Revenge (15 page)
“Where are you going?” the man grunted, his piggy eyes regarding Richard with extreme distrust.
“To void my bladder,” Richard replied curtly. “Get out of my way, will you? I’m your master’s guest, not his prisoner.”
“My orders are to keep you in here until Master Curtis wants you. Go and piss in the corner.”
“Wants us? What does he want us for?
“I don’t bloody know, do I? He doesn’t confide in me.”
The man plainly wasn’t going to shift, so Richard found a quiet corner to do his business. After that, he was kept waiting in the stables for what seemed an eternity, while the sun climbed higher in the sky outside and Mauley slumbered noisily. Eventually Richard grew sick of his snoring and decided to rouse him.
“Get up,” he said irritably, shaking Mauley awake. “It seems we are prisoners after all.”
Mauley swore. “For God’s sake, boy,” he growled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I did try to warn you.”
“I am no one’s boy,” Richard said coldly, “and the damage is done. We will have to try and bribe the guards, or fight our way out.”
Mauley gave him an incredulous look. “I counted four men last night, all likely-looking lads, and there may be more to deal with. We haven’t got enough money to bribe them all, and to fight them all would be sheer folly. But if you think you are up to the challenge, feel free to try. I look forward to burying you.”
Richard’s lips framed around a furious retort, but a mild voice interrupted their argument.
“Gentlemen,” said Curtis, appearing in the doorway, “there is no need for such desperate measures. I apologise profusely if there has been any misunderstanding. You are not my prisoners. I merely wished to invite you to breakfast.”
The little man was neatly dressed in black velvet doublet and hose, knee-high black boots and a black skull-cap. He explained his profession as he led them to the house, from where drifted the delicious smell of frying bacon and sausages. Mauley’s judgment proved to be correct. Curtis was an apprentice of the law, or a barrister.
“I chose not to assume the serjeant’s coif,” he said, entering the hall, “for that would mean leaving here to work in Westminster, and I am too fond of my native county. I am a Devonshire man, gentlemen, originally of Exeter, and I have not moved very far in thirty-nine years. My regrettable lack of worldly experience is, or so I like to think, offset by my commitment to my work, and some local distinction and eminence that are the fruits thereof.”
He prattled on in this wordy, genial manner all the way through breakfast, the lateness of which he apologised for.
“I am a late sleeper and consequently a late riser,” he said. “I have no wife, you see, to keep me from such deplorable bachelor’s habits, ha ha!”
Richard didn’t mind. The hall was small and homely, not much bigger than the cellar at Heydon Court, with a low ceiling and ancient smoke-blackened rafters that might have been supporting the roof since the Conquest. Flitches of pork and beef hung from hooks on the rafters, as well as a few unplucked pheasants, freshly taken from the moor.
Breakfast was served on clay platters by one of the rough-looking servants. Richard had a ravenous appetite for the thick slices of fatty bacon, black bread, porridge and mess of eggs that were laid before him. There was also apple cider to wash it all down, strong, cloudy stuff that made his head swim.
The food and drink combined with his weariness to dull his senses. He was caught quite off-guard when Curtis, having finished eating and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, suddenly pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said brightly, rubbing his slender, bird-like little hands, “I have told you much about myself, and it is time for you to return the favour. Why were you wandering the moor last night like a couple of lost sheep? And please, no more nonsense about wine merchants and thieves.”
Richard and Mauley exchanged glances. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said Richard, rising. “We thank you for the shelter and the meal, but must be on our way.”
“Sir, please,” said Curtis, adopting a pained expression. “I did not mean to alarm you. I have not lived in this divided, war-torn county for so long without developing certain instincts. To be frank, you both stink of politics. I know the odour well, since I am tainted by it myself.”
He looked from one to the other. “You are still not certain of me. Perhaps I should declare my allegiance.”
He reached into the leather drawstring purse at his belt and took out a small square of cloth, dyed and embroidered with the arms of the Earl of Devon, three red circles against a yellow field.
“I am for the Earl,” he said, holding up the badge. “He has always been my lord, and I am not the sort to break faith. But I am also a civilised man. If you are for Lord Bonville, or York, or some other party, have no fear. You are guests under my roof, and we shall be friends for the duration of your stay.”
Richard ignored Mauley’s warning glance. “We have not been honest with you, Master Curtis,” he replied, “and so it is my turn to apologise. We are for Lancaster and the King, and have come from the Duke of Somerset in France with letters for your lord.”
After that confession, all was smiles and good fellowship, and Curtis invited Richard to his private study to discuss matters further. Richard ordered Mauley to wait in the hall while they conferred, to which he agreed with bad grace and a shake of his greying head.
“I must apologise for the rough manners of my servants,” said Curtis, settling comfortably into the high-backed chair behind his desk and gesturing Richard to sit in a spare, “but they keep my house secure. We are isolated here, and Devon is a lawless place these days – as who should know better than I, who is charged with maintaining the law? It is a wise man who takes precautions for the guarding of his home.”
Richard looked around the room, at the thick ledgers and folios stacked neatly on shelves around the walls. It was much as he imagined a lawyer’s private den to be, and the air was heavy with the smell of dust and old leather.
“I was told in France of the feud between the Earl and Lord Bonville,” he said, taking a seat.
“Indeed, a terrible affair…ah, your name has escaped me.”
Richard smiled. “I never gave it. I am Richard Bolton, of Staffordshire, and my companion is Nicholas Mauley.”
“Just so, just so. Yes, a terrible affair, a long, bitter private war, and one that has made Devon rotten with feud and conspiracy. No man dares trust another. Five years ago there was a pitched battle between the contending factions at Clyst, a few miles north of here. Hundreds of men were killed. I spend much of my time dealing with the consequences of it.”
He rubbed the side of his nose and gazed bleakly at the polished oak of the desktop. “Whole families have sworn to be revenged on each other. That means wholesale larceny and homicide, breaking of parks and warrens, brawling in the streets, sheep-stealing, unjust seizure of land, trespass and assault, and God knows what else. We gentlemen of the law are kept busy, I can assure you.”
He drifted into a silent reverie. “But you are for the Earl, and Lancaster,” Richard prompted.
Curtis started, and looked up. “I beg your pardon. Yes. Just so, just so. The Earl is my good lord, though I wish he was not so hot in pursuing his interests. And I am the King’s loyal subject. What, a rebel lawyer? Who could imagine such a thing, ha ha!”
“I spoke of good faith earlier,” he went on, “but in truth it pays to stay in the Earl’s good graces. Have you heard the story of Nicholas Radford? No? He was a barrister like myself, an old man of seventy or more, and lived up on Exmoor. Before the battle at Clyst, one of the Earl’s sons gathered a hundred of his father’s tenants and fell upon Radford’s house. They seized his chattels, abused his sick wife, and dragged him out onto the moor, where they thrust knives through his body and left him to die. All because Lord Bonville was one of his clients. When Radford’s servants tried to bury their master, the Earl’s men tipped great stones onto the body as it lay in the grave, crushing it beyond recognition, so that no coroner might hold an inquest.”
Richard listened to the dreadful tale with horror. Somerset and Trollope had warned him that Devonshire was lawless, but it was far worse than that. The place was a hell-pit, abandoned by God and given over to every criminal excess. He wondered if Staffordshire had fallen into similar ruin since he left. If so, it would probably be thanks to his misdeeds, and he felt a rare twinge of guilt for leaving his family to face the consequences of them.
“I must deliver the letters I carry to the Earl at Exeter, and return to France,” he said fervently, and silently added,
as quickly as possible, before this country proves the death of me.
“Alas, the Earl is not at Exeter,” replied Curtis. “The last I heard he was at Wells, many miles to the north, staying as a guest of Bishop Beckington. Poor old Beckington is trying yet again to broker peace between the contending factions. He refuses to admit that there can be none until either the Earl or Lord Bonville is dead. Even then their sons will most likely carry on the feud.”
“Then I will go to Wells.”
Curtis studied Richard a moment, his large eyes seeming to weigh and assess every aspect of the other man’s character.
“It is a long ride, some forty miles through dangerous country,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise attempting it with just one bodyguard. Are these letters vital, then?”
“I was forbidden to read them,” Richard replied carefully, “but the Duke of Somerset would not have entrusted me with anything trivial. He is sorely pressed at Guines, and the Lancastrian cause is on a knife-edge. I believe he means to raise the West Country for the King. ”
Curtis ran a hand through his greying curls. “God save us, more bloodshed. Still, as I am the Earl’s man, so I am the King’s, and it is my duty to aid you. I will lend you three of my men to escort you to Wells.”
“My thanks,” said Richard, “and I would beg one more favour. Lodge my servant here until I return. I can pay for his keep.”
Curtis raised his eyebrows. “Why do you not wish him to accompany you?”
“Because, to be frank, I am sick of the sight and sound of him. The man is insolent, and has long since forgotten his place.”
The barrister was visibly taken aback by the request, but agreed to keep Mauley at Woodbury Hall until Richard returned from Wells. For his part, Richard was only too glad to be quit of Mauley, and told him so.
Mauley reacted with indifference. “So I’m condemned to stay here and make free of the lawyer’s victuals while you venture into the wilds of Devon, braving all manner of danger?” he said carelessly, propping his feet up on the table. “Well, I think I can bear it. God go with you.”
Richard was hard-pressed not to strike him, and stalked out of the hall, furious and not a little wounded. He had known Mauley for much of his life. Until recently the veteran had always been a model retainer – loyal, caring and dependable. He hardly recognised him now.
Four riders set off from the Hall early the following morning. The walled city of Exeter was visible to the north-east, a sprawling place dominated by its massive cathedral and the castle known as Rougemont, after the hill of red stone it stood on and was partially made of.
Richard kept his eyes fixed on the city until it had dwindled out of sight. He inwardly cursed the Bishop of Bath and Wells. Were it not for the old fool’s meddling, the Earl of Devon might have still been in residence at Exeter, and Richard’s task far simpler and less dangerous.
It was a fine summer’s day, and the air heavy with the scent of foxgloves and new hay. They rode past peasants hard at work in the fields, the men strung out in a long line harvesting ripe wheat with their scythes, while the women and children followed, sheaving and stooking the felled crop. Smoke from the chimneys of a little village, tucked into a valley about a mile to the north, curled lazily into a clear blue sky.
Richard’s new companions were taciturn, capable-seeming ruffians. He reckoned all had been soldiers at one time or another, judging from the way they handled their gear and horses.
“A pretty country, this,” he said to one, indicating the landscape of lush, rolling fields and patches of green woodland. “It reminds me of my home in Staffordshire.”
The man grunted in reply, and shaded his eyes to peer at the wooded valley they were descending into. Here the road was narrow, winding and ill-kept, and Richard knew he should be wary of thieves and outlaws lurking in the overgrown hedgerows. However, it was such a pleasant day, and he was so glad to be free of Mauley’s company, that he allowed his guard to drop a little.
“Where are you from?” Richard asked, determined to make conversation.
“A place called Taunton,” the other replied in his gruff West Country burr. “Let us no more talk for now, if you please. The woods in these parts are thick with brigands and outlaws.”
Richard obeyed, though he disliked being given orders by an inferior, and they rode down into the valley in silence. The trees grew thick and close here, forming a dark green canopy overhead that blocked out the sun. All was quiet save a few birds chirping in the branches, and the occasional rustle of some creature seeking shelter or a meal in the undergrowth.
About halfway through the valley Richard’s guards brought their horses to a halt.