Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

His father’s house was a square stone edifice behind a palisade of stakes. News of his coming had already been taken inside by an excited urchin running on ahead, and his mother and sister were on the steps of the main entrance to welcome him. A cluster of servants appeared from the cook-house and stables and a groom hurried out to take Odin’s bridle as he slid off and bent to kiss his womenfolk. His mother Enyd, a pretty woman still with only a few streaks of grey in her red hair, stood on tiptoe to hug him around the neck, her eyes sparkling with delight at the unexpected arrival of her second son.

‘William is off towards the river, where they are cutting assarts. He thinks no one can do anything properly unless he is there to supervise!’

John turned to embrace his sister, more of an armful than his mother. Evelyn was still a spinster, having once wanted to become a nun. She was in her early thirties, a plump, homely girl now satisfied to stay companion to her widowed mother.

The ground floor was occupied by the hall, the solar and several other chambers being upstairs. It was into the hall that John was ushered now, where smiling servants fussed around with food and drink as his mother and Evelyn sat opposite him at a table to make sure that he ate enough after his journey to feed a horse. They pressed him for news, wanting to know all the gossip of the big city, his sister asking unanswerable questions about fashions and the current length of toes on stylish shoes.

‘And is that insufferable wife of yours as rude as ever?’ asked his mother bluntly. After years of vainly trying to be pleasant to Matilda, she had given up the attempt and now was quite open about her regret at her late husband’s insistence on John marrying into the de Revelle family.

‘And what about that nice Welsh girl, Nesta?’ asked Evelyn. The fact that he had a mistress was no secret, and the practical mother and sister, detesting his wife as they did, were pleased that not only had he found some happiness elsewhere, but also that she was Welsh. As if to underline the point, Evelyn asked the question now in the Celtic language, which they all spoke fluently, as Enyd’s father had been Cornish and her mother came from Gwent, as did Nesta.

John smiled wryly at the question. He had not expected the motive for his visit to be arrived at so quickly.

‘It’s about Nesta that I’ve come for your advice — not that I wasn’t coming to see you anyway,’ he added hastily.

His mother gave him a roguish smile and punched him gently on the shoulder.

‘Come on, my son, out with it! Are you leaving Matilda and eloping with your inn-keeper?’

‘Maybe it will come to that one of these days,’ he said wryly. ‘Especially after what I’ve got to tell you now.’

Enyd fixed him with her bright eyes, a knowing smile on her face.

‘You’ve got her with child, haven’t you?’

John sighed at his mother’s perceptivness. Ever since his childhood he had known that it was useless trying to keep anything from her.

‘It’s true, Mother. I am to be a father towards the end of the year.’

Evelyn’s homely face creased into a smile. She was happy for her brother, who had so far been childless. Illegitimacy was so common among the ruling class that it was considered normal. Only the poor suffered the stigma of adultery and fornication and had their bastards taken from them to be reared in monastery orphanages.

Her mother turned to a more practical aspect.

‘Does your wife know about this?’

‘Not yet, though I suspect she will very soon. Exeter is a hotbed of gossip — news travels there faster than forked lightning.’

Enyd de Wolfe dumped another meat pasty on to his pewter platter and gave him a look that defied him to refuse it.

‘You’ll have a hard time, son, when she does find out.’

John nodded, his mouth full of mutton and pastry. When he had swallowed, he confirmed that he had an unpleasant time ahead.

‘She’ll go mad, I know. Not because she particularly cares about my sin, but she will be afraid that her grand friends, and all the lesser nobility she cultivates, will think the less of her.’

‘Silly cow!’ observed Evelyn, with blunt good sense.

‘And you, John — are you going to acknowledge the babe?’ asked his mother, her voice deadly serious now.

‘Of course! What else would I do?’ he snapped, rather put out that she needed to even ask such a question. ‘But that’s the problem, Nesta doesn’t want me to suffer in any way because of this and is refusing to let me proclaim the child as mine.’

His mother frowned. ‘She is a kind, considerate woman, that much I saw when we met in Exeter that time. But unless she goes away with the infant, perhaps back to her folk in Wales, it’s bound to become public knowledge. Do you mind that?’

‘Not at all. If people don’t like it, be damned to them. No doubt that swine of a sheriff will make as much capital out of it as he can, especially as his sister will seem to be the aggrieved party, but I don’t give a damn.’

‘Could it affect your position as coroner?’ asked his sister, who was quite proud of her brother’s eminence.

‘Richard de Revelle will undoubtedly try to stir up trouble — he would dearly like to see me removed as coroner and some pliant nobody elected in my place. I don’t need the job, but I’ve come to enjoy it, I admit. If he tries any tricks, I’ll appeal straight away to the Justiciar.’

‘Might Matilda leave you?’ asked his mother, almost hopefully.

‘I doubt it. The house in Martin’s Lane is mine — I bought it many years ago with profit from the wars. She has money laid away by her family, I know, but she enjoys good food, clothes and a sound roof over her head too much to desert me. Though God knows, she’ll try to make my life hell.’

The two women were agog with excitement and curiosity. John’s unexpected visit had been surpassed by this momentous news. Enyd was to be a grandmother and Evelyn an aunt.

‘And is Nesta well with her pregnancy?’ demanded his mother. ‘I remember being so sick when I was carrying William.’

‘She is well in body, though it’s early days yet. It is only a short time since she suspected that she was with child and had it confirmed by a midwife.’

Enyd immediately picked up on part of his statement. ‘What do you mean, John — well in body?’ she demanded.

He shifted uneasily on the bench. His mother’s interrogations were always searching.

‘I told you, she does not wish me to acknowledge the child, for my sake. But she seems very upset generally, she cries a lot and sometimes refuses to talk to me. The other evening she ran to her chamber and locked herself in. Last night she was better, but seems always so sad and will not talk sensibly to me.’

His mother, wise with her years and from carrying three children, put a hand on his arm affectionately.

‘Being gravid affects women in different ways, John. Some say they never felt better in their life, others become weepy and withdrawn. Maybe it will pass soon. You must be patient.’

Privately she could think of several reasons why Nesta was in such a miserable state, but reassurance was what he needed now.

‘Why not bring her down here to stay for a time?’ she continued. ‘Nesta can lodge here for as long as she likes — she could come for childbed when that day comes.’

‘Thank you, Mother, you are the kindest person in the world. But she has an inn to run, certainly until near her time.’

‘Nonsense, having the baby is far more important. You say she has three servants working there. She could get someone to run the alehouse for a few months.’

With memories of Alan of Lyme in his mind, this idea did not greatly appeal to John, but he agreed to put it to Nesta on his return.