Nevertheless, my family was delighted to see me. For a while, at least.
Adela had been genuinely worried once news of Buckingham’s rebellion had come to her ears, and the children had sensed enough of her unease to begin to be anxious about me. My sudden appearance in the kitchen, therefore, just as they were about to sit down to ten o’clock dinner, caused a minor stampede as Adela rushed to embrace my upper half and Elizabeth, Nicholas and Adam grabbed whatever other bits of me were available. I was installed in my seat at the head of the table, my wet boots removed by the simple expedient of the two boys seizing a leg apiece and pulling hard, while Adela served me a lavish portion of rabbit stew and my daughter poured me a beaker of ale. It was a welcome that almost convinced me that I had truly been missed.
I was able to reassure Adela straight away about her erstwhile friend, Goody Harker, with a strong animadversion on the foolishness of believing everything told one by a thieving tinker. I was just about to embark on the tale of my various adventures, when Elizabeth suddenly clapped her hands and demanded, ‘Well, what have you brought me, Father?’ My guilty expression must have alerted her to the truth, and she gasped, ‘You can’t have forgotten that today’s my birthday!’
I stared aghast at Adela.
She hurried, as always, to my defence. ‘Your father’s been very busy and in a lot of danger, Bess. You can’t blame him for forgetting your and Nicholas’s birthdays.’ She added for my benefit, ‘Nick was nine years old last month, while you were away, Roger. Bess is nine today.’
It was no good pretending. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said to Elizabeth, ‘I am so very sorry, but I have forgotten. And you, Nick! My deepest, most heartfelt apologies. But your mother is right. I have had quite a lot on my mind. But you shall both go with me to the market tomorrow and choose anything you like.’
‘Within reason,’ my wife amended, frowning at me. She was quite aware of my tendency to let my tongue run away with me.
‘Oh, well!’ Elizabeth granted magnanimously, ‘I suppose that will have to do.’ Her face brightened. ‘And there are always the other presents you’ve bought us.’
Five-year-old Adam clapped his hands in excitement and bounced up and down on his chair. ‘Presents!’ he announced. ‘What have you brought me, Father?’
Once again my eyes sought Adela’s with a look of dismay. But this time she was at a loss for words and only had the same excuse to offer on my behalf. And this time, it wasn’t good enough.
‘You. . You mean you haven’t brought us anything?’ my daughter quavered.
I shook my head.
There was a silence while all three children waited to see if I were joking or not. Then, having decided that I was in earnest, Elizabeth’s eyes began to fill with tears, my stepson regarded me with horror, while Adam’s lower lip and jaw started to tremble preparatory to his giving an almighty roar of protest. (And as I think I’ve mentioned in former histories, he had the best pair of lungs I’ve ever met with in a child.) To add to my discomfiture, Hercules chose this particular moment to return home from whatever secret foray he had been on and, having regarded me with some surprise for several seconds, began to bark aggressively. This was his way of letting me know that he deeply resented the fact that I had been away and failed to take him with me.
The crescendo of noise increased. Elizabeth was now wailing and Nicholas sobbing, adding to the bedlam of Adam’s yells and the dog’s barking. In general, I can bear it, my nerves having become inured over the years to the din of outraged children and animals. But the past few weeks had not been without their trials and perils and I had been looking forward to a little peace and quiet within the walls of my own home. I suddenly sprang to my feet, fairly kicked the dog aside, seized my pack from where I had dropped it in a corner, unbuckled it and emptied the contents all over the table.
‘There you are!’ I shouted. ‘Take your pick from that! Go on! Take whatever you want. I don’t care! You mercenary, ungrateful little beggars!’
And I stormed from the kitchen. But at least the noise had stopped. They were all, including Adela, staring after me with their mouths hanging open.
In the cool of the parlour, I slumped down on the window-seat, feeling extremely sorry for myself. A month ago, on the second of October, it had been my birthday, but I had been forced to celebrate it in the company of strangers. Moreover, on that day, King Richard and I had both turned thirty-one, very nearly middle-aged. And where had I been? Not among my loved ones, receiving their congratulations and presents, that was for certain. No, thanks to my wife’s misplaced confidence in the words of a mendacious tinker, I had been on a wild goose chase to Hereford in the mistaken belief that some old biddy, whom I had never met, was in need of my help. I was the one who should be feeling hard done by.
But gradually, as my anger cooled, my lips begin to curl into a reluctant grin and I started to feel extremely foolish. I was behaving like a child. There was nothing to choose between me and Elizabeth, Nicholas and Adam. Indeed, I was the worse culprit because at my age I really should know better. At the same moment, I felt a cold wet nose nudge one of my hands, and then, with a leap and a scramble, Hercules was on the window-seat having come to find me and make his peace.
‘Hello, old fellow,’ I said and fondled his ears. He licked my face and gave a little whine of pleasure. Then he got hold of the edge of my tunic with his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. I nodded and rose to my feet. ‘All right,’ I told him. ‘I’m coming.’
In the kitchen, it was now very quiet. My satchel had been repacked and re-buckled, tears had been dried, dirty dishes cleared from the table and a fresh beaker of ale stood waiting for me. In silence, I took my seat and glanced at Adela, who winked.
‘Did each of you find something you wanted?’ I asked mildly.
The relief was palpable. Their lord and master was over his tantrum and prepared to let bygones be bygones.
‘Yes, thank you, Father,’ my daughter said demurely. ‘I took those lovely buttons.’ And she patted the reticule attached to her girdle with a proprietary hand.
I cursed silently. I had meant to make a decent profit on those buttons.
‘And I took the metal tags for the end of my new belt,’ Nicholas added, opening his clenched fist to show me.
Another loss! They were silver. But then, I had told them to take what they liked. I couldn’t go back on my word. The blame was mine and served me right for losing my temper.
I turned to Adam. ‘And what did you take?’
He smiled seraphically, delved into the little pouch at his waist and produced the knife with the ivory inlaid handle. I might have guessed!
‘I think he’s too young to have a knife, Roger,’ Adela protested, immediately provoking the usual storm signals.
I sighed and, not without a good many misgivings, took my son’s side. ‘He’s a boy, sweetheart. Boys need knives. You’ll be careful with it, won’t you, Adam?’
‘Yes,’ he said, scowling ferociously at his mother and echoing my words. ‘Boys need knives. And I’m five.’
Adela shrugged and gave in. She knew she was beaten when the males of her household began to side with each other. Nicholas gave Adam a nod of approval, and he and I grinned at one another. I was on easy terms with my stepson and very often forgot that he was not my own. Adela’s relationship with Bess was a more difficult one. My daughter had never known her mother, who had died when she was born, and I had married again when she was a mere two and a half years old. All the same, she had never wholly accepted Adela, and even after six years I still noticed in her a reluctance to use the word ‘mother’. For this state of affairs I blamed Margaret Walker, Adela’s cousin and my former mother-in-law, who talked far too much about Lillis to her granddaughter; not, I am sure, with any intention of alienating Elizabeth from her stepmother, but simply because it kept the memory of her child alive in her mind. (Indeed, Margaret was very fond of Adela and had been the moving spirit behind our marriage.) Nevertheless, her reminiscences were a constant reminder to Bess that Adela was not her mother, a fact which had been underlined earlier this year when my wife had fled to London taking the two boys with her, but leaving my daughter in her grandmother’s charge.