Michael JECKS - The Oath

There had been nothing for her when the murders had been investigated and the men caught. Certainly nothing in Arthur’s will. That was little surprise, but she had hoped that she would be protected by a gift of some silver or a spoon from Petronilla. She had two shillings saved, but that was all she had in the world. The Coroner had offered her money, but she wouldn’t touch it. Instead, she found herself what work she could.

It was the purest good fortune, so she thought, that Emma had heard of her plight and called Cecily to her house. She had been looking for a companion and maidservant for some weeks, she said, and when she hired Cecily soon afterwards, it was a huge relief. Life on the streets was growing alarming. Cold weather meant that selling goods from her basket left her fingers like icicles each evening. Often the only way a woman could survive was by joining the ranks of the prostitutes, and at the age of thirty, Cecily would find that a hard profession.

This morning being a Thursday, she wandered along to the fleshmarket to buy meat for their meal, and spent some time musing over the different cuts before making her selection; she dawdled a little, buying eggs, and some larks from a poulterer. She would cook them with honey later, she decided, and serve them before the main meats. Larks were such tender, sweet little birds.

It was while she was there, packing her purchases into her basket, that she saw the men.

Neither paid her any notice. Not even when she dropped her basket, smashing the eggs, her mouth gaping. Fortunately, she was too far away.

But she knew them. Their faces were all too familiar. They were two of the men she had seen and pointed out at the inquest. The men who had been gaoled for going to her mistress Petronilla and holding her while Squire William stabbed her with his gold-handled dagger. They were the men sentenced to death for snatching the child from Cecily’s arms and dashing his brains out against the wall in the front courtyard of the Capon house.

It felt as though her heart would stop with the horror.

Inn outside Winchester

Baldwin walked back inside the inn and glanced about him. Seeing Redcliffe sitting at the table still, he closed the door behind him, and then walked over to the innkeeper’s door and closed that too.

‘Master Redcliffe,’ he said, crossing the floor.

Redcliffe saw something in his face as Baldwin strode to him, and stood hurriedly. ‘What? What have I done?’

‘You have lied to me,’ Baldwin said. He pushed Redcliffe back, both hands on the man’s shirt. ‘Those men weren’t here to rob you, were they?’ he continued as he thrust Redcliffe against the wall. He lifted the man and shoved him a little harder against the rough limewashed surface, smiling thinly. ‘You lied, because you said that no one had a reason to hate you, that you had no enemies, didn’t you? Yet someone has paid those men out there to kill you.’

‘I didn’t think–’

‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ Baldwin was furious to have been lied to, and the thought that he had given his sympathy to this man made him still more angry. ‘I think you should remain here with them, and we should let you explain the position to the local Bailiff.’

‘It would be a mistake,’ Redcliffe said.

‘What – you threaten me? You seek to threaten me ?’

‘No, Sir Baldwin. Hear me out, but in God’s name, let me down first.’

Baldwin opened both hands and let him fall. ‘If it were up to me, I would leave you in the gaol here to tell the Bailiff what the reason for this was, and the local Justice of Gaol Delivery might decide whether you or the felons were more guilty.’

‘I am not guilty, Sir Baldwin. Are you a loyal subject of the King?’

At that, Baldwin shoved Redcliffe against the wall again, while his other hand grasped his sword hilt.

‘No, Sir Baldwin, please, I must ask this: are you loyal to the King or not?’

‘I am his loyal subject,’ Baldwin rasped. ‘Why, do you mean to insult me?’

‘No, but those men wanted to kill me because I am the holder of secret messages for the King. I am a King’s Messenger.’

Bristol

Sir Stephen Siward wore his accustomed affable smile as he walked from the market, but in his heart he knew that there was trouble brewing – trouble that could affect him personally if it was not nipped in the bud as quickly as possible.

Cecily had plainly been shocked to her core. He had seen her while he stood buying a pie. She appeared moonstruck, as though she might faint away at any moment. Women were prone to such odd humours – it was the womb, he had heard. It was a curious organ, and could move about the body through the month, causing much of their temperamental behaviour…

And then, even as she turned and fled, he saw the men, and with a shock of recognition equal to her own, knew where he had seen them before. They were the fellows Cecily had accused at the inquest.

The King, in his desperation to find any man who might support him, had proclaimed that all those in prison for theft or homicide, or those who had abjured the realm, if they would go to the King they would receive litteras de pace , [16] pardons and could return to their homes as free men after serving in his host.

Sir Stephen had heard that Squire William was to be freed some weeks ago, but he hadn’t expected the men to come back here, not to the place where they had been accused and held, ready for hanging.

As Cecily fled, Sir Stephen eyed the men. If the city grew aware that the killers of the Capons had been released, there could be widespread unrest, he thought. And that maid may just stir it up. Where she had seemed unstable before, now she looked wild, and a woman in her frame of mind could be irrational.

If the men noticed her, they could well decide to take revenge for her evidence against them. They could capture her, torture her, kill her…

She might turn to him for protection. She might assume that he would defend her. True, she had thrown his money in his face when he tried to offer her support – but then, she probably thought he was buying her off and was proud enough to be offended. Truth was, she had also admitted to him that she held an affection for him. But her feelings were not reciprocated, and he could hardly waste time with her now. Not with the kingdom on the brink of war.

Sir Stephen sighed heavily. If those men learned where she lived…

Near Whitchurch

Simon Puttock looked about him warily as they rode on westwards.

It was two days since they had passed over the great bridge at London, and he had kept a suspicious eye on any who so much as glanced at him or his wife as they trotted down into the Surrey side of the river, away from the great city. That first day of travel had been one of intense anxiety at all times. After witnessing the mobs wandering London’s streets on the rampage, seeing so many deaths, no one could be unaffected.

The lanes of Southwark stank, filled as they were with the Bishop of Winchester’s brothels, tanneries, and other more noisome businesses which were not wanted in London itself. It had been a relief to escape to the orchards and fields just outside. By the time they had reached a little village called Wandelesorde , [17] Wandsworth Simon had already felt a little safer.

Yesterday they had made better time, travelling from dawn to dusk, and getting as far as a small village outside Farnham, where they had been able to sleep in a friendly peasant’s barn; today they had already made good progress, and with every mile that they put between themselves and the city, Simon grew more content.