A King's Betrayal (17 page)

‘I cannot pay you – unless a few eggs would be enough?’

‘You can give some scraps to Mistress Soames’s chickens for me – if that is not too much to ask.  I shall be too busy helping others and they need more than they can find for themselves in her yard.’

‘The lord gave orders that your things should not be touched, but if you wish I will look after your hens until you come to live here.’

‘I may take them with me another day but I shall be grateful for your help in the meantime.’  Beth smiled at her.  ‘You should pray to your God, mistress.  I cannot think he means your children to die – why should he?’

The woman crossed herself.  ‘Some say that God sends the sickness to test us but others…’  She shook her head.  ‘Be careful what you say to others, Beth.’

Beth nodded but took little notice.  It was strange that the sickness seemed to have affected the people who lived at this end of the village.  Perhaps it had not yet spread to the end nearer the stream but it made her wonder.

Beth treated the sick man and his wife, who was showing slight symptoms at the next house.  The woman had drawn her water from the well that morning.  Beth tasted a sip and frowned.  It did not taste as the water she drank from the stream and she would not drink it.

             
‘Do you always take your water from the well?’

             
‘Yes.  It is closer than the stream.  Why do you ask?’

             
‘It tastes odd.  I think the water in the stream may be better.’

             
‘We have always used the well,’ the man said and groaned as he held his guts.

             
‘Yes, but it did not always taste like this, Egbert,’ his wife said.  ‘Tis only in the past two weeks that it has got worse.’

             
‘Mayhap it has been poisoned,’ he grunted and turned on his side, holding his guts as he vomited into a bowl Beth had placed by his mattress.

             
‘Surely no one would do that,’ Beth said.  ‘If I were you, mistress.  I should walk to the stream and fetch your water from there.  ‘Perhaps the well has run dry because of the drought earlier this year and what is left is stale.’

             
‘There is always plenty of water, but I might do as you say,’ the woman said.

             
Beth made her a mixture of her own cure and added three drops from her mother’s flask, then left them to drink it.  At the next house the man was lying groaning on his bed.  Beth discovered that her own mixture was exhausted.  She smelled the water in his jug.

             
‘What’s wrong?’ he muttered.

             
‘I think this water is bad.  You should fetch water from the stream.’

             
‘Give me some ale instead.’

             
Beth nodded.  She poured her mother’s mixture into the ale and he downed it in one go and smacked his lips.

             
‘Leave the flask with me, girl.  I can dose myself.’

             
‘I must take it with me, sir.  It is not easy to make and there are others who need it.  I shall bring more this evening.’

             
Leaving the house, Beth walked to the well and used the bucket there to bring up some water.  She scooped a little in her hand and tasted it, then spat it out.  It was foul and her suspicions were well founded.

             
‘What are you doing?’

             
She turned and saw that the priest was watching her.

             
‘The water in this well is foul.  You should have it investigated.  People are sick in the village and I think it is they that have taken water from here.’

             
‘Are you sure you have not put a spell on it, witch?’

             
‘She is no witch,’ Mistress Grey said, coming up to them.  ‘I drew water from here three days ago but it tasted bad and I threw it away.  I take my water from the stream now.’

             
‘It was always good water,’  John the Blacksmith said as he joined them.  ‘Something must have happened – mayhap it was ill wished.’

             
‘Perhaps something died in there,’ another man said.  ‘I drew water there two days ago but would not drink it.’  He tasted the water Beth had drawn.  ‘This is bad.  We should send someone down to investigate.’

             
Beth moved away as a little crowd gathered.  Mistress Grey came to her.

             
‘When shall you take your things, Beth?  I can lend you my cart if you wish.’

             
‘Thank you.  I shall take them when the sickness is over.  Will you spread the word that people should draw their water from the stream?  I think the well is not fit for use at the moment.’

             
‘I remember it happened once before, when I was a child.  People said it had been poisoned but in the end they found that someone had thrown a dead baby into the well and the rotting corpse was brought up to be buried.  They had to dig a new well.’

             
‘That was wicked,’ Beth said.  ‘How could anyone do such a thing?  I think perhaps there may be a dead cat in there.  It may be the reason the water tastes so bad – and the reason why people are sick.’

             
‘I shall warn everyone not to use it.  I prefer the spring anyway.  It filters over rocks where it cuts away  into the stream and is pure and clean.  The folk use the lord’s river to wash their clothes, but the stream is further away and hardly anyone bothers to walk to there.’

             
‘It is further to carry a pail,’ Beth agreed.  ‘But you should all do so until the well is cleansed or a new one dug.’

             
‘I am glad you told everyone what you thought,’ Mistress Grey said.  ‘Had you not done so they might have said your mother had poisoned the well.’

             
‘Why should Marthe do that?  She was up all night preparing her cure to help people.’

             
‘How did she know the sickness was here?’

             
‘She knows things.  She says it is the Sight.’

             
Mistress Grey frowned.  ‘It is best not to tell others what you tell me, Beth.  Be careful of the priest.  He does not like you or Marthe.’

             
Beth glanced towards the priest and saw the malice in his gaze.  The men of the village were preparing to go down the well to see if they could discover what had turned the water bad.   She saw a look pass between the blacksmith and the priest, as if they were annoyed that the source of the sickness had been discovered.

             
She felt coldness at the nape of her neck.  Surely they had not done something to make the water foul in the hope of causing sickness that they could claim was a curse?  As she saw hatred in the priest’s eyes, Beth felt that she had stumbled on the truth.  The priest wanted to turn the people against them.

             
Why should he do that – and why should he hate her?

‘The well had been poisoned?  Why should anyone do that?’ Marthe asked, giving her a strange look.  ‘What made you think of it?’

             
‘At the first house the children’s mother told me that they did not like the taste of the water from the well.  It tasted odd and at the second house the water was even worse.  Mistress Soames told me once that she had been in London when there was a terrible sickness that spread through the population and was believed to be caused by bad water.’

             
‘I have heard of such things,’ Marthe said, ‘but ‘tis usually in towns where the fluids from the night soil ditch run into the water and foul it.  I should not have thought of bad water.  You did not use the water when you gave them the cure?’

             
‘No, I mixed your cure with one of my own made from spring water – and when that was gone, I used ale.’

             
‘Ale is safer than water unless the source is pure.  The spring water that feeds the stream is pure but wells can become foul.  It has happened before.’

             
‘Master Blacksmith spoke of it being ill wished.’

             
‘He said that to you?’

             
‘To the priest.  It was strange.  I thought they knew the water was bad and wanted people to blame you.’

             
Marthe gave a little cry and made a strange sign over herself.  Beth had thought in the past it was the sign of the cross but now she saw that it was similar but not the same. She caught Marthe’s hand, noticing that her once long nails had turned yellow and begun to split and her fingers were stained with a purple substance.

             
‘Why did you do that – make that strange sign?’

             
‘I asked for the dark lord’s protection.  I fear that the time is very soon now.’  She looked at Beth and there was terror in her eyes.  ‘I know that I have sinned.  I shall be punished.  God does not forgive.  The Church preaches forgiveness but threatens sinners with the fires of hell
.  He
knows what I have done and will see I am punished – one way or another.  When they come for me, you must run and hide.  Do not try to help me or they will name you a witch too.’

             
‘What did you do that was so wicked?’  Marthe shook her head and would not look at her.  ‘The priest called me a witch, but Mistress Grey told him I was not evil,’ Beth said and shivered as she remembered the look in the priest’s eyes.  ‘Why should he hate us, Marthe?’

             
‘
He
is the evil one.  He likes to inflict pain.  It is the only way he can gain his pleasure.  When I refused to let him do what he wanted and gave him back his silver penny he called me the spawn of Satan and vowed that I would regret scorning him.’

             
‘Does the blacksmith hate you too?’

             
Marthe hesitated, then, ‘He wanted me to give you to him for his sport.  Once he grew tired of me he wanted you, but I refused him.  I told him you were too good for the likes of him.  He said that one day he would make us both sorry.’

             
‘Are all men thus?  Caring only for their own wants and needs?’

‘Most will take what they want of someone like me, and then spit on me – but you are beautiful, Beth.  Do not give yourself lightly.  When you do let it be for love.  When I broke my vows to God and was thrown out by the Sisters of Mercy, it was for love of a man.  I took a man that belonged to another and I was punished for it – but for a time I had my heart’s desire.’

             
‘Is love very different from…the men who pay you?  Tell me, how is love different from lust?’

             
Marthe’s gaze narrowed.  ‘Has a man harmed you?  Tell me the truth, Beth.’

             
‘It does not matter.’

             
Marthe’s hand gripped her arm.  ‘Who was it?  Tell me his name and I will curse him.’

             
Beth recalled the lord’s look after he had forced her and shook her head.  ‘I believe he is already cursed, Marthe.  I can look after myself.’

             
‘Yes, perhaps you can.  You will have no choice when I am gone.’

             
Muttering, Marthe turned away and began to chop herbs and grind seeds.  Beth knew she would answer no more questions.  Marthe was afraid of something because of what she had done when she was young.  She had refused to tell Beth what she had done that was so terrible, but she was clearly terrified of something.

             
Beth was afraid of the priest.  The look he’d given her had been filled with hatred.  She understood now why the blacksmith’s eyes sometimes followed her through the village.  He wanted to lie with her, as Sir William had, but the priest – the priest wanted something more.  He wanted her to die and he wanted to inflict pain.  She knew that he was her enemy.  He was the one she must fear for he would see both Marthe and Beth dead if he could.

             
Beth shivered as she took a jug and pail and went to fetch water from the spring.  It would be heavy to carry, but she would take a flask of water with her when she went to the village again.

Twenty Four

The chapel was filled with nobles and barons, all of them watching as the King took communion from the priest’s hands.  Father Arnaud held a privileged position as one of Henry’s scribes and on occasion his confessor.  There was talk that he was soon to be made a bishop.  It could not be allowed to happen.  Raoul tasted the bitterness of gall in his mouth as he watched the priest make the sign of the cross over the King’s head. 

             
How dare he pretend to be so pious and holy when he was guilty of adultery and murder?  Raoul’s rage was like a red mist before his eyes and it was all he could do to keep from crying out his accusations and falling upon the hypocrite, yet he held his peace.  He must find a way to take his revenge on the priest but for the moment he was too powerful for he had the King’s ear.

             
Raoul’s gaze travelled over the assembled company as they began to file out of the beautiful church.  He saw that William de Burgh had decided to attend, and as men lingered outside in the frosty air, hesitating, uncertain whether to follow the King, dukes and officials back to the palace or make their own way elsewhere he spoke to him.

             
‘You came then?  What made you change your mind?’

             
‘I saw no sense in arousing hostility where there need be none.  Henry is King in his father’s place and we must see how he goes on. Your letter helped my decision.’

             
‘I am glad for I would not have you under suspicion.  Had you not defended me that day in battle, when my foot slipped in the blood, I might have been killed.  For that you have my gratitude.’

             
‘You wore the colours of England.  I would defend any man in trouble who fought for England.  I had thought to settle at home once the trouble in Wales was squashed, but now I believe I shall offer my sword if Henry needs it.  He hath ordered the removal of Richard’s body from Langley and had it taken to be buried with honour at Westminster.  For that I honour and respect him.’

             
‘Yes, it was well done and shows that he feels some regret for his father’s sins.’ Raoul nodded, his gaze thoughtful.  ‘I imagine there will be wars enough to satisfy any soldier of fortune.  Henry is already speaking of his right to the French throne.  Charles of France is mad and the Dauphin will soon be called upon to rule in his stead.  I have heard it whispered that Henry has some idea of challenging him to a duel to settle the quarrel, though I doubt his challenge will be accepted.  I dare say the struggle with France will go on – if you have a taste for it?’

             
‘Perhaps, I am not yet sure of my plans.  My estate suffered when my father was ill and there are things that need my attention, but I am not sure I am ready to put up my sword.’  William frowned.  ‘You visit France often – who takes care of your lands here?’

             
‘My father’s brother has the care of them.’

             
‘Can you trust him?  Will he not try to keep them for his sons?’

             
‘He has no son merely a daughter.  If I would wed her the estates might combine.’

             
‘But you do not wish for it?’

             
‘I have no intention of wedding any woman yet.  They are faithless creatures at best and at worst…and Mary is but a child.’

             
‘I see you have suffered misfortune in love.’

             
‘Not I – but another.’  Raoul shook his head, his hands balling at his sides.  ‘It does not matter.  I must get an heir one day but until then…’  He thought of something.  ‘The girl I saw – the witch’s daughter.  How does she fare?’

             
William shrugged.  ‘I know little of her.  She would not do for you, sir.  You must marry well when the time comes.’

             
‘Perhaps.’  Raoul’s frown lightened.  ‘I do not think I shall return to the palace this night.  I have no taste for court life, though for the moment it suits me to remain here.  Come, let us find an inn where we may sup together.  How long do you intend to stay in London?’

             
‘No longer than it takes to pay my respects to the King.  He has not yet summoned me to tell me what he requires of me and I suppose I must wait on his command,’ William replied, then frowned.  ‘That priest is staring at you as if he hates you.  You should take care, sir.  Some of them are as deadly as serpents.’

             
Raoul followed the direction of his companion’s gaze and saw that it was Father Arnaud.  Immediately, the priest inclined his head as if in good will but Raoul did not doubt that de Burgh had spoken truly.

             
‘It is he that should take care,’ he said softly.  ‘His time is coming soon.’

             
‘What did you say?’ William asked.

             
‘Nothing that mattered.  Come, I know a decent inn where we can find ourselves food that is palatable and a flagon of good Rhenish wine.’

             
‘Yes, I shall sup with you,’ William said.  ‘Tell me, how long do you intend to linger at court?’

             
‘Until my business is done here,’ Raoul replied.  ‘If I am fortunate it should not take too long now. ’

             
Raoul glanced at the priest once more.  He had made his plans and very soon now he would speak to the King.  He had heard that the priest had been consorting with a lady of the court in behaviour that was both lewd and ungodly.  Henry was a pious man and would not tolerate such behaviour from his priest.

‘Where could such a rumour have started?’ Henry demanded  ‘I would swear there is not one ounce of truth in the rumour.  Father Arnaud is a pious man and this scurrilous tale is wicked injustice.’

             
‘I fear the man is not all you think him, Majesty.  I have no wish to repeat gossip – but the priest is known to have broken his vows of chastity before this and to have lain with a woman who was wed to a good man.  I have heard that the pair plotted to murder her husband – but I cannot say how true it may be. I speak now only because the tales are becoming rife amongst the courtiers and it was decided that someone should inform you of his lewd behaviour.’

             
‘Have you proof of this?’

             
‘Lady Berenice has been sent home by her husband in disgrace – and  I have a letter the priest sent to the woman with whom he lay in sin before this time.’

             
‘Will you show it to me?’

             
Raoul reached inside his black velvet jerkin and brought out a piece of crumpled vellum, which he handed to the King.  ‘Arnaud wrote this to the woman he had encouraged to betray her husband.  I think you will recognise the signature.’

             
Henry took the parchment and perused the message briefly.  ‘It is his hand and the content is clear – a message a man in love would write to his lover.’  His mouth curled in distaste as he returned it.  ‘There is no mention of the lady’s name.’

             
‘She was married and well loved by her husband until the priest corrupted her.  I can tell you no more for it would bring shame on her husband’s name.’

             
‘Have the priest summoned.  He can answer these accusations to my face.’

             
‘Is that wise, Your Majesty?  In the face of the rumours might it not be better to dismiss him at once?  He will of course deny everything.’

             
‘Yes…’ Henry frowned.  ‘Arnaud served my father for many years, but I never truly liked him.  There was always something sly about him.  I asked my father why he kept the priest with him but he would never answer me.’

             
‘May I suggest something, Sire?’

             
‘Your advice has always proved sound.  What would you have me do?’

             
‘Arnaud longs to be a Bishop, but before he could deserve such an honour he would need to retire to a retreat to reflect and purify his thoughts.  Let him believe it is your wish that he takes a while to cleanse himself of sin.  Let me do this for you – I shall engage to remove the man from court quietly and without scandal or a scene.  If you speak with him it may cause  unpleasantness for you, for he will undoubtedly deny his guilt.  Give me a letter requesting that he take time to reflect and pray in solitude, to give time for these rumours to be forgot.’

             
‘You think these rumours are true?’

             
‘I know only that the court is rife with tales of behaviour that is both lewd and perhaps worse…some have whispered that in private he worships Satan.’

             
Henry was thoughtful for a moment, then, ‘I thank you for your prompt action in bringing this to my attention.  He must leave the court at once.  I shall not tolerate such wickedness.  I thought there was something odd about his behaviour with my father – and I will have none of it.’  He crossed himself.  ‘My father was haunted.  Did you know that he thought he was cursed?  If this priest practises the dark arts…he must never return to court.  Make certain of it, D’Avignon.’

             
‘It is my pleasure to serve you.  I shall send Arnaud on his way this night – nay I shall escort him to his retreat and make certain he understands it is your wish that he never returns to court.’

             
‘Do that and you have my undying gratitude.’

             
Raoul bowed low, hiding his satisfaction as he left the King’s presence.  Soon now the priest would learn that the time for retribution had come.