Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

‘Are you glad that we met that day?’

‘Of course.’

‘How glad?’

‘What do you mean?’ he said defensively. ‘You’ve had ample proof of my gratitude. I have come to see you whenever I could and brought occasional gifts for you as a token of my devotion.

What more do you want?’

‘The fulfilment of your promise.’

‘Promise?’

‘You see,’ she said, breaking away from him, ‘you have forgotten already. A promise made in the throes of passion is worthless. Easily given but just as easily abandoned. I do not believe you ever meant to keep your word. Did you, Nicholas?

It was a ruse.’

‘No, it was not.’

‘A cunning way to worm yourself into my affections.’

‘That is not what I did.’

‘Then why not honour your promise?’

He hesitated and bit his lip. ‘It is difficult to explain,’ he said at length. ‘Circumstances have changed.’

‘Yes,’ she accused him. ‘You no longer love me.’

‘I do!’

‘Then why do I not feel loved? Why do you take me to bed when you do not really want me any more? I am not blind. I am not stupid. Why did you come here today, Nicholas?’

It was the perfect moment to tell her the truth but it died on his lips. Picard lost his nerve. He persuaded himself that it would be too brutal to part in this way and tried instead to calm her, pulling her to him again and burying his intentions in a long kiss. She responded willingly, but there were tears in her eyes when she stepped back from the embrace.

‘Ignore my complaint,’ she said. ‘I spoke too hastily.’

‘Not at all.’

‘You owe me nothing. I absolve you from your promise.’

‘I will be indebted to you for ever,’ he said with more sincerity than he actually felt. ‘It is impossible for me to repay you in full for the love and the happiness you have given me here.’

‘Do you really mean that, Nicholas?’

‘Why else should I say it?’

‘And will you come again?’

‘Yes.’

‘Soon?’

‘Very soon,’ he affirmed.

But they both knew that he was lying. Their final embrace was perfunctory. Her eyes were still moist as she walked across to the door with him. There was a valedictory kiss, then she ran her hands round his face and down his body as if trying to memorise every last contour. Picard smiled bravely but his stomach was churning. He was betraying a woman whom he once loved and who clearly still doted on him. Other mistresses had been discarded with relative ease, but this one had a deeper hold on him. He was in pain.

‘Farewell!’ she said.

‘Adieu.’

He let himself out and descended the steps at speed, leaving by the back door of the property and collecting his horse from the stables. A sense of relief welled up in him, but it was tempered by regret. He would miss her badly. The loss, however, was outweighed by several gains and he tried to concentrate on those.

As he rode through the busy streets at a brisk trot, Picard fought off the impulse to look back. She belonged to his past now. Other priorities would take her place.

He had business in the city with the town reeve and headed for the man’s house. When he was offered a cup of wine by his host, he downed it in one gulp. More wine was served. Memories of his earlier visit soon began to fade. It was some hours before he was ready to begin the homeward journey and it took him past her house once more. Picard did not even give it the tribute of a glance. Untroubled by sorrow or remorse, he went on through North Gate and breathed the clean air of freedom.

Evening shadows were starting to dapple the grass and there was a hint of rain on the wind. He was in a buoyant mood. The town reeve had complied with his requests and been a generous host. Picard had achieved all that he had set out to do, ridding himself in the process of a lady who was starting to become an encumbrance. He was so pleased by his visit to Exeter that he did not even think about the bleak welcome which awaited him from his wife. For the first time in years, he rode home with a degree of real pleasure.

He was still congratulating himself on his success when he entered the wood. Shadows turned to patches of darkness. Leaves rustled. Branches creaked gently in the breeze. Picard felt no fear. Other Norman barons always travelled with an armed escort, but his was too short a journey to merit company and he had been very keen to arrive in Exeter alone so that he could call on his mistress unseen. A noise in the undergrowth made his horse shy, but Picard controlled the animal and nudged it forward with his knees. The wine was making him feel drowsy.

It was when he approached a beech tree that misfortune struck.

A thick bough, festooned with leaves, was overhanging the road and swaying slowly to and fro. There was no suggestion of peril until he rode directly beneath the branch. A loud snarling noise took his gaze upward then, and he caught a glimpse of a wildcat, hurtling towards him with bared teeth and murderous claws.

Landing on his face, the creature sank its angry fangs into his cheek and attempted to gouge out his eyes. The force and suddenness of the attack knocked him from the saddle. Nicholas Picard was soon squirming in the dust as he tried to fight for his life.

Seated at the table, she was working at her tapestry by the light of the candle when the servant burst in. She looked up in surprise, but her deft fingers continued to sew on. The servant was trembling under the weight of the tidings he bore.

‘Yes?’ she said with a note of disapproval. ‘Why do you disturb me so?’

‘The master’s horse has just come back to the stables, my lady,’ he gabbled. ‘On its own. There is no sign of the lord Nicholas.

We fear the worst.’

‘Why?’

‘Your husband is a fine horseman. He would not easily be thrown.’

‘Is that what happened?’

‘We do not know, my lady.’

‘Then do not jump to foolish conclusions,’ she said, putting her needle aside and rising from the chair. ‘There are many reasons why the horse might have returned without its rider and they do not all have sinister import.’

‘We are concerned for his safety, my lady.’

‘My husband is well able to look after himself,’ she said complacently. ‘I have more faith in him than you. Well, do not stand there gibbering, man,’ she added with a gesture. ‘Send out a search party. They will need torches at this time of night. Bring me word of what they find.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And whatever it is,’ she emphasised, ‘knock on the door before you enter. If you charged in on the lord Nicholas like that, you would have your ears soundly boxed. Now, be off with you!’

The servant nodded and raced off to obey her order. The lady Catherine resumed her seat and took up the tapestry once more.

While the rest of the manor house was in a state of turmoil, she was curiously uninvolved. Her needle was continuing its delicate work when the search party thundered from the stable yard and set off down the track.

It did not take them long to find him. The wood was a favoured spot for robbers and more than one traveller had been ambushed there. Picard had ridden through it a hundred times alone without incident, but it still remained the most likely place for any assault.

There were six of them, knights in Picard’s retinue, holding flaming torches and scouring the land on either side of the winding road.

When they reached the wood itself, they spread out to widen their search. It was over in minutes.

‘Here!’ cried a voice. ‘Here! Ho! I have found him.’

The others quickly converged on the speaker and six torches illumined the sorry scene. Nicholas Picard lay on his back, his body twisted into an unnatural position, his hands covered in gore, his face lacerated beyond recognition and his eyes no more than two bleeding sockets. By the dancing light of the flames, they saw that his throat had been cut from ear to ear.