality.  As our door was upstairs, we had taken the idea a stage further and laid a floor on a level with our Hall, there being then a small chamber that was a convenient office for the taking of the Quarter Day payments of rents with a small dormant table and chair within.

 

We had a visitor the day after the feast, the Friday.

It was a young man; and a very young man at that, scarce more than a boy, fair, small of chin and large of upper teeth in the way of so many in Suffolk, but not so much as to prevent him from being not ill-looking in a slightly weak way.  A woman who loved him could call him handsome without it being risible.  His woollen clothing was good without being sumptuous, the black dye a slightly brownish black. The guarding on the black wool doublet mockado of a fair quality, not velvet and the fur at wrists and bands of his tan jerkin did not go quite far enough to hide that it was no true lining, that being wool like the outside.  The fur was common grey rabbit that was neither grey nor brown, and it was warm enough but no real statement of sumptuary.  The lad affected slashed upper stocks of his madder pink hose and had not been done terribly well and the slashes pulled any which way to the detriment of the yellow satined linen lining.

Connie had announced his presence in her usual blunt way.

“There be a fellow without in the hall wanting to petition Sir Robert, that look to be afflicted either by love or by emerods.”

Connie let her wit loose on others less well endowed in such a respect as herself an she find them as she considers contumelious; and marriage had evidently not mellowed that caustic tendency.

Good; I liked Connie as she was.

Robin had been painting; and had just finished a feverish bout of the same and was well pleased with the way things were going; so felt quite sanguine at leaving his work to see this young man, who louted rather awkwardly.

“Sir Robert,” he said “My name is Gabby Higson; and I have heard it said that yew do be a good and fair man wass ready tu turn asoide tu prevent ill deeds and injustice.”

“That we do, lad,” said Robin happily.

It had only been a small painting, some two feet across, on the canvas we had bought in great quantity for the greater convenience of taking such travelling as compared to wooden panels in the old style; and the subject was of Susannah, bathing, overlooked by some particularly lecherous looking elders, one of whom was recognisable as the Venetian ambassador in Valkenswaard, Silvino Rondella; and the other of whom bore a distinct resemblance to the Bishop of Norwich as I suppose was appropriate enough in a Biblical subject.

The model for Susannah was a girl called Moll, whose working name was Candace, who, with her friend Philippa, was saving to go to Florence where they planned to move from being expensive whores to being very expensive courtesans.  We paid for her modelling with lute and Italian lessons as a quid pro quo that neatly overcame the illegalities of paying girls to pose nude.  She was an ethereal looking girl and managed to look both spiritual and sexually alluring rising from her bath, just right for Susannah.

That would sell very well, probably to a churchman; and with only a few odd finishing touches to do, Robin was in an expansive mood.  He beamed happily at Master Higson, who took it as encouragement from so unexpectedly genial a knight; and galloped into the rest of his tale, leading with his teeth that made his Norfolk accent even harder to follow.

“Yew du see,” he said “I want tu rescue moine own true love from being wed tu an owd man wass the relative o’ her guardian, loike.”

“Why,” said I, realising that it was love then, not emerods that troubled him, “It sounds as like to the tale of Allin-a-Dale as makes no odds!”

“That indeed it does,” said Robin.

As he had the dreamy look that I could interpret to mean he was wondering how salacious, and therefore how saleable he might make a painting of that outlaw’s fair bride I took relatively little notice of mine husband.  He was only partially with us in any case.

Fortunately the youth had heard the tale of Allin-a-Dale; it being a tale as is known on the lips of all, that a man need not be of literary bent to know it, or any of the other stories of Robin Hood and his merry men.  He warmed to the encouragement of my gentle irony and Robin’s delighted imagination.

“So, Sir Robert, you will use your warrant from the king to stop this evil wedding, or write me an affidavit that I may do so?” demanded Gabby Higson.

Robin was not so far gone in post-pictorial ecstasy to be pushed that far.

He smiled genially but firmly.

“My wife and I will look into the matter,” he said “Where be this bride situated; and when be the wedding?”

“They will be wed next month!” cried the boy “There is no time to waste!”  Well that had been true an the wedding been this afternoon, but that was going too far, as even he saw; for he flushed, and answered the other question.  “Burd Priscilla Warrene resoides in Naaridge with her guardian’s brother wass she’s to wed,” said Master Higson, the horrid pronunciation of Norwich exacerbated by extreme emotion.

“Oh, how convenient,” said Robin “We might return Mistress Moll at the same time; an excellent thing altogether.  You rode here, lad?”

“Er, yes, Sir Robert,” said Higson.

“Well there is good stabling on the ship,” said Robin insouciantly “It will not take long to sail up the coast to Norwich; an we leave after the Noon meal we might sail back tonight.”

“Perchance Master Higson might fill us in a little more on Burd Priscilla’s guardian and the yclept bridegroom,” I said.

“Eh? Oh yes, excellent,” said Robin.

He was regarding Moll thoughtfully, for she had dressed and come to see what we were about.  I wager he was wondering an she might make Allin-a-Dale’s beloved, that need to be a similar type to a tragic muse.

He had plenty of sketches of her that he might work her into any number of paintings; and probably would.  Moll managed not to look in the least like a callet and Master Higson louted to her respectfully, doubtless assuming her to be a member of our household or even family.  As her indigo woollen gown was a better quality than his and guarded with extra lines of guarding with pale blue silk and linen mixed satin he had some cause.  Those girls knew how to dress well.

Moll had heard the bit about returning to Norwich, grinned at me to acknowledge Robin’s total lack of courtesy over discussing making such arrangements when he was immersed in painting and went to pack.

He was the soul of courtesy normally; but certain moods rob him of any thought save what he was doing at the moment.  It exasperated me at times, but I loved him for his absorption too.

Master Higson resumed his narrative.

“Burd Priscilla is the daughter of a knight; and she is an heiress that be whoi her graspin’ owd guardian doubtless want her wed tu a kinsman,” explained Master Higson.

“You are not, of course, yourself in love with her dowry as much as with her fair face?” I asked innocently.

“Moi LAERDY!  I should adore Priscilla were she a – a – a GOOSE GIRL!” he declared. “It be her fair face and ready wit, her pleasant voice and keen intelligence wass attracted me! She be the most beautiful girl in Naaridge!”

It would then be tactless to point out that in that case he scarcely would be likely to love her an she be a goose girl; for such would have little education, and being close to fowl of any kind does not stimulate the wit and the voice of a goose girl accustomed to shout ‘goose-goose-goose-goose GOO-oose’ to bring the beasts home is strident but not usually pleasant.  It is the trouble with those who have too much romance and not enough wit that they must needs come out with pretty sentiments instead of common sense; that they do not think things through.

“How came this knight’s daughter to be in the care of this particular guardian?”  I asked.

“Why, because Dean Thomas Thaxtead was a friend of her father; they went to grammar school together I believe,” said Master Higson “Aye, and Sir Peter, her father, left instructions in his will that the poor girl go to Dean Thomas for instruction in Latin – an yew ever hear such!”

“You deplore that she was not instructed in Greek too?” I could not resist it. “Perhaps it were a deficiency; but not all girls take to Greek scholarship.  I find it easy and so does our eldest daughter; but our younger daughter is content merely with Latin, though as she be but eight years old she may yet change her mind.”

He goggled and his mouth fell open foolishly.

“Moi Laerdy!” his accent was thick with emotion “Dew yew mean as YEW read Latin?”

“Naturally,” I said coolly “The offspring of a gentleman, especially a knight or higher, ought not to be deficient in academic pursuit any more than in wifely skills.  It means she then be fitted to be a good companion to an husband of her own estate; or to act as secretary to any yeoman she love well enough to accept his own deficiencies in learning an she choose to marry beneath herself.”

I emphasised her estate; for I was beginning to wonder an any educated girl was likely to prefer this rather limited youth for any recommendation but his age and fervour.  Unless she hated being educated; as I believed some did.

I was beginning to think we might have to find a way to remove her to a house where she might have the level of intellectual stimulation she might find more to her taste, and she hate the idea of marrying the boy too; that if need be, Father Eusebius would back us over.

I was puzzled as to how she came to meet this limited boy; and how come she was living with a man that was free to wed her.  I had lived with Robin as his apprentice but we had been looked at askance by some even so; and it was not so regular a situation.

“So how is it that you came to meet the fair Priscilla and win her regard; and what can you tell us of this wicked suitor of hers?” said Robin, pre-empting my next question, and with his tongue very firmly in his cheek.

It did sound rather like one of the more hackneyed romances after all.

“Well the bridegroom, wass a clothier, is called Torey Thaxtead, that Priscilla have lived with under his roof since she were orphaned at nine years owd,” said Higson a trifle reluctantly “I bein’ his apprentice then and just two years owder nor what she be; and Master Thaxtead’s woife were aloive then, and when her doid, Priscilla were twelve and her tuk over all the housekeepin.  And now she be fifteen and a pretty little ow’ mauther; and I do not doubt that I will soon be his journeyman and thass WRONG that he should wed her and he an owd man wass tharty foive years at least!”

I’m afraid I burst out laughing.

He gave me an injured look.

“Mine husband is eight-and thirty years old, and I do not in any wise think him an old man,” I said crisply “That you may so insult him in his own halls!  Although I suppose from mine advanced eld of eighteen years perchance I am closer to him in age.  No, wait; the difference in age between mine husband and myself is the same as between thy beloved and this Master Thaxtead.  And I fifteen like her when I decided to wed my Robin.  But perchance the situation is different; that Priscilla have told you that she hates the idea of marrying Master Thaxtead and adores you?”

He flushed dully.

“I hev never hed the temerity to discus ut with her,” he said “But I see not how a broight and vivacious maid can be anything but distressed to hev to marry a man twenty years her senior what hev lands and wealth of her own!”

“I am crushed,” I said “Master Higson thinks I am neither bright nor vivacious.”

“A bit of an insult to my lovely wife, lad,” said Robin.

Gabby Higson flushed again.

“I – I did not say that!  I did not MEAN that!  I cin understand as how a girl wass got nuthin’ ood marry a knoight….”

“Thy tactless words implied an insult,” I said “In calling me dull effectively; and as you further insult mine estate as granddaughter of a baron by suggesting I be a venal little piece as married for money, almost calling my honour into question there too I think you should apologise.”

I was angry.

He looked crushed and stumbled through an apology.

Ketty little tyke, he was making assumptions based on my colour; I wondered an he made as many assumptions about Burd Priscilla.

“Do YOU have Latin?” I asked him.

“Only what the local priest beat into me,” said he sulkily “It is a loathly language!”

“And does Priscilla say so?” I asked.

“Eh?  Oh she put on a brave face and say it be not so hard at all and read aloud from some coystril called Horace to Master Thaxtead,” said Higson.

We both spluttered to hear Horace referred to as a coystril.

He may not always be morally edifying but that was going a bit far.

“Master Thaxtead also reads Latin then?” asked Robin.

“I should think so; him being at same school as his older brother as I should suppose.” Said Higson.

I caught Robin’s eye and sighed.

We should go and see; but a girl who read Horace aloud to a man was scarce likely to like this barely literate oaf to husband.  And a girl who reads Horace to a man is probably fond of him.

However, an she WERE being forced to marry her guardian’s brother this we must also find out.

And find out whether she HAD to marry him, should he have been delving her in place of his wife as well as her keeping house; that appeared not to have occurred to Gabby Higson as seemed as innocent of vice as he was of Latin, or indeed intellect.