Dacre's War (26 page)

‘A journey such as that would take the whole day,’ said the guard. ‘I cannot be away from my post so long.’

‘Yet I am so tired of being cooped up, and it would be an adventure, would it not?’ said Joan, holding Barton’s eye, hers bright with mischief.

‘Perhaps not that thrilling, my lady,’ he said, lowering his gaze modestly. ‘But a fine outing, on a fresh day such as this.’

The guard turned to Joan, and put a hand on her bridle. ‘My lady, this is not a good idea. Your father would not like it. And he will be home soon. If you were gone, and no word of where you were, I would be punished on our return.’

Joan continued to look at Barton. ‘Then let this man accompany me, and you can return to your post.’ He began to argue, but she raised a hand. ‘Do not be afraid. I will take the consequences on my own head.’

Keen as he was to hand her over, the guardsman would not be so easily usurped. The thought of the baron’s wrath were he to relinquish his daughter to a stranger made him sweat. There was a small room in the castle cellars where miscreants were dealt with, and he had no wish ever to enter it.

‘Very well, my lady,’ he said, ignoring Barton, ‘to the coast it is. I hope it will not tire you.’ Slapping her horse’s rump, he spurred his own mount onwards, leaving Barton to catch them up. But the sailor was not disheartened. There would be time enough to talk to Joan in the hours that lay ahead. A fresh plan for his future had filled his thoughts on the long ride to Harbottle, and after the success of this encounter he was beginning to believe it might work.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

William Eure, Vice Warden of the English Marches, did not look like a man able to deal with the borderers. Tall but slight, his head drooping like a bluebell and his voice tremulous as a wren’s, he had the appearance of a clerk or an apothecary. He wore his heavy leather riding gear like a boy who has borrowed his father’s clothes, yet when Crozier shook his hand he felt the strength of the wrist, the swordsman’s punishing grasp, and was reassured. No one reached a position like Eure’s without a heart of iron, and a conscience to match. This man had both, well hidden though they were beneath a sweep of thinning fair hair and pale blue eyes that wept in brilliant sunlight.

Crozier had the advantage at this first meeting, though Eure could not know it. Some weeks earlier, he had eavesdropped outside Foulberry’s private chamber while his lordship and the Vice Warden talked. Crozier had smarted at the mortification of behaving like a house-breaker, creeping beneath the window, huddling against the ivied wall, boots sunk in damp earth as he pressed his ear to the shutter left open, as promised, by their host. Tom was stationed at the postern door as lookout, but the only person who disturbed the night was Isabella Foulberry who, midway through the parlay, appeared with tankards of steaming spiced wine to keep the cold at bay.

At her approach a scolding blackbird had risen from its roost, and she froze by Crozier’s side. Nothing else moved, and when the voices within the chamber continued without suspicion she gave him the mug, her hand covering his glove in a lingering touch almost as warm as the wine. Crozier met her eyes above the candle she carried. She did not smile but pressed a finger to his mouth, as if she feared he would speak. Crozier tasted primrose oil, and inclined his head for her to leave. With a backward glance she tiptoed off, her lamp fading until it was snuffed, and he was again alone in the dark.

Foulberry had placed Eure near the window, though his voice was so soft that some of his words were lost. The first half-hour was wasted in small talk, as the Vice Warden enquired about his lordship’s land, and his affairs, and Foulberry politely asked about Eure’s business at the baron’s court. ‘But I know you did not invite me here to learn how I dealt with this week’s parcel of miscreants,’ said Eure at last, after a detailed description of the unusually harsh punishments he had meted out – twelve hangings, sixteen gaol sentences, two deportations, and the lands of all convicts forfeited.

‘No, my lord,’ admitted Foulberry, ‘fascinating though those matters are. But I certainly admire your zeal, and courage. You will not be popular tonight among the criminal class in this dale. Others, such as myself, will be toasting your name. But as you say, that is not why I need to see you. Or at least, only in part.’

Eure waited while Foulberry stared into his goblet, as if wondering where to begin. From his post, Crozier could see the crown of his lordship’s cap. The Vice Warden was out of his view, but so close that a whistle from the borderer would have riffled his hair.

‘S-s . . . so?’ prompted the Vice Warden at last, unsettled by Foulberry’s silence.

‘You must understand that this conversation can go no further.’ Eure must have nodded, for Foulberry coughed, took a slurp of wine, and leaned towards his guest. ‘The governance of this border has for years concerned many of us. As long as Dacre kept order of sorts, we were prepared to tolerate infringements of our property and our rights. But the baron is now so wildly exceeding his authority, treating his loyal associates with such contempt and piling up riches for himself while allowing his cronies to steal from beneath our noses, that we must put a stop to it.’

‘I have heard many such complaints, Foulberry, and not been able to doubt them all, though what I know of the man suggests he believes he acts for the common good. His methods may be rough, and even dubious, but he gets results. As to pocketing money that is not rightfully his – well, which of us has not done that at some time?’

Foulberry cleared his throat. ‘Dacre might once have been an honourable man, or at least no worse than the rest of us, but as his years advance his tactics grow harsher and more careless. There is no denying he was once a fine leader of men. Few others could have held the border thugs in check. But now I believe he has lost control, and respect. The marches are in the hands of the Armstrongs, not the baron, and most certainly not the king’s appointed men, such as yourself.’

As was his habit, Eure was quiet before he replied. ‘So let me be clear,’ he eventually said. ‘What is it you are suggesting? That we somehow outwit or overpower the baron, and remove him from his post?’

Foulberry nodded.

‘By any means?’ Eure’s pitch rivalled a castrato’s.

There was another pause, and the sound of Foulberry sighing. ‘No, my lord, not by any means. We are men of principle. Dacre may use his accomplices to kill and destroy on his orders, but we must be cleverer than that. If he is to lose his head, it will be by the king’s command, not ours. If we were foolish enough to act like rebels and take the law into our own hands, our lives here would only get worse after Dacre is gone. Rightly or wrongly, Henry dislikes his barons being murdered.’

‘And once he has gone?’

‘Then, my lord, the position is surely yours.’

Again, the chamber was silent. A westerly wind was gathering around the castle, rain on its breath, and Crozier hugged the wall to hear the Vice Warden’s reply. It took a long time. There was the sound of a bench scraping across the boards, and Eure’s pate came into view. He seemed to be saying it was late, and he must retire. There was ill-disguised regret in Foulberry’s voice. ‘But of course. You must rest before your journey tomorrow. I will summon a footman to guide you to your room.’

A bell rang, but before the servant could appear Eure spoke. ‘I must think on this, Foulberry, because I see the merit in what you say. Not for my personal advancement so much as for the marches. It is palpably wrong that Henry is unaware of what goes on here. To advise him would be an act not of treachery but of loyalty. I will sleep on it, and we will talk again in the morning.’

By the time Eure and his retinue set off back to the middle march, he and his host had reached an agreement. If Foulberry could produce written grievances signed by accusers from across the marches, then Eure would add his own testimony on oath, and present these damning documents to the king. Or to Cardinal Wolsey, more like, which amounted to the same thing.

‘Did you bring my name into that conversation?’ asked Crozier later that day, when he and Tom were seated on the bench occupied by Eure the previous night.

Foulberry shook his head. ‘I thought it prudent not to do so. When you can present him in person with the accusers’ sworn statements, all suspicion of you must surely fade. But to advise him in advance that he is to shake the hand of the enemy, and such an enemy as you, might kill our endeavour stillborn.’

Crozier looked at him. After a moment, he stood. ‘I see you are not afraid of risk. That I like. For my part, I undertake to have the signed oaths by the end of the month. We must act swiftly after that.’

‘Once you have assured me they are in your possession, I will summon Eure, and all three of us can sit down together.’ Foulberry advanced on the borderer, both hands outstretched. He grasped Crozier by the arms, his face purpling with excitement. ‘I can scarce believe we are already at this pass. It is beyond my most hopeful dreams.’ He turned to his wife, who stood at the door, smiling on the group. ‘Dearest, our fortunes are about to change, thanks to this man. This most stout-hearted man.’ He pumped Crozier’s hand, and Tom’s, too choked with emotion for further speech.

Lady Foulberry had her hand in her husband’s arm as, at the castle doors, the brothers mounted their horses. They bowed, as did their hosts. Unsmiling, Isabella held Crozier’s eye. The borderer gathered the reins and turned away, and before he and Tom had reached the gates the studded doors had closed on the Foulberrys, who were once again sealed behind their thick walls.

A month and more later, when Crozier was brought into Eure’s presence, the atmosphere in Foulberry’s small chamber crackled as if the unlit fire was in full blaze. ‘Sir William,’ said Foulberry, flushing to match his robe, ‘this is the man of whom I just spoke, in whose great debt we stand.’ He pointed, as if Eure might not have seen the fully armed borderer filling the door. ‘Adam Crozier, my lord, chief of the Teviotdale clan.’

Eure stood up at Crozier’s entrance, but did not proffer a hand. Nor did Crozier, who looked into the Vice Warden’s eyes, and met an expression of rank distrust. His own, he knew, mirrored it.

‘Let us all be seated,’ said Foulberry, fussing to find chairs and stools, as if that was his greatest concern. ‘Isabella, dearest,’ he cried, putting his head out of the door, ‘fetch us wine, if you will.’

Eure raised a hand. ‘No wine, please.’ He moved to the centre of the room, obliging Foulberry to press himself against the empty fireplace. ‘What is this, good sir?’ The Vice Warden’s voice was so low it might have been a hiss. ‘Have you s-s-set me a trap? I thought we had an understanding. I do not deal with border scum, and well you know it.’

Foulberry paled. ‘My lord, no!’ he cried, as Eure’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Were it unsheathed in so small a room, everyone present would feel its blade. ‘Stay your hand. This man is our friend. Would I betray you? Listen, I implore you, to what he has to say.’

Crozier, broadsword hilt in his hold, had the advantage. Standing by the door he could draw his sword with ease and bar Eure’s exit. From the sheen on the Vice Warden’s brow it was plain he knew he was cornered.

‘Be assured, Foulberry intends no mischief,’ said Crozier. ‘And nor do I. Of course I am no more your friend than you are mine, but in the matter of Baron Dacre, and ending his rule, we are of one mind. I can be of use to you. And you, I hope, to me.’ Eure stood unblinking. ‘I bring with me signed testimony from the foremost families of the east, middle and western marches. Nine in all.’

As he put his hand into his jerkin, Eure drew his sword. Crozier did not look at him as he retrieved the papers from his pouch. ‘You can put that thing away,’ was all he said, the packet of letters in his hand. ‘Now, we can either sit here and talk, or I can leave. If I go, I do not return, and these depositions go with me. Should that happen, your king will soon hear that his Vice Warden tried to obstruct justice in his lands, and I doubt the news will please him. A vengeful king, if what I hear is true. But then, we are all vengeful these days.’

Eure hesitated, looking from Crozier to Foulberry, his quickened breath loud in the cramped chamber. It was his host’s face that finally reassured him; nothing in Crozier’s offered comfort. Sheathing his sword, he spoke grudgingly. ‘Talk, then. And show me the statements. Then I will decide what to do.’

It was far into the night when the three broke up their meeting. Seated outside the door, Tom rose and followed as his brother strode from the chamber and across the dim hall.

‘We have him,’ was all Crozier said, as they made for the stables.

‘We leave now? At this hour?’

Crozier nodded, and quickened his pace. Buckling his cloak, Tom hastened after him. They left by a side door to the courtyard, and stepped into the blue darkness of night. The beeches and sycamores that circled the castle swayed like a river in spate. Casting a look of loathing at the high black walls, Crozier put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘God forbid we should ever again—’

He did not finish. Before them, in the gloom, appeared a figure in white, shielding a tallow lamp with her palm. ‘Gentlemen,’ said Isabella Foulberry, wrapped in a fur-trimmed nightgown whose ribbons were loosely tied over her shift. ‘Where do you go at this time of night? Your beds are ready, your horses asleep. Have we offended you in some way?’

Crozier halted. There was a pause, as if he were gathering his thoughts, but when he spoke there was a smile in his voice, a courtly tone Tom did not recognise. ‘My lady, you and your husband could never offend me. Forgive our haste, but there is work to be done at home, and we have already been away too long.’ He took the hand that was cupping the lamp, and bent over it. The unprotected flame went wild.

‘We – I – will never forget what you have done for us. If Eure achieves what we believe he will, it may be that soon both sides of the border will be at peace, and we no longer enemies. Not,’ he added, pressing her fingers, ‘that we have ever been other than friends. And for what you and your husband have done for us, and our clan, I cannot thank you enough. I said as much to your husband, before taking our leave, but . . .’ he paused, looking down at her, ‘I am very glad of the chance to say it to you in person.’

‘We will not see you again?’

Crozier let go her hand, which fell to her side, the lamp forgotten. ‘Of course we will meet again, and soon,’ he said, speaking low, as if his meaning was for her alone. ‘And in more congenial conditions than these. But for now we must be gone.’

Minutes later they were on their way, riding fast out into the dark, as if the road north were lit by flares.