The Pardoner's Crime (3 page)

‘Husband, I think that once we have finished with this patient, you had better see to this gentleman, too. He looks as if he may have a fever!'

Half an hour later, while Emma and Hubert sat with Lillian, Richard let the apothecary examine his leg wound.

‘It is festering, but the fester has not reached the bone,' Wilfred Oldthorpe informed Richard. ‘I have just the right treatment for this.' And after he had cleaned the wound to remove the film of pus that had collected, he pulled a pot off a shelf and from it drew out a foul-smelling piece of rotting cowhide, which was covered in a green mould. He smoothed it over the calf wound then bound it with a bandage. ‘This mould will cleanse the pus and inflammation away. I have seen it
work on many a festering wound or sore. This was an arrow wound, I take it.'

‘Aye, it happened at Boroughbridge. It has been fine and was healing well until a couple of days ago.'

‘It is damp that does it,' Wilfred said, standing and wiping his hands on his sides. ‘It acts upon the fire element and makes a steamy humour which makes the flesh fester.'

Sir Richard nodded. As an educated man he was aware of the Doctrine of Humours, the principle upon which medical men worked out what sort of ailment someone had. ‘Bleeding you a little might also help,' he suggested, somewhat
doubtfully
.

Richard produced some coins and left them on the desk. ‘I think not, Master Oldthorpe. I lost enough blood at the hands of the monks at the Abbey of St Mary in York. It feels more comfortable already. Now, when can I talk to the girl?'

‘You may talk to her now,' came Emma Oldthorpe's voice from the door. ‘She is awake and a trifle groggy. I have given her some of your best nostrum for her pain, Husband.'

Hubert was still sitting beside Lillian's couch. She was leaning against a bank of cushions that Emma had provided, her wrists neatly bound, an empty goblet on a small table by her side.

Richard introduced himself and sat down in the chair that Hubert vacated for him.

Lillian immediately covered her face with her hands and began to sob. ‘I am such a fool,' she whispered. ‘I … I … am so sorry. I just feel so … so unclean. I am so guilty.'

‘Lillian, I make no judgement about you trying to take your own life, although I am sure that you understand that the Church considers it a sin. I believe it is a matter for your own conscience,' Richard said gently. ‘I will say that there is no reason for you to feel guilty if you have been raped. That is someone else's crime, and if we find out who did it, I shall see that they are punished as the law decrees.'

‘But I am tainted! I will never be able to wed.'

Richard put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You are not tainted. You have been wronged. Now tell me, what did you see of your assailant?'

‘N … nothing, my lord. It was dark and I was caught from behind. He threatened me and … and … he—'

‘Go on,' Richard coaxed.

‘He used me from behind! Like a dog! Then he told me to be still and not look after him. I was too afraid to move a muscle until I thought he had gone.'

‘The villain!' said Hubert between grated teeth. ‘I would like to meet him – face to face.'

‘Did you get any sense of him?' Richard persisted. ‘Was he big or small? Old or young? Did he smell of anything?'

‘I sensed nothing about him at all, my lord.'

Richard pursed his lips. ‘And where did this take place?'

‘In the parish cemetery, my lord, three days ago.'

‘And it was dark. So it was after the eight bells curfew,' Richard reasoned. ‘Why were you abroad then? You know that is against the law?'

Lillian bit her lip. ‘I was there on my cousin's business, my lord. She was unwell with a flux and was vomiting her insides out. I was there to meet her betrothed.'

‘You mean the outlaw, Robert Hood?'

Lillian looked uncertainly from Sir Richard to Hubert. Then her lower lip began to tremble and she once more burst into tears. At the sound of her misery Emma Oldthorpe the apothecary's wife came into the room and threw a comforting arm about Lillian's shoulders. Lillian's sobbing gradually settled down and she sniffed and finally calmed.

‘Yes. Robin Hood. We call him Robin,' she explained. ‘And that is why I feel so dirty. So guilty. I – I fear that it might have been my cousin's betrothed who ravished me.'

A miller's cart was parked outside the Bucket Inn when Richard and Hubert returned. The miller himself, a
work-hardened
fellow of some sixty summers, bow-legged,
pug-faced and ruddy of complexion was struggling through the inn door with a sack of flour. Hubert had dismounted and was a step behind him when he stumbled and went headlong, the sack slumping beside him.

‘Let me help you, father,' said Hubert, helping the miller to his feet and then lofting the sack effortlessly upon his shoulder. ‘Where would this need to be taken?'

But the miller dusted his knees and shook his head. ‘I thank you, sir, but I am no father to thee and I shall do my own work.' And saying, he took the flour sack from him and made his way through the busy inn towards the kitchen door.

‘A sour fellow,' Hubert whispered to Sir Richard.

‘He is not sour by nature,' said Beatrice, the landlady, appearing from behind the door. ‘That is Midge the Miller, who runs the mill beside the bridge over the Calder. He is surly because his son followed Thomas of Lancaster and was deemed a contrariant and outlaw – like so many good men – by the King.'

Richard put a hand on Hubert's elbow to silence any
remonstration
. His assistant had a strong sense of loyalty and was apt to react swiftly. Too swiftly at times, Richard felt. Then turning to Beatrice, he said, ‘Lillian is well and sleeps at the apothecary's house, cared for by his wife.'

‘Ah, the lovely Emma,' Beatrice replied cryptically. ‘Matilda will be well pleased. Can she go to see her?'

‘Soon,' returned Sir Richard. ‘After we have a talk.'

Beatrice nodded as if expecting his words. She led them up the stairs to the room where Lillian had been lying. The linen had been changed and fresh lavender strewn about the floor. Matilda was standing by the shuttered window, a willowy woman in a mustard yellow gown, now with a plain white wimple covering her head and throat. At their entry she whirled round, concern on her face.

Richard told her of her cousin's treatment. ‘Master Oldthorpe is a skilled apothecary,' he added, admiringly.

‘I thank you for your intervention, my lord. Lillian has been through the torments of hell!'

‘But now I think it is time that you told me more of these torments,' said Richard, gesturing for them all to sit. ‘First, I understand that you are close to the outlaw Robert Hood?'

Matilda's chin came up and she met Sir Richard's regard. ‘We are betrothed, my lord. We would have been wed this summer, but for the wars of the mighty. It was only through following his feudal lord, Thomas of Lancaster, that he was outlawed.'

‘As was Much, the Miller's son. You met his father Midge as you came in,' Beatrice explained. ‘He, too, was pressed into serving the earl and was outlawed after the battle of Boroughbridge.'

‘That explains his annoyance when I called him father,' Hubert commented.

‘My Robin had built a house on Birch Hill, a five-roomed dwelling that was to be our home for life. It had cost him a fine of twenty pence in the Manor Court in 1316, because he had refused to join the old Earl de Warenne's army when he went north against the Scots. This time he did not dare refuse when the Earl of Lancaster demanded an extra seven hundred bowmen from the Manor of Wakefield when he was moving north to avoid the King's army.'

Richard nodded his head understandingly. ‘And his house has been repossessed. This would have been by William de la Beche, who was temporary custodian of Sandal Castle, before it was handed over to Sir Thomas Deyville, the Deputy Steward.'

‘No, it was the new one, Sir Thomas Deyville,' said Beatrice. ‘He is a man with a heart of stone.'

Matilda put a hand on Beatrice's arm. ‘If it had not been for my friend Beatrice here, I would be destitute.' She hung her head. ‘And my Lillian with me.' She sighed, then raised her head proudly again. ‘She is my cousin, but I have been more sister to her. I have to look after her.'

Beatrice interrupted. ‘You may not have had time enough to see for yourself yet, my lord, but Wakefield is under law such as we have never had before. There have been hangings and floggings. The Deputy Steward has a heavy hand when it comes to meting out punishment. William Scathelocke, one of the town pinders has been in the stocks for two days for not clearing cattle out of the corn fields. Every few hours he is plastered with cow dung. He is a mischievous rogue, I have to admit, but he doesn't deserve that.'

Richard scowled. ‘I will be having words with the Deputy Steward of the Manor soon enough and I shall be taking court matters in hand. I take it that this crime of rape has been reported?'

Matilda nodded. ‘We reported it to the Westgate constable and to the Deputy Steward's clerk. There was a pitiful hue and cry, but what else could we do? We are but women. And nothing has happened yet.'

Richard and Hubert looked at one another, both equally unimpressed at this information about the sort of protection offered to women, or the manner in which such cases were handled throughout most of England.

‘Lillian told me that this crime took place after curfew in the parish cemetery. Why was she there?'

Matilda shook her head guiltily. ‘She was going on my behalf, to meet Robin. I was too ill with a flux of the bowels to go. But, as it happened, he could not make it in time. And when he could get there he was unable to get past the
constables
into the town. The hue and cry was that effective, at least.'

‘And some evil villain ravished her!' said Beatrice angrily. ‘There are many undesirable types lurking about in the
darkness
and the constables and their men cannot cover all of the town wards.' She looked at her friend and pursed her lips. ‘We realize it was madness to let a young girl like Lillian go.'

‘You are sure that Robert Hood could not get into the town? You have seen him since?'

Matilda nodded as she wrung her hands. ‘He … he is my betrothed, my lord. He is an honourable man and … and I do not think that he should have been outlawed.'

But Richard was thinking of what Lillian had told him. What she believed to have happened. He would investigate the case and reserve his opinion about Robert Hood, the contrariant and outlaw.

A
goodly crowd had formed at the edge of the Bull Ring where Albin of Rouncivale had set up his temporary pulpit. He had stuck his staff with the brass cross into the ground and tethered his donkey to it. As usual he had babbled a few choice Latin sayings at them, sung a hymn and then harangued them with the parable of the sheep and the goats.

‘Yes, hearken, my brethren,' he cried out. ‘There are few among us who are without sin. Sin has been inherited from your fathers, from your mothers and it grows within each and every one of you like a canker.' He watched the faces of his audience and suppressed a smile as he saw folk wince and shuffle uneasily. He prided himself on being able to spot guilty looks and the credulity of the God-fearing. He had a trick of opening his eyes wide to glare and glower at individuals, as much as if to tell them that he could see the sins within them. He knew that if he let that glance linger momentarily upon a suitable listener then he would be assured of a customer.

He turned and pulled his saddle-bag from his donkey. ‘I am Albin of Rouncivale and I bring pardons to those in need.' He delved inside his bag and pulled out a small piece of
parchment
with an ornate Latin inscription upon it. ‘This can bring absolution from the Bishop of Rochester, himself. Why risk being without one? An accident on the way home, a sudden
illness visited upon your house and you could rue the fact that you go to Judgement without a pardon.' His hand delved inside the bag again and came out with a small casket. ‘And for those who have sinned badly I bring things blessed by having been touched by the sainted. In this box I have a piece of the sail of the boat that St Peter himself fished from. And more, I have relics of saints that by their touch may heal the sick, cast out demons or save the darkest of souls. I have bones of St Thomas himself. And I have other gifts from the saintly.'

Richard and Hubert had stopped to listen to what was going on as they made their way back from another visit to the apothecary's before leaving to complete their journey to Sandal Castle. Richard watched in amusement as members of the crowd hailed and closed in on the Pardoner, their hands going to pouches and purses.

‘I fancy that a pardon might be a good investment, my lord,' said Hubert.

To his surprise, Richard put a hand firmly on his own as he reached for the purse that hung from his belt.

‘No, Hubert. You have your arrow-head. Let that be enough,' he whispered. ‘Anyway, what need have you of pig bones or horses' teeth.'

‘Pig bones, my lord?' Hubert's eyes suddenly grew in size and a growl threatened to escape from his lips. But this also was stopped when Richard put his forefinger to his lips.

‘Of course. A lot of these Pardoners are charlatans. They play on people's fears, on their guilty little secrets. No, put away your money, good Hubert, and let us away to Sandal.'

Hubert gave the Pardoner a rueful glare and then turned his horse to follow his master.

The afternoon sun was starting to go down by the time they rode down the Kirkgate, passed the King's Mill, one of the soke-mills within the town of Wakefield, and crossed the great timber-buttressed bridge over the Calder. On the south side of the river, the stench of a tallow works, so important to the
manufacture of precious candles, was so bad that they had to cover their noses and mouths with their neckclothes and urge their mounts to speed up the gently rising, meandering road towards the village of Sandal Magna. On their way they passed groups of merchants, itinerants and shepherds herding their flocks to the wool market on Birch Hill.

The terrain was gently undulating, intermittently wooded or cultivated in the characteristic strip farming of the area. Each field was divided into strips or selions, measuring about thirty feet in breadth by a furlong in length. Each of these were divided up by green unploughed balks for the serfs to walk upon and lead their oxen, as indeed several were doing as they passed. The land looked lush, with the usual rotation of crops that was practised throughout the land. Yet in
addition
to the cereal and root crops, Richard noticed that there were also fields of rhubarb and liquorice, both specialties for which the manor was famous. To the east was a great expanse of heathland.

‘My lord, before we arrive at Sandal Castle, lest I show my ignorance to the Deputy Steward, could you explain again about why we have been sent to this centre of rebelliousness?'

Richard grinned. ‘Hubert, I believe that you pretend to be more ignorant of politics than you really are!' Then seeing his assistant's face drop into an expression of wounded chagrin he shook his head good-humouredly and continued.

‘You must first understand that the Manor of Wakefield, and the Honour of Pontefract are two great estates that were deliberately woven together when they were granted to their respective lords by King William the First, he that they called the Conqueror. The Manor of Wakefield was given to the de Warenne family and the Honour of Pontefract to the de Lacy family. Each of these holdings is huge and roughly of the same area. The Manor of Wakefield extends from Normanton in the east to distant Halifax in the west, some thirty miles of land that takes in about one hundred and twenty towns, villages and hamlets, with Wakefield as its centre and Sandal Castle
as the lord's stronghold. For the most part the two houses have lived in harmony since then, until the last incumbents took over each manor.'

‘That would be the eighth Earl Warenne, the Earl of Surrey who held the Manor of Wakefield.'

‘That is correct, Hubert. And the Honour of Pontefract passed from the de Lacy family to Thomas Plantagenet, the Earl of Lancaster through his marriage to Alice de Lacy. Earl Thomas was cousin to King Edward himself.'

‘Aye, and we fought against the Earl of Lancaster's army at Boroughbridge.'

‘True again, but we need to go back a few years to
understand
all that has happened. Earl Warenne was a man whose temperament was ruled by Mercury, tempered by Venus. At the age of nineteen he was wed to Joan of Bar, old King Edward Longshanks's ten-year-old granddaughter, but the marriage was doomed to fail and was never consummated. Before long he was living in sin with one Maude de Nerford.'

Hubert laughed. ‘So, he needed a woman not a girl. There is too much marrying early among nobles in my opinion.'

‘That is as maybe. Yet there is more to hear. Neither Earl Warenne nor his neighbour Earl Lancaster approved of the new King Edward the Second's favourite, Piers Gaveston.'

‘He who became the Earl of Cornwall? Why was that, my lord?'

‘For the reason that the king doted on him and favoured him above all the rest of the nobility. Gaveston was the son of a Gascon knight in service to the old king, and, as a youth, he and the present king, when he was still the crown prince, declared themselves brothers-in-arms. Old Longshanks was furious about this and had him banished. Yet the banishment lasted only until the king died and King Edward of Carnarvon, our present king, brought him back, conferred on him the title of Earl of Cornwall and married him off to Margaret de Clare. But it was not a match made in heaven.

‘And then the king left to marry Isabella of France. When
he did so he made Gaveston Regent of England and gave him a seal of absence, so that he was effectively king in Edward's absence. Because of that twenty of the great barons, the Lord Ordainers, rose up and forced the king to banish him again, this time to Ireland as Lord Lieutenant. He was not there long, however. Edward brought him back and the two picked up on their relationship.'

‘As brothers-in-arms. What of that, my lord?'

‘Do not be naïve, Hubert. It is said that they knew each other, as a man may know a woman.'

Hubert's eyes widened for a moment, as if he was surprised to hear this news. But then he shrugged. ‘It is natural to many I suppose, but for me, I would prefer the firm body of a wench.' His face fell into a grin and he chortled. ‘Especially if I was a king and could have whatever woman I chose.'

Richard shook his head at Hubert's sense of humour, then he went on, ‘After a failed military campaign against the Scots he was banished again, after pressure from the nobles, including Earl Warenne and Earl Lancaster. And once again he returned swiftly, although it seems it was to see his
newborn
daughter.'

‘A goodly and true thing for any father,' commented Hubert.

‘But dangerous for him and the king. The country was on the verge of civil war, so Edward and Gaveston left London for the north, taking with them the royal wardrobe. They
travelled
to York and then on to Newcastle, but the nobles had divided and pursued them. Earl Lancaster came over the Pennines and almost caught them. He did take the Queen and it is said that he found and kept the royal treasure that they had been forced to leave. Edward and Gaveston fled down the river to Tynemouth and then took a boat to Scarborough. There King Edward left Gaveston at Scarborough Castle while he hurried to York to try to raise an army.'

The road levelled out and they came to a great fishpond which abutted another field system where serfs were still at work. Richard dismounted and led his horse to the water and
let it lap some up. Hubert followed suit, patting his mount affectionately. As they stood there they heard the cadence of a galloping horse upon the road. Moments later a rider in the livery of the Manor of Wakefield passed them, his sweating horse's hoofs kicking up a trail of dust as he went. Their own horses were unsettled for a few moments and they calmed them as the rider disappeared up the road towards Sandal.

Hubert sucked his lower lip pensively. ‘I like this tale of Gaveston less the more I hear of it.'

‘Still listen, Hubert, for it explains much of the two lords' enmity to each other. Earl Lancaster's army blocked the King's path, which allowed a group of the other barons to lay siege to Scarborough Castle. Among those barons were Pembroke, Henry Percy and Earl Warenne of Surrey. After a fortnight, Gaveston surrendered on the terms that he would be delivered unharmed to York Minster for the judgement of Parliament.' Sir Richard's face clouded. ‘And that is where it turned really nasty.'

‘How so, my lord?'

‘Treachery! Nothing but treachery. Pembroke, Henry Percy and Warenne had intended to keep their promise and moved Gaveston to the Earl of Pemboke's castle at Wallingford in Oxford. There they thought they had him held in safe custody, but when the Earl of Pembroke left him one night to visit his local rector in Deddington, Lancaster, Warwick and Hereford pounced and stole off with him to Warwick.'

‘Infamy!' gasped Hubert.

‘There is worse. After a few days Warwick turned a blind eye and let Earl Lancaster arrange for him to be taken to Blacklow Hill where two Welsh assassins despatched him. One ran him through with his own sword and then, as he lay dying, the other hacked off his head.'

Hubert gulped. ‘Methinks that this Earl of Lancaster deserved his fate at Pontefract.'

Sir Richard shrugged non-commitally. ‘King Edward was, of course, furious. And many of the barons, including Earls
Warenne and Pembroke sided with the king. Lancaster and Warwick had no option but to make a public apology in return for their amnesty. But as regards Warenne and Lancaster, they were enemies from then on. Five years ago matters came to a head when Earl Warenne encouraged one of his squires, Richard de Saint Martin, to abduct Lancaster's wife, Alice de Lacy and carry her off to Warenne's castle in Surrey. In reprisal Lancaster captured Warenne's castles of Sandal and Conisbrough and commandeered his land, the Manor of Wakefield.

‘Over the following years Lancaster blamed the King for all the ills that befell England, whether they be famines, plague or raids by the Scots. And when King Edward took up with the Dispensers, a father and son, both of whom as you know are called Hugh le Dispenser, and made the younger his favourite, his “next” Gaveston, the country became well nigh divided. And the rest you know.'

Hubert nodded. ‘Aye my lord. We fought with the King at Boroughbridge and saw Earl Hereford die and heard that Earl of Lancaster was captured hours later. Then he was taken to Pontefract and executed in front of his own castle.'

‘That is right. After being dragged before his cousin the King, in his own great hall. He was not allowed to defend himself, just as Gaveston had not been allowed to speak. He was found guilty by those nobles who were loyal to the king, including the Dispensers and his bitterest enemy, Earl Warenne of Surrey.'

‘And has the king not given Earl Warenne his castle and lands back?'

‘No. I suspect that he will in due course, but they are still held by the crown. I believe that it is his majesty's way of punishing Earl Warenne for his part in capturing Gaveston.'

Hubert shook his head. ‘It is a sorry tale, my lord. I do not think that I like this politics of yours.'

Richard laughed and remounted. ‘Politics belong to no man, Hubert. Power is what it is all about, and I do believe that
power and the pursuit of it is a great corrupting influence.' He shook his head. ‘No, for me the most important thing is the law. That is what I believe in and that is what I make my guiding principle.'

Hubert bit his lip pensively for a moment then grinned. ‘And so it is mine too, my lord. So shall we now go to Sandal Castle?'

‘Aye, Hubert. We have been charged by the King to bring proper law back to the area. And we must begin by meeting the Deputy Steward of the Manor of Wakefield, who now holds the castle.'

‘And mayhap we will get a bite at this castle, my lord?' Hubert asked hopefully.

They made their way passed the Sandal Magna village church of St Helens and started on the climb up towards the natural sandstone ridge upon which Sandal Castle stood; a natural stronghold with clear views over the surrounding countryside. By anyone's standards it was an impressive sight. Its ashlar stones glistened in the late afternoon light. A great keep with four circular towers crested an impressive motte, and a
battlemented
twenty-foot high curtain-wall with turrets at regular lengths along it surrounded a large bailey. The wall crossed the large moat on either side, ascended the slopes of the motte to abut upon the keep. Protruding above the walls, within the curtain-wall could be seen the roofs of spectacular halls and dwellings on the bailey and a great central barbican with nearby drum towers connecting to the keep.