Madame Wrey sighed at the cruelty.
‘All this took some years, and Petronilla was eighteen by this time. She had endured enormous shame, hardship, and beatings. The only friend she had left in the world, once Cecily had been sent from her side, was her confessor. At her husband’s manor, she was hated, not only by Squire William but also by all his family, for she had brought shame to them, and now there was the threat of financial disaster if they must return the dowry. She decided she could not remain there suffering abuse, so, determined to become free, she ran away.
‘As luck would have it, her young confessor was convinced that she had every good reason to escape her husband and commit the act of treason. So he helped her, but not very successfully. She was captured only a matter of miles from her house, and the priest himself escaped by the skin of his teeth. But they had already been alone for a month or more.’
‘I see,’ Simon said.
‘And nine months later… you understand.’
‘Of course,’ Simon said. ‘So what happened?’
‘There was a great noise at the time. In the end, the priest was taken away and put in a convent, I believe. He was certainly punished. The girl was also taken and held in a nunnery, although not as punishment. I think there was some fear that her mind was being harmed. She was so young, and had married so young, that I think the Judge wanted her to have a time to herself. So she was placed in the nunnery until she was considered sufficiently recovered, and then she was returned to her family. However, one terrible day her husband and some friends broke into the house and slaughtered the entire family. They killed her parents, they took her and stabbed her more than thirty times, and then they took her child too, and dashed the little babe’s head against a wall. Poor Cecily saw it all. She was there.’
Margaret gave a small gasp. ‘The baby too? Dear God in Heaven. This Squire, he was captured?’
‘Oh, yes. He was captured,’ Emma said. ‘And now he has been released. Like so many, he has been pardoned so that he might fight for the King.’
‘That is disgusting,’ Margaret said. ‘Was there no outcry?’
‘There was some, but what would anyone do against a friend of the King?’
Simon sucked at his teeth. ‘Did she know Sir Laurence at the castle? I’ve heard she knew him.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘A knight? However, Sir Laurence could, so we hoped, have the Squire taken to gaol again and overthrow his release. But although I went and asked him, the man refused our petition. I will not speak with him now.’
‘She too could have tried to talk to him about that,’ Simon considered. It was possible. ‘And Cecily came to you after all that sad tale with her past employers?’
‘Yes. The poor woman was still very shocked. She had been without work for a while when she came here. I wanted to give her a home where she could feel safe, and… and I suppose I failed her.’
To Simon’s surprise, the woman suddenly collapsed, sobbing, covering her face with her hands.
Margaret rose and went to her side while Simon exchanged a look of embarrassment with the steward. Neither was comfortable in the presence of a woman in tears. They resorted to conventional male behaviour. Simon looked all about the room except at Emma or his wife, while the steward stared at his jug as though willing it to fill itself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Bristol Castle
It was a foul morning, Sir Laurence Ashby thought as he gazed over the surrounding lands through the heavy rain.
He had been brought up near here, and the weather was no surprise, but it did add a mournful aspect to the day. Bad enough, surely, that the city was about to be attacked, without these stormy skies. Ach, God’s ballocks! There was never a good day to fight; never a good day to die. He slammed his fist on the wall and went back inside.
The last few weeks had been dreadful. Sir Laurence was old-fashioned enough to believe in the oath he had given the King so many years ago. Then he had been a young man, one of the first whom the new King had knighted after his accession, and Sir Laurence had remained staunchly loyal, although his loyalty had been sorely tested in recent years.
When he marched into his chamber at midday, he stopped just inside the doorway. Sir Stephen Siward was sitting on his desk’s edge, teeth bared in a grimace as he fumbled with a splinter of wood. ‘Damned piece of meat stuck in my tooth,’ he said.
Sir Laurence nodded and walked to his seat. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Planning. We have to try to get our plans ready for when the bastards arrive. Won’t be long now.’
‘I think that the plans are well enough advanced already,’ the castellan said.
‘What of the citizens? I don’t trust them beyond an inch. They’ll give up the city soon as fart. None will support us and the King. They recall the King’s siege ten years ago.’
Sir Laurence smiled thinly. ‘I do not fault your summary. They will doubtless enjoy giving up their houses to the Queen’s men. There are too many stories already about how she is stretched to keep most of her forces under control.’
‘We have to be able to spoil the confidence of the town somehow. Can’t we point out that most of her men are mercenaries? No one likes a damned mercenary – whether it’s a soldier or a banker. Bastards are too keen to make money all the time instead of sticking to their oaths.’
Sir Stephen coughed and went on, changing the subject: ‘You knew the man whom William of Bar killed, didn’t you? Capon. Arthur Capon. Did you know that his maid has been killed?’
Sir Laurence shot him a look. Sir Stephen was eyeing him strangely. ‘I knew him a little. Did you learn who could have killed the maid?’
Sir Stephen shook his head slowly. ‘No. I suppose it was one of Squire William’s men.’
‘Yes,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘Perhaps it was.’
He saw her face again – the sharp, bright eyes, the thin mouth – and remembered how she would keep whining on about Squire William and his men now that they were freed. She had been a pain in his backside, especially when she had her mistress set on him as well. It was inexcusable!
Sir Stephen was watching him. ‘You knew her?’
‘She came to speak with me – complaining about feeling scared since the Squire and his men were released from gaol. God knows what she expected me to be able to do about it!’
‘And we all have enough to worry us just now,’ Sir Stephen said quietly.
‘Yes. At least we know our duties. It is our place to remain here and protect this castle. While the castle survives, we are safe and the approaches to Wales and the King are guarded. They couldn’t bypass us and hope to make it to the King. They would always fear a sally from us.’
Sir Stephen nodded, and he studied his splinter. ‘How long do you think we could survive?’
‘We have food for at least twelve weeks if we are cautious. I suppose it’s possible we could acquire some more, if the siege is not effectively maintained. The city, though, is a different matter. I assume that it will be running short within the week.’ Sir Laurence walked over to the small table in the corner, where a jug of wine stood. He took up his gilded goblet, which he filled and drank deeply.
‘So we have a week before the city itself decides to surrender. That is when our own predicament becomes more acute,’ Sir Stephen said.
‘No,’ Sir Laurence said firmly. ‘Our predicament is acute from the moment the Queen appears. Have you heard nothing of her progress? She has been stopped by no one. All the men whom the King has sent against her have surrendered to her and her son; not a one has tried to oppose her.’ He strode to the middle of the floor, where he paced up and down, as was his wont when anxious. ‘The Navy refused to leave port to defeat her at sea, even though they could have done so with ease; the men of the coast who were told to prevent her landing preferred to bow to her and go to her side; towns and cities from London to Oxford have rebelled and murdered the King’s own advisers, even the priests. Bishop Walter of Exeter had his head hacked off, and his body thrown to the dogs, did you know that? A Bishop, in Christ’s name! What of the others – the men who are his servants? They go in fear of their lives. Some have been pilloried in London and elsewhere. There is nobody to stand up for them, my friend. No one.’