Kate Sedley: The Brothers of Glastonbury

I was in a strange mood in that late August of 1476, a mood which the past blissful summer had only served to heighten. I was in no frame of mind just at that moment to return home to Bristol, to the dull round of domesticity and fatherhood, but wanted instead to be plunged into some fantastic adventure, to become a knight on a white charger riding to the rescue of a damsel in distress. (Which, as things turned out, proved to be just as well, although the reality was somewhat more prosaic than my imaginings, as life inevitably is. All the same, I was to come very close to achieving the unbelievable, to becoming a part of that mystic, mythical world of our wildest dreams.)

* * *

I stirred with first light to find, early as it was, the scullions and kitchen-maids already up and busy, great fires burning on both hearths, one on either side of the kitchen doorway, baskets of newly baked bread being carried in from the bakehouse, shaving water set to boil in cauldrons, razors being stropped by the body-servants of both Duke and Bishop. I extracted my own razor from my pack, begged a little hot water and began scraping away at the night’s stubble. (Because I am Saxon fair, my beard does not show as much as some men’s, but I am never happy until I have removed it.)

I glimpsed my little kitchen-maid fleetingly, but she was too occupied running to and fro on errands for the cooks to be able to do more than wave from a distance. I filched some oatcakes from a table where they had been left to cool, sweetening them with a little honey. Jugs of ale had been placed ready to be carried into the great hall by the servers, and I managed to take several swigs from one of them without being noticed. After which there was nothing left to stay for, so I replaced my cloak and razor in my pack, and took it with me to the well just outside the scullery. I drew up a bucket of water to wash my face and hands, cleaned my teeth with the bit of willow bark I always carried for the purpose, and was ready to resume my journey.

The morning light had a brilliant quality, carrying the promise of another fine day. The scent of roses wafted over a nearby wall from what I guessed to be the ladies’ pleasure garden, while the smells issuing from the bakehouse were no less entrancing, although the latter also had the effect of making me hungry. I had breakfasted very lightly for one of my height and girth, and could see no hope of getting more sustenance; everyone in the kitchens was far too busy. If I walked steadily, I reckoned, I would be inside Bath’s walls by dinnertime, and I knew of several stalls and shops there selling excellent pies and pasties. So I shouldered my pack and made my way across the bustling inner courtyard, through the passage between the twin towers, across the barbican ditch and so to the outer ward of the castle.

The chapel bell was ringing for Prime. The chapel itself, a plain, rectangular building with buttresses at each corner and dedicated to Saint Leonard, stood close to the east gate, and as I walked by I was astonished to see that the Bishop was just about to enter. Accompanying him was the Duke of Clarence, still unshaven and looking more than a little annoyed at having been forced to rise so early. On a sudden impulse, I joined the little throng of servants and retainers following their masters in to worship.

Immediately my suspicions were aroused, for those sudden and inexplicable actions of mine usually meant that God was once more hovering at my elbow, nudging me along the path He wished me to take. He had need of my skills again; of that strange ability He had given me to unravel the tangled threads of wrongdoing and evil. I began my usual counter-strategy — even though past experience had taught me that it rarely availed me anything; you can’t outwit the Almighty, but I always felt duty bound to try — and stood at the back of the congregation, bending my knees slightly in order to reduce my height and fixing my eyes on a wall-painting of Saint George slaying the dragon in an effort not to meet anyone’s gaze. And it seemed as if I might have been successful when, the Mass over, everyone filed out of the chapel, the Duke and Bishop arm-in-arm leading the way, without my having been accosted.

I again hoisted up my pack, which I had left outside the door, and walked the few yards to the east gate. A young girl was just ahead of me, half running, half stumbling in her anxiety to reach the porter, who had that minute emerged from his lodge. I heard her call out him, ‘Has he come yet, Burl?’ And when the man shook his head she stopped in her tracks, biting her lower lip and looking worried. Some little drama was being enacted here, but it was nothing to do with me. I gave the porter a friendly nod before crossing the drawbridge and turning in the direction of Bath.

God, after all, had had no need of my services, and I was free to go home. Perversely, I felt bitterly disappointed. My pace slowed and my pack began to weigh heavily on my shoulders. I crested the rise and started on the long, dragging descent to Bath, nestling some five or six miles off, deep in its valley.

It was growing hotter by the minute and I was beginning to sweat. Such people as I encountered appeared to be as surly and as out of sorts as I was myself. The roads were dry and rutted, and passing carts threw up clouds of dust which made me sneeze and irritated my eyes. By the time I neared the Charterhouse at Hinton, I was feeling extremely sorry for myself.

I heard the pounding of hooves behind me and turned to look over my shoulder. A man wearing the livery of the Duke of Clarence reined in his mount beside me and slid to the ground.

‘Roger the Chapman?’ he demanded, and when I nodded he continued: ‘You’re to come back with me to Farleigh. His Grace so orders!’ Then he added, unable to keep the note of incredulity from his voice, ‘My lord says he has need of you.’

I rode pillion behind the messenger back to Farleigh and we arrived just after ten o’clock, in time for dinner. Not that I could think about food just then, being led at once towards an upper room to await the Duke.

In both the outer and inner wards of the castle, carts were were being loaded and horses saddled ready for the ducal couple’s midday departure. As one who carried most of his worldly goods upon his back, I never ceased to marvel at the amount of clothes and possessions deemed necessary by our lords and masters for even the shortest stay. As my guide and I passed within view of the south-west tower, its conical roof gleaming in the morning sun, two young pages dragged out a large, iron-bound, leather chest which I presumed belonged to the Duchess, judging by the fine gauze sleeve that trailed from beneath its lid. Behind them a tiring-woman stumbled beneath the weight of a red, velvet-covered jewel box.

It seemed that the Bishop, together with his retinue, had long since gone; as soon as breakfast was over, according to my companion. What business he had had with the Duke had evidently been completed the previous night, and His Grace must by now have been several miles along the road to Wells. I reflected how fortuitous it was that Stillington should have been visiting his diocese just as my lord of Clarence was spending twenty-four hours at Farleigh. There was a whiff of collusion in the air, and I wondered what mischief they had been hatching together. But whatever it was, it would not affect my life, although the Queen’s kinfolk might do well to beware. In the meantime, if my instincts served me aright, God had His own plans for me.

The messenger led me across the inner courtyard and up a short flight of steps to the great hall, where trestle tables were being laid for dinner. A twisting staircase in one corner brought us to a pleasant solar where the casements stood wide, flooding the room with warmth and light. I was almost blinded by the sudden glare, and was still trying to clear my vision when my companion bade me be seated while he went in search of the Duke. I groped my way to a stool and sat with my back to the window until my sight returned to normal, by which time I could hear footsteps on the stairs outside. The next moment my lord of Clarence, booted and spurred for his forthcoming journey, entered the solar accompanied by his wife and followed by a man and a young girl, the very one that I had seen by the chapel of the east gate earlier that same morning. I rose hastily to my feet.