Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

Nicholas placed his pewter tankard carefully down on the desk. With difficulty he controlled himself. No use matching insult with insult. ‘I can’t see any signs that the devil is up to his tricks; no more than usual, that is.’

‘The King, my Lord, is plunging England into anarchy, heresy walks abroad unchecked, and he does nothing. And you, and those who are supposed to advise him, also do nothing.’

‘You use strong words, Sir Roger. Watch out that the King doesn’t hear them.’

‘I don’t care if he does. Someone’s got to tell him. I’ve heard that he’s going to close down our monasteries and turn the holy monks out to beg their bread in the street. He’s already severed us from His Holiness the Pope – soon he’ll close down the churches, and we shall be excommunicated and left to rot. These are terrible times, terrible times, and no one tries to stop the King.’

‘The King, Sir Roger, goes his own way. No one can stop him. But I promise I shall do my best to try and save our Priory.’

The door opened and a lady came in, carrying a baby of about ten months old. Nicholas watched as Mortimer’s severe face softened. There was no doubt about it; he loved his wife, Margot. She smiled at Nicholas and not for the first time he was struck by her placid beauty. She was still in her twenties, but her body was matronly with childbearing. Unlike her husband’s, her face was smooth and pink; her sleek brown hair was drawn back tightly from her face and held in position under a neat cap. She was wearing a dark-coloured dress made of fine linen, and she handled the baby with the competence which comes from long practice. Nicholas felt his annoyance evaporate. Margot had been so kind to his wife, Mary, who had been the opposite of her in every way. Mary with her slender body not designed for childbearing. Margot had given her strength throughout the troubled pregnancy, and had been there at the birth, and supported him when both Mary and his son died, and he felt that life was not worth living.

‘It’s good to see you again, Margot. How well you look, and how beautiful your little girl is,’ he said, going over to kiss her on the cheek and lift back the edge of the shawl which was wrapped around the child.

‘Yes, she’s a joy. A good child, I’m delighted to say. But I heard you arrive, and I just wanted to say how sorry we were to hear about the death of Matthew. He was always welcome here, you know, and Bess was very fond of him. In fact, we hoped to see them both wed in the near future. What happened? I’ve heard he was killed by thieves, is that so?’

‘Landstock and the Coroner say he was murdered, but we don’t know who by, and for what reason.’

‘Murdered?’ said Mortimer, rousing himself from his gloomy introspection. ‘I am surprised. Who’d want to murder your steward? I would say he was a man absolutely without enemies. He must have disturbed thieves at work and they attacked him. I’ve suffered from break-ins too. Only recently they emptied my lake of carp. Prime carp, too, ready for the table. I’ve had to re-stock. The Prior kindly gave me permission to help myself from his own fishponds. I’m most grateful to him. Fortunately he always keeps a good supply; he’s very partial to a fat carp.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right. He could have disturbed thieves and tried to stop them. I shall miss him. He was a good man, and I’m glad he found some happiness in your household.’

‘He loved Bess,’ said Margot moving the baby from one shoulder to the other. ‘She’s now quite beside herself with grief. She keeps to her room and won’t see anyone. I’ve tried to persuade her to come down into the garden for some fresh air, but she refuses. I’ve sent for Mistress Jane to come and see her this afternoon. She’s the only person Bess lets near her.’

‘Jane Warrener coming here?’ said Nicholas, feeling his heart miss a beat at the mention of her name.

‘Yes. Jane’s been a good support.’

‘I can’t think how that misery of a father produced such a delightful girl,’ said Mortimer. ‘He and that devil of a Vicar are a real menace, praising the King to high heaven and stirring up the villagers against the monks. As soon as the monks are kicked out, Warrener will be up at the Priory with his wheelbarrow and pickaxe. It’s monstrous, Lord Nicholas. You must stop it. You’ve got the ear of the King.’

‘I’m sure Lord Nicholas is doing his best,’ said Margot evenly. ‘Your family’s been patron of the Priory since Duke William came over from Normandy. You’ll not see it pulled down without a protest.’

‘I shall certainly try to dissuade the King when next I see him. But he’s a very determined man.’

‘Then if you don’t succeed we shall have to take action ourselves.’

Nicholas looked at him sharply. ‘Have a care, Sir Roger. The King doesn’t like criticism. It’s a small step from opposition to treason as far as he’s concerned.’

‘So we should all submit to the tyrant’s will?’

‘I refuse to listen to any more of this. Remember my position as a Justice. Do you want to be arrested?’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Just warning you. That’s all. Now, Lady Margot, is it possible to have a word with Bess? She might be able to tell me more about Matthew. Whom he associated with – that sort of thing. Everything can be helpful in a murder investigation.’

Nicholas saw a look pass between Mortimer and his wife. She shook her head. ‘Not yet, my Lord. She’s still in a state of shock.’

Nicholas saw Margot’s face close down, and he knew he wouldn’t see Bess that day. But the Mortimers knew more than they let on. How much did they know? And how could he find out?

‘The funeral’s tomorrow. Bess will be there, of course? Maybe I can speak to her then.’

‘I’ll see to it that she’s there. But she’ll not be up to any questioning,’ said Margot firmly.

‘I wouldn’t want to upset her any more. But there is one thing that puzzles me. I understand my under-steward, Giles Yelman, has been coming to see you. Now why does he come? Is he courting one of your dairymaids?’

‘Your under-steward, Lord Nicholas?’ said Mortimer. ‘He’s never been here, not to my knowledge anyway. Have you seen him, my dear?’

‘Your under-steward? No, he’s not been here, I’m sure of that,’ said Lady Margot, looking down at her baby, who was becoming fretful.

They were lying, thought Nicholas, as he picked up his riding gloves. Jane had told him that Giles had been here. Jane wouldn’t have made it up. Now what were the Mortimers trying to hide? He must talk to Giles.

Outside in the courtyard, the groom brought Harry out of the stable. Mortimer looked at Nicholas.

‘We must talk some more about these things, my Lord. Come and dine with us soon. We are all interested to know the King’s mind.’

‘If I knew that, Sir Roger, I would be a magician, not a man. He goes his own way.’

‘But I’m sure he’ll listen to you. After all, you come from one of the oldest families in the land. Your ancestors have always been close to the King. As for myself, I’m only a nonentity. My family only goes back to the days of the Black Prince.’

‘And by all accounts, your ancestor did him a great service at the Battle of Poitiers?’

‘He saved his life, yes, but it only earned him a knighthood.’

‘And he was given this house. One of the royal hunting lodges. Not a bad reward for services rendered.’

More to the point, thought Nicholas as he rode away, your wife is related to the Yorkist King Edward. And it’s best to keep quiet about that. Henry Tudor doesn’t take kindly to anyone with Yorkist connections.