An Honourable Estate (17 page)

 “Tha’ll slit ma throat as I sleep anyhow,” whispered
the Scot, as William took the man’s arm from around his shoulders and lowered
him to the cold stone floor. 

“I would not allow you such an easy death!” spat Martha as
she regarded him with contempt.  “Get rid of him,” she begged William.

“You want him dead?” asked William as he watched the
woman.  “Then you kill him.”  He pulled the dagger from his belt and
turning the handle towards her held it out.  “Go on,” he urged. 
“Take it and kill him.”

Martha stared at the weapon and then looked up at
William.  Her dark eyes searched his to see if he was serious.  “I
will not,” she replied at last.  “I will sully neither my hands nor my
soul with his blood.”

“Then bring me some water and a cloth to wash his wounds,”
said William, replacing the dagger.  “But do not ask me to leave him
outside for the wolves.  He will harm no one.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked. 

William looked down at the Scot, at his white face staring up
at them, at his blank eyes that were resigned to their fate.  “He is too
weak and will probably not live through the night anyway,” he said, though he
was determined that he would not let the Scot die for want of trying to save
him. 

When Martha brought water William knelt by the man’s side and
began to dab at the wound on his thigh.  After a moment he felt the
woman’s hand on his shoulder.

“You will only make it worse like that,” she said. “Move out
of the way.”  William stood up to watch as she used the cloth to soak the
injured leg in water.  “Cut away his leggings with your knife,” she said
as the garment gradually released its hold on the drying blood.  She moved
aside as William crouched beside her and he heard the Scot curse as the blade
pulled at his clothing.  But it was the soft fragrance of Harry’s sister
beside him that filled William’s senses.  He moved back and watched as her
capable, work-worn hands began to circle the wound and, as she worked, the
Scot’s thigh oozed fresh blood and he lay back on the hard floor moaning. 
“Is there a candle?” asked Martha.

“I’ll find one,” said William, getting up and searching the
supplies stacked near the altar.  He lit the wick and held it for her to
inspect the wound. 

“I will bind it for now, but it needs a poultice to stem the
bleeding,” she said.  “Tomorrow I will make one – if you will come with me
to the forest to seek the herbs?”

“Yes, of course,” said William, almost forgetting that this
woman had been bereaved that day as he looked down into her pretty face and her
dark eyes surrounded with thick lashes.

She pressed clean cloth against the wound and bound it
tightly.  “It is deep and will take a long time to heal,” she said, “but
if it is kept clean he should recover.  I hope he knows how thankful he
should be,” she said in a louder voice aimed at the Scot.  He opened his
eyes and looked up at her.

“Ye are an angel, sent from God,” he whispered.  She
gave him a look of disgust then turned her contempt upon William.

“I cannot pretend to do this willingly,” she said. “But if
you command me to tend him then I will, for I have reason to be thankful to you
for bringing my brother to me this day.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said and was pleased to see the
pleasure that flitted over her face, despite her anguish, as he addressed her
as a noble born woman rather than a peasant.

Reluctantly William bound the Scot’s hands again in front of
him.  The man protested, but he didn’t quite trust him and thought that
the women would feel safer to see him restrained.

“Do you
have good reason to let him live?” asked Harry as the church fell silent and
the women and children at last drifted into troubled sleep.  They had kept
one of their precious candles burning in the darkness to offer reassurance and
William sat beside the sleeping Scot, partly to guard him and partly because he
knew sleep would not come whilst so many conflicting thoughts crowded his mind.

“He told me that they carry messages to the sheriff, Edmund
Neville.”

“Neville?”

“Yes, but the intended recipient is the Earl of
Lancaster.  He seeks an alliance with Robert Bruce against the king.”

“And that would not be good for us,” said Harry.

“No.  Since the rebellion, Lancaster knows beyond a
doubt that that I am loyal to the king and not to him.  I am his sworn
enemy now and I will only be safe when he is dead.”

“But we do not have enough men to fight again.”

“You are right, Harry.  But rebellion may not be the
only way to rid ourselves of Lancaster.”

“What do you intend?”

“I’m not sure yet,” admitted William, “but despite your
sister’s protestations I would like to keep this Scot alive and discover what
else he knows.   He may be the solution to our problem, or part of it
at least.”

“And that is why you guard him?” asked Harry glancing down at
the bound prisoner.

“I would not like to find him dead when I wake,” yawned
William.

“Then I will share your vigil.  Sleep a little, my lord,
and I will watch him,” said Harry.   William looked at his friend and
resisted the temptation to ask if he could trust him.

“Thank you,” he said simply as he gathered his cloak around
him against the chill of the night.  “Wake me in an hour or two.”

When
William opened his eyes the candle had gone out and he could see the faint
light of dawn through the church’s east window.

 “I told you to wake me,” he said to Harry.

“You were so deep asleep that I didn’t like to disturb
you.  Besides I don’t think I would have slept anyway.  I’m too
angry. I keep reassuring Martha that Alfric will come home, but I know in my
heart that he’s already dead.”

“You haven’t harmed the Scot have you?”  William pulled
himself up and peered at their prisoner.

“No, although I must say I’ve been tempted, if only to stop
his incessant moaning.”

“I wouldna’ be in so much pain if ye’d untie me,” muttered
the Scot.

“And what of my brother-in-law?” demanded Harry, seizing the
man and making him cry out.  “What about all those dead men?  The
burned out houses?  The stolen food and animals?  Don’t expect me to
show you one scrap of pity.  If it wasn’t for Sir William here you’d have
died yesterday and we’d have roasted your organs for a feast!”

“Leave him Harry,” said William, though he understood and
sympathised with his friend’s anger.  “Don’t waken the children.”

William heard the Scot’s head hit the solid ground with a
thud as Harry let him go.

“I had na’ choice,” protested the Scot.  “My wife and
bairns starved to death and I couldna’ sit at home and watch the same happen to
other men’s families.”

“You had the choice not to kill!” Harry told him.

“And so do we,” William reminded him.  “Show these
savages we are better men than that, Harry.  Besides,” he whispered, “if
he lives he will owe us favour and we may be able to use him to discover what
the Earl of Lancaster is plotting.”

When morning came and they had all eaten some oatcakes and
drunk a little ale, Martha came across to William.  She was still very
pale and her face was tear streaked as if she had cried herself to sleep.

“Can I help you, my lady?” said William as he looked down at
her and thought how radiant she would look in fine clothes and jewels.  He
was about to comment that he did not believe she was sister to Harry Palmer as
she was too pretty, until he realised how crass such a compliment would be in
her circumstances.

“I have come to see my patient,” she said.  “I may need
to dress his wound again, and you promised to accompany me into the forest to
look for herbs.”

“I did, my lady.  And I will see if I can’t shoot something
for our supper too whilst we are there – if you are not too squeamish?”

“Why would I object to the sight of food?” she asked and
William saw that she had an inner strength that had not been apparent the day
before.

 “We should check the traps as well,” said Harry. 
“And maybe we should set them up closer to the village if we’re going to stay
here a while.”

Stephen
Scallard agreed to remain with the women and children and Harry said that he
would take Will Tegg to where the traps were and bring them back to Chorleigh.
They all set off together, Martha with a basket over her arm and the men armed
and wary.  They walked into the forest in silence and it was as they were
approaching the track that crossed the road north that William put out a hand
to stop the others.  He listened again and above the tense breathing of
his companions he heard the sound of horses, at least two.

“Wait here,” he whispered.  “I will go and see who is
coming.”  He crept forward as quietly as he could, taking care not to step
on any twigs or fallen branches that might crack and give away his presence if
there were also men on foot.  As he approached the edge of the trees he
paused and listened.  There were definitely two horses, though they
weren’t travelling fast.  He waited until they came into view and drew a
quick breath as he recognised them as sheriff’s men.  And tied by ropes
between them was a prisoner who was struggling to keep pace; probably on his
way to the gaol at Lancaster, thought William.  As they came closer he saw
that the man was Ned Kemp.

William swore under his breath and looked back to where Harry
and Tegg were waiting.  First putting a finger to his lips to warn them to
be quiet, he beckoned them forward and was thankful to see that Harry had the
good sense to tell his sister to stay where she was, out of sight.  As he
waited William drew an arrow and notched it to his bow, hoping that he and
Harry could take out the riders without alarming the horses too much.  If
they bolted then Ned Kemp would be dragged to his death. 

As the others crept up behind him, he whispered to Harry to
shoot the nearest man and told Tegg that as soon as the arrows were released he
must run into the road and grab the horses’ reins.  It was a risky plan,
he knew, but he was not prepared to stand by as Ned was taken away to be
punished for fighting with him in the rebellion.

“When I say now, do it,” he told his companions. 

There was no time for them to reassure him that they
understood.  As the riders drew almost level, William stood to take aim at
the far man and released the whistling arrow, praying that it would strike its
target.  With satisfaction he saw the man turn towards him in surprise as
he slipped gracelessly from his saddle.  Throwing the bow down he ran forward
to help grab at the horses.  Tegg already had one and was soothing it with
steadying words as he raised a hand to its muzzle.  William caught the
loose reins of the other as he saw Harry pull the second man down, an arrow
still protruding from his chest, having pierced his mail at such close
range.  He handed the reins to Tegg and pulling out his knife he stepped
between the skittish animals to where Ned Kemp had been dragged to his
knees. 

“Hello Ned,” he said to the bewildered man as he sawed
through the thick ropes that bound his wrists to the saddles on either side of
him.

“My lord!” said Ned, gazing up at him as if he had seen a
vision.  “Is it really you?”

“It is,” said William as he put a hand under Ned’s arm and
pulled him to his feet.  “Are you hurt?”

“I... I don’t think so,” he replied, running his hands down
his legs and over the torn leggings where he had been dragged several yards
along the ground.

“Are they dead?” asked William, looking over to where Harry
had the sheriff’s men pulled to the side of the road.

“One is, and one soon will be.”

William went to look at them.  The man Harry had shot in
the chest lay still.  The other was wounded and lay groaning as blood
seeped from under his shoulder.  William hesitated.  He could leave
the man to take his chances.  Someone might find him.  But if he
lived he would talk and the sheriff would quickly learn of Ned’s rescue,
whereas if the man died it could be a week or more before Neville discovered
that his men and their prisoner had never reached Lancaster.  Reluctantly
William turned the knife in his hand and bent down.  With his left hand he
pulled the chainmail hood away from the man’s neck to expose the throat, and
with a firm stroke he cut the windpipe and then stepped back as the horrific gurgling
gave way to silence and the pumping of blood from the body slowed to a steady
trickle.  Then he stepped aside and spewed his meagre breakfast onto the
forest floor.

He looked up to see Martha watching him.  Both her hands
covered her mouth as she stared in horror at what she had just witnessed.

“Strip them of their clothes and bury them as best you can,
out of sight,” he told Harry and Tegg as he wiped his mouth and then bent to
clean the blade of his knife on the grass.  “Ned, you’d best ride,” he
said, taking the man’s arm and leading him towards the nearest horse and
pushing him up into the saddle.  Then he gathered the reins of both
animals and led them towards the track back to Chorleigh.  “Pick up your
basket and come with me,” he told Martha.  “You can get your herbs later.”