Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

Hobbes had raised his fists and was hopping from one leg to the other like a lightweight boxer in the ring. His face was flushed with anger and he would have punched the Prior had Nicholas not restrained him.

‘Calm down, Vicar. We shouldn’t quarrel on a day like this. My steward’s just been laid to rest, the sun’s shining and we have all this food and drink to enjoy which you have so generously provided, my Lord Prior. Don’t keep raking over dead ashes, Vicar. You look very well on whatever you eat, and no doubt the parishioners look after you very well.’

‘I get by,’ said Hobbes, controlling himself. ‘Nothing to spare, though. Not like the brethren here. Still, I know my place; baptise, marry ’em, bury ’em. The monks only pray for ’em. And do you know, Lord Nicholas, I’m going to be here long after this lot’ve all been turned out. One day I’ll come into my own.’

‘And what do you mean by that?’ shouted the Prior, his thick eyebrows knitting together into a scowl. ‘Surely you’re not turning into one of these reformers I hear about. You don’t want to change the system, surely? You’d be out of a job.’

Nicholas turned away impatiently. He was sick and tired of the bickering and squabbling that went on between the Vicar and the Prior. If they couldn’t live together peacefully side by side, then who could?

Jane was walking across the grass towards him. His spirits lifted and he went to meet her.

‘What’s up, Jane? You look anxious.’

‘I’ve just heard that Giles has disappeared. Nicholas, I’m worried. Did you notice that the Mortimers didn’t come to the funeral? They should’ve been here because they knew Matthew. And Bess couldn’t make it. She’s ill, Nicholas, and I think it’s serious. I know her health’s not good and she’s grieving for Matthew, but she gets weaker and weaker by the hour. I’m worried about her. She was very close to Matthew. They shared things.’

‘You still think Mortimer’s got something to do with Matthew’s death.’

‘I’m sure of it. And I think Giles was paid to let the murderers in to your house.’

‘These are wild accusations, Jane. There simply isn’t any proof. We can’t ask Landstock to arrest Mortimer without proper evidence except the suspicions of his wife’s maid and her friend. Let’s get on with finding Giles and hope he’ll tell us more.’

‘And meanwhile Bess is going to be the next victim.’

Nicholas was conscious that Guy Warrener was watching him closely. Damn the man, was he going to be his daughter’s gaoler? Suddenly, he saw one of his servants running across the grass towards them.

‘What is it, William? What’s happened?’ he said, going to meet him.

‘A messenger’s arrived up at the house. From the King, my Lord. You’re wanted at Hampton Court immediately.’

‘Tell him to wait and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘He says you’re to come at once. That’s what he said, my Lord. I told him you were at a funeral but he said it was urgent.’

‘Then tell Geoffrey to pack my bag, and get Harry ready.’

‘The King keeps you at his beck and call,’ said Jane, who’d followed him.

‘Yes, damn him. I can’t think what’s so urgent that he wants me to leave immediately.’

‘Then tell him to wait; at least until Giles is found.’

‘Tell him to wait, Jane? Are you out of your mind? I want to keep this head on my shoulders, you know.’

‘But you can’t go now. What with Bess ill and Giles still at large.’

‘I can do nothing about Bess, Jane. I’m not a doctor. And Landstock will see to Giles. I can’t keep the King waiting.’

‘Then you don’t care what happens to us…’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to you. Landstock will look after things, and you must keep your ears and eyes open whilst I’m away and report to me when I return. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘It’ll be too late. I know something terrible’s going to happen,’ said Jane bitterly.

‘Leaving us so soon, my Lord?’ said Warrener, coming up to join them. ‘I’m glad someone’s doing something about this lot of parasites. Now get the legislation through Parliament. I can’t wait to see them go. But let’s drink up their beer and finish up the cakes before you leave. Make hay whilst the sun shines, I say.’

‘I hope to God, man, that the monks will be here long after you and I are dead.’

‘Times are changing, my Lord. New ideas, new men at Court. I’m all for it. It’s about time there was an end to all this superstitious nonsense. No more prayers for the dead, no more services in Latin – what’s wrong with English, I say? I’m all for this man Martin Luther. He might be German but he’s got the right ideas. Down with the Pope. Let’s have an English Church with an English King at its head.’

He stopped as a fit of coughing racked his body. Jane came up and took him by the arm. ‘Come home, father. Lord Nicholas has better things to do than to listen to your ranting. The King calls, and he must fly to his side.’

‘Jane, that’s unfair. You know that I’ve got to go.’

She led her father away without another look at Nicholas.

‘Damn! Women! Why are they always so unreasonable?’ he said out loud.

‘Because it’s their nature, my Lord,’ answered Landstock. ‘They’re not like us men. I’ll say they’re unreasonable; you’ve hit the nail on the head there. And stubborn. And Mistress Warrener’s the stubbornest of them all.’

‘It’s good to see you, Peverell. You shouldn’t keep dashing off to that country retreat of yours. Your place is here in the centre of things. You ought to slow down a bit. All this coming and going does you no good; no good at all. Anyway, you’re here and just in time for a game of tennis. Come along, man, relax, don’t you want to have a body like mine?’

Henry Tudor pulled in his stomach and drew himself up to his full height, three inches shorter than Nicholas. He was dressed for sport – a white shirt, open at the neck, loose-fitting breeches and close-fitting stockings which revealed his well-honed calf muscles. Nicholas, having ridden hard through most of the night, except for a brief nap at Merrow, sighed in resignation.

‘Your Grace, as always, looks in peak condition. But I’m sorry to say that I have ridden seventy miles with just brief stops to change horses in answer to your Grace’s command, and I’m a bit stiff, to put it mildly.’

‘Then it’s time to loosen up. You’re out of condition with all that soft country living. Come along, man, don’t bother to change. Plenty of time for all that later.’

King Henry strode off in the direction of his newly built tennis court, of which he was inordinately proud. Nicholas knew there was no escape. Reluctantly, he handed his cloak to a waiting servant and followed the King towards the walled tennis court.

Henry’s energy was legendary. He played hard and he liked to win. But Nicholas had the advantage of being younger than the King by ten years, and he was fitter. Also the physical results of an over-keen appetite were taking their toll on the King. After half an hour’s hard play in which Nicholas held his own, the King stopped suddenly, threw down his racket and beckoned a servant to bring over warm towels.

‘I think we’re well-matched, Peverell,’ he said, mopping his face. ‘But I can see the journey has taken it out of you. I don’t want to risk ruining your health. Here, have a drink,’ he said, handing Nicholas one of the tankards which another servant had brought over.

‘Your Grace is very kind,’ said Nicholas, grateful that he’d been let off the hook so lightly. He enjoyed playing tennis, but preferably not after a ten-hour ride on a series of horses that had got progressively worse since he’d left his own horse, Harry, at Petworth. He drained his tankard and decided to make the first move whilst the King seemed in good humour. ‘I’m delighted to be back at Court; but what was it you wanted to see me about, your Grace?’