Kate Sedley: The Christmas Wassail

I interrupted. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘Let me guess. George Marvell and Robert Trefusis were two of those who deserted.’

Master Tuffnel curled his lip. ‘It didn’t need much guesswork, did it? But you’re right, of course. My two best friends’ — he spat into the fire where the spittle boiled and sizzled — ‘had run away. Later, they declared that they had gone for help, and because of their good name they were given the benefit of the doubt. But no one who was left in that fort believed them.’

‘And did the French attack again next day?’

My host’s face grew grim. ‘They did, and they took the fort within three hours. The atrocities that followed were horrific. Louis and Dunois and Dammartin did what they could to control their men, but they were really able to do very little. The citizens of Dieppe all flocked out to join in the slaughter and avenge their sufferings.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I suppose one can hardly blame them. Ned Chorley was captured and his captors had just started to get to work on him — they had chopped off his bowstring fingers and were trying to gouge out his eyes — when Tabitha and some others managed to rescue him, killing quite a few of the enemy in the process. After that, it was every man for himself. Some of us managed to get away and lose ourselves in the surrounding countryside before somehow or other getting back to Calais, but the men who had deserted during the night were never forgiven by the rest of us, and never will be. I understand that George Marvell had the gall to name his son after me. Well, I never had a son.’ His voice grew bitter. ‘But if I had I’d have strangled the child at birth rather than call him George.’

There was another, even longer silence when he had finished speaking while we both sat quietly, thinking our own thoughts.

I could only guess at what Master Tuffnel’s were. The terrible sights and sounds of that long-ago battle, imprinted forever on his memory, must have been rolling around in his head, his feelings toward the men who had betrayed them as simple and uncomplicated as they had always been. Mine were far more confused.

To begin with, I suppose my sympathy was with the two mummers. They had seen their fellow soldiers butchered in the most horrible ways, and although no doubt the outcome of the French attack would have been the same even if the deserters had stayed, no one relishes the thought of betrayal. If Tabitha Warrener and Ned Chorley had confined their murderous activities to Sir George and Alderman Trefusis, I might have been inclined to pardon them. But they had come after me and, in doing so, killed Dick Hodge in the process. For that I could never forgive them.

‘Did they tell you,’ I asked Master Tuffnel, ‘that they tried their best to murder me? That an innocent young man mistakenly had his throat cut instead because he was wearing an old cloak of mine which I had given him? Did your precious friends, the mummers, tell you that? Or hadn’t they realized their error?’

My host gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Oh, yes, they’d realized it and were distraught. They guessed that you would come after them and thought that you would bring the law with you. That is why they travelled as fast as they could to get here, and why they decided they must go to France, if they could find a ship, and settle there, in spite of Dorcas’s condition. Tabitha said that if they were unable to find a ship’s captain who would risk crossing the Narrow Sea in midwinter, then they would lie low until the spring. But whatever happened, they would not return here.’

‘I should have brought the law,’ I said bitterly, ‘but I wasn’t absolutely certain that I was right. Almost, but not completely, and I wanted to hear what they had to say first.’ A red mist of rage swam before my eyes and I cursed my own folly. ‘But they would have escaped anyway, wouldn’t they?’ I consoled myself. ‘You wouldn’t have helped to detain them, would you, Master Tuffnel? Not your precious friends whom you’ve known nearly all their lives? You’re as bad as they are.’

I was suddenly conscious that I was shouting at the top of my voice and, before I could stop myself, I shot out a hand and sent the wine jug and beakers and plates of sweetmeats flying, spilling all over the floor and rolling on to the hearth. I don’t know what I looked like, but my host shrank back in his chair and raised his arms as though to defend himself.

Two of the servants came bursting in, obviously disturbed by my raised voice. One was holding a club between his hands and, having taken a glance at the scattered things on the floor, they advanced ominously.

Master Tuffnel, recovering from his initial fear, waved them away.

‘An accident,’ he said quietly. ‘Master Chapman was explaining something to me and hit the jug off the tray. Just pick up the plates and beakers and bring more wine. That will be all.’

The servants obeyed reluctantly and then withdrew, keeping a wary eye on me throughout. They plainly didn’t think it an accident. Feeling somewhat ashamed of myself, I sat down again.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologized roughly. ‘I shouldn’t have behaved like that. But I was very fond of Dick Hodge, the boy who was murdered.’

Master Tuffnel nodded. ‘I understand that. And I really have nothing to offer in Tabitha and Ned’s defence, except that evil begets evil. And in spite of having been a soldier, I have always thought that war is an evil. It is not a popular point of view, I know, but one to which I strongly adhere. It brutalizes men — and women — and I have often regretted helping Ned and particularly Tabitha to lead that life. But I love them both and couldn’t have held them here with the prospect of seeing them end on the gallows. Although I have reason to believe that it was Dorcas’s brother, Arthur Monkton, who actually made both the attempts on your life and killed your young friend, I can’t pretend that the others, with the exception of Dorcas, were ignorant of his intentions. In fact, I know they weren’t. And I beg you not to think that I approve of what they did. I am a Justice of the Peace and do not believe in people taking the law into their own hands. But I also understand how their sudden encounter with George Marvell and Robert Trefusis affected them, even after forty years. Ned and Tabitha had spent a lifetime hating them, and that hatred boiled over when they clapped eyes on them again.’

And with that I had perforce to be content. Besides, I could not rid myself of the uneasy feeling that if I had not meddled, if I had left the law to take its course, Dick Hodge would still be alive. In any case, there was nothing I was able to do now. The mummers had gone beyond my reach, and the reach of justice. I should just have to accept the fact.

Master Tuffnel begged me to stay the night beneath his roof, but although I was very tired and would have welcomed a decent bed, I refused the offer. He was too closely associated with the mummers, obviously finding it difficult to blame them for what they had done, for me to feel comfortable in his company. So I refused, and he directed me to the nearest decent inn, where he assured me I would be well fed and housed without being robbed.

And the next day, I started on my homeward journey.

What else was there to do?

With luck, I should be home in time for Candlemas, and soon a new year would be beginning.