A King's Betrayal Page 17

‘If they wish to kill me too then they must. Beth blinked to stop her tears. ‘I shall take her down. ‘May I borrow your handcart to take her body home?’

  Mistress Grey hesitated, then inclined her head. ‘I think you are unwise, but if you wish you may borrow the cart.’

  ‘I shall take her down first.’

  ‘Then I shall come with you.’

  Beth saw the fear in her eyes. ‘No, you have been a good friend but I shall not allow you to risk yourself for me. I will go to the tree and cut her down. If I am not opposed you may bring the cart to me and then I shall take her home to the woods.’

  ‘You are a brave girl. I pray that God will protect you.’

  ‘God does not know me.’

  ‘God knows everyone. He knows your heart, Beth.’

  Beth nodded and walked on, through the village and up the hill towards the castle. She could see the tree and the body dangling, swaying this way and that in the wind. Her throat was tight and her eyes stung but she did not feel fear. Why had these people done this thing when Marthe had always tried to help them? Perhaps Marthe had sometimes used the dark arts to get what she wanted but for the most part she had helped people in their time of need. She was not evil and she did not deserve to die this way.

  Standing under the tree, Beth looked up and shuddered as she saw Marthe’s face. It was a grotesque mask, her tongue protruding and eyes bulging. How she must have suffered! Beth felt a surge of grief. How could people do such cruel things? They were wicked and would surely go to Hell.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked, her cheek wet with tears. ‘Why did you make it easy for them? Had you stayed at the cottage you would have been safe.’

  She did not need to hear the answer. Marthe might not be her true mother but she had loved her as much as she was capable of love. Beth did not know what had shaped her into the woman she had become, but she knew Marthe had cared for her despite the sharp words and stinging slaps.

  It would not be easy to cut her body down. The branch was too high above her head for her to reach. She could see that the only way was to climb into the tree and crawl along the branch to the end and then cut through the rope that held her. A ladder would have made it easier but she would not ask anyone from the village to lend her one. As yet no one had come to stop her, though a few of the villagers had gathered to watch.

  Tucking up her skirts, she climbed the tree. It was easy enough for a girl who foraged for birds’ eggs and lived in the wood. The branch was strong and would bear her weight. Beth knew exactly what she must do. She began to inch her way along the branch until she reached the rope, clinging to it with her hands and legs. Concentrating on her task, she hardly noticed the man ride up and dismount until he called to her.

  ‘Come down, Beth. It is too dangerous. I will have a ladder brought and send a man up. I intended to do it before you were told.’

  Beth ignored Sir William’s warning. Slowly, she wormed her way to where the rope had been looped over the branch. Once or twice she almost lost her balance but managed to cling on and right herself. Reaching the rope at last, she took out her knife. Sitting, with her legs clasping the branch between them, she began to saw at the thick rope. Marthe’s body was several feet above the ground and would fall but it could not be helped. She would feel no pain.

  ‘I’ll catch her,’ William called. ‘She’ll fall into my arms.’

  Beth glanced down and nodded. The rope was fraying; it finally broke and then Marthe’s weight took her down. The force made William stagger as he caught her and he almost dropped her, but then he recovered his balance and held her.

  ‘I have her safe,’ he said. ‘She weighs so little and she is thin – she must have been half-starved.’

  ‘The winter has been hard for all.’

  Beth shinned down the tree. She walked to where William stood, holding Marthe in his arms. Her throat closed and she could hardly speak. Sir William looked at her with pity.

  ‘I am sorry for what they have done. It was wrong and evil.’

  Beth blinked but could not answer.

  ‘No need to speak,’ he said. ‘I wish you had come to me for help. You should have come, Beth.’

  ‘She never harmed anyone,’ Beth said when at last she was able to speak. ‘To my knowledge she did only good. Why did they do this to her?’

  ‘Had I been here I should not have allowed it. Even if she were a witch she deserved her trial in a proper court. This is murder and I shall punish those responsible.’

  ‘It will not bring her back.’

  ‘It is all I can do.’

  ‘I did not ask for your help.’ She looked at him proudly, eyes stinging with tears.

  ‘Where do you wish her to be buried? I do not think the Church would allow her to lie in consecrated ground.’

  ‘She would not wish it. I shall bury her in the woods. Mistress Grey said I could borrow her handcart.’

  ‘I shall take you home. Get up on my horse and hold her close to you,’ he said. ‘I shall walk beside you.’

  ‘Why should you help me?’

  ‘Because I wish it. Do not deny me this, Beth.’

  For a moment she hesitated, pride making her hold back, but then she went to his horse and stood waiting. He hoisted Marthe’s body across the saddle, then turned to Beth and gave her his hand, helping her up. She rode legs astride, as she had sat on the branch, her legs bare to the thighs. Taking Marthe’s limp form in her arms, she held her to her breast. William nodded, then started back down the hill leading the horse by its bridle. At the edge of the village a small crowd had gathered to watch.

  ‘God bless you, Sir William,’ a voice cried and others echoed it. ‘’Tis a shame. A wicked shame. Beth hath been good to us all – it was not well done.’

  ‘Forgive us, Sir William.’

  ‘She was a witch and deserved her fate.’

  John Blacksmith had planted himself in front of the path they must follow, hands on hips and a belligerent look on his face. He was as tall as his overlord and powerful. At his side the priest glared at the villagers, his eyes dark with hatred.

  ‘She was a proven witch,’ the priest spat the words out. ‘She brought the sickness that killed your pigs and made you ill.’

  ‘Shame on you, priest,’ William spoke and the crowd fell silent. ‘Shame on you John Blacksmith. Even had she been a witch she was entitled to be tried by a court of law. What happened here was murder. I could hang the pair of you but there has been enough death. Neither of you is welcome in this village. The priest may return to his bishop and arrange for his own replacement – as for you, John Blacksmith, you have one month to leave the village.’

  My forge – my cottage…’ John Blacksmith’s eyes bulged in disbelief. ‘The forge has been in my family for three generations.’

  ‘It is in my gift and on my land. I am taking back the lease I granted you when your father died. Take the tools you can carry and leave – and your family with you.’

  ‘But where shall I go?’ John Blacksmith looked devastated. ‘Please, my lord, do not send me away. If I cannot find work my family will starve.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you incited others to murder. Now you must seek work elsewhere. If I catch you on my land I’ll hang you.’ William looked round at the shocked faces. ‘I shall not tolerate those who take the law into their own hands. Anyone who lays a finger on Beth shall answer to me – if she is harmed I’ll hang the man or woman that harms her. I am the law here and I intend to be obeyed. Now out of my way.’

  Murmuring, shocked and looking at each other, they made way as he led his horse through them and continued between the houses to the far end.

  ‘Whore…like her mother. She’s a whore…’

  ‘Witch’s spawn!’

  Neither William nor Beth looked back. He did not speak and she spoke only to guide him through the wood. When they saw the hut, he brought the horse to a halt and looked up at her.

  ‘Where do you wish
her to be buried?’

  Beth slid Marthe’s body down into his arms and then dismounted. She looked about her for a moment, then pointed to an oak tree a little distance away.

  ‘I think there beneath the spread of the canopy. Marthe loved that tree. It is a fitting place for her to rest.’

  ‘Yes, I think it is. Do you have a spade – anything to dig with?’

  ‘Yes. I brought a tool from Mistress Soames’s house when I fetched things I thought useful. I shall bring the rest of her belongings soon. I thought I might live in the village one day but…’ She shook her head, blinking back her tears.

  ‘You would be safe enough now. With the troublemakers gone the others would not dare to harm you.’

  Beth shook her head. She walked towards the spot where she wanted Marthe to rest and asked that he place her body on the ground. He did so, taking care to cover her legs with her tunic.

  ‘Thank you. I can manage now.’

  ‘You need to dig a deep enough grave. If it is too shallow foxes or dogs may dig up her bones. I shall dig the hole for you.’

  ‘You?’ Beth was startled. ‘You are the lord.’

  ‘I am Sir William and a man not a deity,’ he said. ‘I can dig deeper than you – fetch me the spade and let me help you. It is little enough.’

  Beth hesitated and then went to fetch the spade. She handed it to him and watched as he began to dig. He was strong and powerful and wielded the spade as he would a sword, hacking at the roots and earth until he could dig deep. The hole soon became longer and deeper and he was standing it in to shoulder height.

  ‘I think that is deep enough,’ he said and climbed out. ‘Have you anything to wrap her in?’

  ‘She has a blanket – there may be something in her coffer.’

  Beth went into the hut. Marthe’s coffer stood in one corner. Beth had never touched it. She hesitated and then lifted the lid. Inside, lying on the top was a cloak of soft wool. Beth had never seen Marthe wear the cloak. Picking it up, she took it out to the oak tree. Beth discovered that Sir William had placed Marthe’s body in the grave. She handed him the cloak and he nodded, wrapping it over and round her like a shroud. He climbed back out and stood looking down.

  ‘I know Marthe was not a Christian woman in the true sense of the word, lord,’ he said and made the sign of the cross over the grave. ‘But I beg Your mercy for her soul and ask that You give her peace.’

  Turning to Beth, he said, ‘Is there anything you wish to say or do?’

  ‘Just this…’ Beth stepped forward and threw a spray of primroses she’d seen growing nearby into the grave. ‘I think she liked them but it was never easy to know her.’

  ‘She was your mother.’

  ‘No, I do not think so. She found me wandering when I was a child – but she was as a mother to me and I have forgotten my life before she took me in.’

  ‘You do not know who you are?’ Beth shook her head. ‘Why did you not tell me before?’

  ‘What difference does it make?’

  ‘Perhaps none,’ he said and began to fill in the grave. Beth fell to her knees, pulling at the earth with her hands, helping to smooth it over. When they had finished, they stood back and then looked at one another. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I do not know.’ She hesitated, then, ‘I shall stay here for a while – if I may?’

  ‘Can you manage here alone?’

  ‘Marthe rarely left the hut. I set the traps and foraged for our food.’

  ‘I will give you money…’ He smiled oddly as she took a step back, shaking her head in denial. ‘No, not to be my mistress. To help you live as others live with a proper home and friends.’

  ‘You have been my friend today.’

  ‘I am glad to have been of service.’ He took a step towards her. ‘You will not come to the castle?’

  ‘You have said, I am safe enough now – thanks to you.’

  ‘I regret what happened. I would make reparation if I could.’

  ‘You have this day. I shall not forget your kindness, Sir William.’

  ‘But still you will not come?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Very well, if you will not accept my help – but the offer stands.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Beth watched as he mounted his horse and rode away. She did not move, standing where she was even when he looked back. Then, after he was out of sight, she knelt by Marthe’s grave, bent her head and wept.

  Twenty Eight

  Her tears had dried and Beth knew she must return to the hut. If she were to eat that day a fire must be built and lit and the remains of the stew heated. Pain swept over her as she remembered her night of anxious waiting for Marthe to return. She had saved her supper but Marthe would never eat it now and food must not be wasted. Sir William had offered her money but Beth knew that if she accepted his gift he would expect her to give him something in return. Perhaps she was foolish to cling to her pride but she did not wish to be his whore, knowing that people whispered behind her back. If she gave into him he would tire of her before long and then she would find it harder to return to her life in the woods.

  After she had made up the fire and set it going, she left the stew to heat and looked around her. There was little enough to see for Marthe possessed only her bedding, various pots, vessels to hold her potions and the pestle and mortar she used for grinding; also two stools and the large coffer that stored her personal things and provided a bench for her work. In the cottage in the village there was a roughly made chair, table, two coffers and many items used for cooking, also a frame that Mistress Soames had used for her embroidery and a pewter candlestick. Most of the things Beth wanted would fit on to the handcart Mistress Grey had promised she could borrow; though the table might have to be left behind. She might need to make two trips to fetch them, but it would be worth it, because she did not feel she could live in the village now.

  Beth’s eyes went to Marthe’s coffer as the stew began to simmer gently. What secrets did that trunk contain? She had never before seen the cloak that she had taken to cover Marthe in her grave, and she remembered her mother’s cryptic words that she might find the truth in her coffer one day.

  She corrected herself mentally. Marthe was not her mother. She had hinted as much on more than one occasion when her mind was wandering. Now that she was dead, Beth needed to know the truth.

  Breathing deeply to steady herself, she knelt in front of the coffer and began to take out the contents. Lying on top was a tunic of rich blue wool and with it a headband of blue bound with red ribbons, also a pair of good leather shoes. Beth thought they looked as if they might be Marthe’s wedding clothes for they were too small for the woman she had known and looked hardly used. Marthe must have put them away to save them. Lifting them out carefully, she looked beneath and discovered two linen shifts with embroidery on the hems and two girdles made of plaited strips of leather, all unsuitable for the woman Marthe had become in later years. There was a small leather purse, which contained five silver pennies and several groats, more money than Beth had ever seen before. On the rare occasions when Marthe had decided to visit the market she’d given Beth a groat to buy a hot mincemeat pie but only once more than a silver penny. That was the day Beth had visited the fair alone – the day she saw the pilgrim, who was somehow cured of his sickness, if indeed he was ever sick.

  Beth counted the money again, then put the pouch to one side for she would only use it if she needed it. She had always bartered for her goods and would do so in future unless she was in dire need. Marthe had earned these coins selling her body to men and Beth thought of them as tainted.

  Right at the bottom of the coffer there was a small package wrapped in linen. This must contain the secret if there was one for the coffer was now empty. Beth’s hands trembled as she reached for the package, taking it out carefully and sitting with it in her hands for a moment before she opened it. Inside was a child’s gown made of faded green silk, which still
smelled faintly of some perfume, and a small cross and chain. The cross was marked with a pattern and when she held it to the fire it glowed and caught the light. Beth had seldom seen gold, though she thought the heavy ring on Sir William’s right hand must be gold; she was certain that the necklet must be made of the precious metal that people prized so much.

  Her hand trembled as she touched it. Her stomach clenched with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Were these things truly hers? They must be. Why else would Marthe have kept them and told Beth to look in the coffer when she was gone?

  How could these costly things belong to Beth?

  Only the daughter of a lord would have precious items like these. Beth stared at the gown and gold chain for a moment longer, then placed them carefully with the rest of Marthe’s possessions as she got up to stir the pot, which was bubbling fiercely. Her mind whirled in confusion as she struggled to take in what she had discovered. Where had she come from and why had Marthe taken her?

  ‘You should have told me,’ she whispered as the tears wetted her cheeks. ‘Why did you not tell me who my mother was? Why did you not take me back to her?’

  All at once Beth knew that the vague memories she’d had of the lady and the castle were not just dreams but her life as it had been before Marthe found her. She seemed to remember a beautiful lady who had smelled nice. She had kissed Beth and told her stories…stories of kings and of history…It was no use, Beth could not push back the veil that hid that other life from her. There were only vague scenes, like wisps of mist floating through her mind. She could not be sure if they were memories or dreams. Who was the man with the golden band about his forehead? Why had he called her his precious girl? Too many years had passed and she had been a small child, though old enough to learn her letters at her mother’s knee – which explained why she’d known them when Marthe struggled to teach her.

  She returned to the coffer and began to replace Marthe’s things, leaving the silk dress and gold chain until last. Beth did not want Marthe’s things, even though she might be able to sell the clothes if she took them to the market. It was a long walk for the market was held at a small town some ten miles beyond the lord’s boundaries at the edge of the huge sprawling forest that had been created in the eleventh century for the King’s hunting ground. If she grew desperate she might take the clothes and sell them but not yet. It was too soon.