Michael Jecks: The Prophecy of Death

Flags were flying, there were songs being sung outside near the taverns, and from here Tom could hear the chanting from inside the great abbey church. It made his whole body tingle with anticipation. He’d never seen a king before, and today he was going to see the King, his Queen, and all the glorious chivalry of the country. It was just brilliant !

There was a sudden tension, and people started shouting and cheering. People behind him started to push forwards, and he found it hard to see over those who were standing in front. He jostled along with all the others, staring. Looking over the other side of the way, he could see John. He may be a knight, but John himself was straining to see, peering round the doorway as keenly as any boy in the crowd, his back to the new wall.

Then there was a blaring of trumpets and shouted commands, and the regular tramping of many booted feet, and … and there they were!

First in view were the prelates, all with hands clasped before their faces, mouthing their prayers for the King, asking God’s divine support for him; after them was a group of barons, one carrying the gilded spurs which would be placed on the King’s boots, another with the sceptre, another with a rod that had a white dove carved on the top — a beautiful piece of work, Tom thought; after him came three great knights — earls, he heard later — with the great swords of state. Then there were more men carrying a massive wooden board on which all the King’s royal clothing was set. Oh, there was so much! And all were knights, lords and earls. Tom could hardly breathe for the joy of the sight.

The King was behind all these, barefoot, walking on the carpet that had been laid between the palace and the abbey church. And as he passed by, the crowds grew silent, from respect and from astonishment. Such good looks didn’t seem possible on a human face. ‘Such a physique, such deportment,’ people were saying approvingly, and then he was past and the whole group of knights and others strode into the church.

He saw John again just then. John was at the wall, staring up at the altar. It was Tom’s hope afterwards that John was even then praying, and speaking with God. He was always a good man, John, and it would have been good for him to have been in a state of grace.

Because suddenly there was a low rumble and a splintering sound, and even as Tom’s head snapped up to look at it, the wall behind John suddenly crashed to the ground, smothering John with the rubble and dirt from the timbers and lathes and plaster.

Small fragments and a cloud of dust swept over everyone, getting into their eyes and noses, making everyone choke and cough. People panicked, running hither and thither, and some at the back were trampled as those who had seen the disaster tried to escape. Although Tom fought them, pushing and shoving, it took him a while to get to John. By the time he did, there was nothing he could do.

‘Back, bratchet, or I’ll have you beaten by the bailiffs,’ a man snarled, and Tom tried to explain that the knight was his brother but, before he could, he had a cuff round his ear, and he fell to the ground in the midst of the plaster and dust, staring up in horror at the arrogant young knight before him. He saw the man’s badge, and would have said something, but the knight spat on the ground near his head, and then strode off, bellowing for servants to clear up the mess.

‘John! John!’ Tom whispered, but although he tried to reach his brother’s hand, he could see that there was already no life in his eyes. John’s head was crushed.

Fields near Crowborough, Sussex

Agnes thought it was an auspicious day to be married, the day that the new King was crowned. It would set the seal on her happiness.

The field was still, with a fine haze rising in the brilliant midday sun, and they were all lying in the shade of a tree, eating their bread and cheese, drinking cider from their small barrels, tired after a long day already, gathering up the sheep from their little flocks and washing them in the stream that passed by the pasture, all the folk ending as wet as the sheep themselves. The filth that ran from the fleeces was extraordinary, and she thought to herself, ‘Aye, they must be glad to lose all that weight, the poor beasts.’ A short while after that, she fell in fully, her shift all sodden about her. She could feel his eyes on her immediately, running over her body as he would have liked his hands to. When she looked at him, he didn’t stop, either. She liked that. He was bold, but so was she, when she wanted, and now, seeing him stare at her breasts, she arched her back a little, teasing.

For all the splashing and effort, she and the others soon dried off. More than half the flock had been washed, but there would be more to do that afternoon, and she would have to do her part.

She would do it at his side.

He was called Matthew atte Brook, and his father was a freeman, quite rare down here. While Agnes and her family lived here, near to Crowborough itself, Matthew’s family had a little hovel inside the woods. The great forest of Ashdown surrounded all this area. Villages and towns might encroach on the trees, but the trees still remained. Assarts sprang up amongst them and flourished for a while, but all too often the buildings would decay and collapse, and the trees would return. But Matthew’s father had maintained his house. It had survived much, with storms that had destroyed so many places in the last years, and a fire that had almost encircled his land last year, but for all that, he had managed to expand his holding little by little, and now he had two cows as well as his pigs. He made money by selling the cheese his wife made in their dairy.

Agnes gave him a cautious glance from under her long lashes. He was strongly made, her Matthew, with arms corded with muscle already, and his eyes were dark and broodingly intense. Oh, she wanted him! So much!

It happened at long last when she decided to wander into the woods to empty her bladder. Soon, as she rose from her crouch, she heard steps in amongst the trees, the crunch of twigs and the rustle of leaves.

‘Matthew?’

‘Agnes, I thought …’

She knew what he’d thought. It wasn’t fear for her safety that had brought him here. No, it was the thought of her tight shirt over her breasts, wet and glorious. She didn’t care. She wanted him as well.

He stood beside her, looking away, suddenly shy in her presence. He’d never been like that with her before. She had to take his hand and hold it to her cheek, and when that didn’t work, she drew it down to her breast and rested his palm over her nipple, letting him feel it harden. She reached to his head and pulled it down to her, kissing him softly at first, gradually allowing her desire to transmit itself to him.

When she put her hand on his thigh, she felt him shudder, and the proof of his lust made her tingle, and then chuckle throatily. ‘You want me?’

‘Yes!’

‘You can’t just ’ave me without the proper form, Matthew. Got to ’ave that.’

He didn’t move away. He kept his arms around her and shoved his head into her shoulder. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘You’ll take me?’

‘I will.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then come on,’ she said quickly, and drew him after her, back to the stream.

‘Listen! Listen!’ She waited until all the others were quiet and watching her, and then she turned to him again, holding both hands, looking up into his beautiful face.

‘Matthew, I take you to my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, in love, to honour and obey you, in sickness and in health, from now until I die, and there I give you my oath.’

And as soon as he had said the words too, they left the others at the stream. And while the others laughed and screamed and played and then carried on with their work, Agnes, new wife to Matthew, lay on her back and let him take her virginity, her love and her soul.