Devil's Acre Page 11

  This time, with Simone accompanying us, there was no difficulty gaining entry to the great hall. Once inside it soon became apparent why our presence had gone unnoticed. The place was in uproar with servants rushing everywhere carrying, moving, erecting, screening. The cacophony was deafening. Small wonder no-one heard our approach.

  ‘Do you think all this is for us?’ I asked, bewildered.

  ‘Naturally,’ said Samson, his chest expanding. ‘Who else would it be for?’

  Simone now returned with a servant in tow carrying a tray of spiced wine. ‘I have informed Lord William of your arrival, father. He and his sisters will be along presently.’

  ‘The sisters are coming?’ said Samson accepting a cup of wine.

  ‘All are anxious to greet the Abbot of Bury,’ she smiled.

  Samson gave a gracious nod of his head. ‘We will be pleased to wait.’

  I continued to marvel at all the activity going on around us. If all this really was for Samson’s benefit it was certainly impressive and showed just how highly they thought of him. The central focus of activity seemed to be the dais which ran the full length of one side of the hall. Four high-backed chairs had been positioned at the front of it with an overhanging canopy embossed with what I presumed was the Warenne family crest - a chequered shield of alternating blue and gold squares. The two colours seemed to be something of a motif being everywhere we looked. Around the hall was hung a series of exotic tapestries and screens depicting for the most part hunting scenes - harts, horses, men with bows. It all seemed rather elaborate for so short a visit.

  At a signal from one of the ushers all activity suddenly ceased. The builders and decorators were shooed out and in a moment we went from turmoil to calm as silence descended on the hall. Then at another signal a door at the side of the dais opened and a flurry of liveried servants - in blue-and-gold, naturally - was admitted like a swarm of bees from a hive. A moment later there a rustling of skirts could be heard through the door and the bellow of a horn announced the entry of the Warenne siblings. All four entered the hall sedately and mounted the dais taking their places in front of the chairs. For a moment they stood surveying the assembled hall before them. When all was ready they sat followed by everybody else.

  While all this elaborate choreography was going on I took stock of our hosts. Lord William was a man of comparable age to me I’d guess: that is to say in his mid-thirties. But there the similarities ended. While I was a drab sparrow William was an elegantly-dressed peacock who wore his hair long in the French style. His gown was of dark blue velvet exquisitely tailored and covered in pearls. His hands too were so beringed you’d have thought he was wearing gloves made of pure diamond. With that and his clipped auburn beard he reminded me, with a jolt, of King John. But then I remembered the Warennes sprouted from the same Plantagenet tree, albeit an inferior branch.

  The three Warenne sisters were as different from each other as they were from their brother. The one nearest me, the Lady Maud, was clearly the oldest of them all being I guessed about forty years of age. Auburn like her brother, short and sour-looking, she was dressed in a style that even my mother would have regarded as old-fashioned.

  Between her and William in both age and position came Isabel - named presumably for her mother the countess. Where Maud was spare and bloodless, this lady was plump and pink with hair the colour of bleached straw. Her cheeks were flushed but I couldn’t tell if this was natural or simply because she had been snivelling so much into the silk rag that she was holding crumpled against her nose. Her clothes were less conservative than her sister’s. Indeed, I have seen Bury whores less provocatively dressed.

  The final sibling was the most intriguing of them all. Lady Adela de Warenne was the clearly youngest and by far the prettiest sister. She needed no false decoration to enhance her simple beauty. From the look of her she too had been shedding tears but unlike Isabel she evidently preferred to do her grieving in private since her eyes, though red-ringed, were dry.

  After a moment’s pause Samson rose to his feet and bowed low to our hosts:

  ‘My lord, ladies, I bring you greetings from the men of Saint Edmund. May I present Brother Walter, our physician? Prior Maynus of course you know.’

  Lord William replied: ‘My lord abbot, greetings. We bid you and your companions welcome.’ Then he sighed, ‘but truly father, you have taken us by surprise. We were not expecting you until next week.’

  Samson looked wounded. ‘Surely my lord, you received our letter informing you of our visit?’

  ‘Well yes, we did,’ agreed William hooking his leg over his chair arm. ‘But as you can appreciate at the moment we are a little…’ he searched for the right word: ‘Disorientated. My father’s illness has thrown us somewhat.’

  ‘I am grieved to hear of the earl’s condition,’ Samson nodded gravely. ‘I can assure you, sir, of the prayers of all the monks and people of Saint Edmund’s and our earnest hope that his grace may be fully recovered to health very soon.’

  At that the Lady Isabel let out a gulping sob: ‘We p-pray d-daily for a miracle, f-father abbot. Although s-so far to n-no av-vail.’

  ‘We do indeed pray for a miracle,’ agreed William. ‘And it wouldn’t be the first time we got one. Did you know, father, that when he was a young man the earl was visited in a dream by Thomas Becket, no less? Oh yes. The good saint obliged him then by curing his blindness. This time my sister is hoping for a little more. What are her chances, d’ya think? Might he survive till Easter? After all, she’s sent a king’s ransom to the monks of Canterbury for their prayers.’

  The Lady Isabel looked at him horrified. I must say I too was shocked by his words. And it seemed we weren’t the only ones:

  ‘Oh, save your blasphemies, brother,’ drawled the Lady Maud. ‘The abbot doesn’t wish to hear them and neither do I. We all know you’re impatient for father’s coronet. Don’t worry. You won’t have much longer to wait.’ She leaned towards Samson. ‘My father is an old man, father abbot, as indeed you are yourself. And it is the habit of old men, is it not, to die?’

  ‘All our lives are in God’s hands, my lady,’ replied Samson levelly.

  ‘Then let us hope he keeps a tight grip of yours at least until after you leave Acre. How long will you be staying?’

  ‘Once I have concluded my business with the earl, a day or two - with the prior’s permission.’ He nodded towards Maynus.

  ‘Ah yes, our little French mouse. I’d almost forgotten you were there. Don’t be shy, little mouse. Come into the light where we can see you.’

  A naturally reticent man, Maynus blushed to be singled out so conspicuously. He stood to reply but before he had the chance the lady cut across him:

  ‘And you there,’ she squinted at me. ‘Physician are you? Why are you here? We have physicians of our own. Much use they are,’ she sneered.

  This set Isabel off sobbing again.

  ‘Speaking of your business with my father,’ said Lord William, ‘what exactly is its nature?’

  Samson hesitated. ‘With respect, my lord, that is a matter for the earl.’

  ‘Normally, yes. But under the circumstances I think we should know. We don’t want him bothered with trivia.’

  I could sense Samson bridle a little at that. ‘I promise you, sir, that my business with the earl is not unwarranted.’

  ‘Possibly, but unless we know what it is how can we judge?’

  Samson wriggled. ‘I’m not sure I’m at liberty to disclose the details.’

  ‘Then I’m not sure I can take the risk.’

  ‘The truth is, my lord, until I see the earl I cannot know precisely what it is he wants.’

  Lord William snorted. ‘What? You’ve come all this way without knowing what it’s about? I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘It was your father who requested the meeting.’

  ‘That was before he became ill.’

  Samson pursed his lips. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

 
‘Then I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. God speed you back to Bury, father abbot.’ He started to rise from his seat.

  ‘Stop playing games, William,’ Maud flapped her brother down. ‘We all know why the abbot’s here. Papa wishes to disinherit you.’

  ‘Actually madam,’ said Samson, ‘it is his confession he wishes me to hear. He wishes to be shriven. For the quiet of his mind.’

  ‘If only his mind were q-quiet,’ hiccupped Isabel miserably.

  ‘No, that’s not it,’ frowned Maud. ‘If it were just to make his confession Maynus could have done that, or any one of a dozen clerics. No, Samson’s here because he knows mother.’ She leaned forward: ‘Not so, father abbot?’

  ‘It was the countess who summoned me,’ agreed Samson. ‘But it was at your father’s request.’

  Maud gave a lopsided smile. ‘Indeed.’

  While Maud was speaking William’s dwarf who had been sitting cross-legged in front of William now stood up on his misshapen legs and whispered something in his master’s ear. William looked across at Samson:

  ‘Well, whatever your true purpose, father, it seems it will have to wait. You will have noticed the preparations about you.’ He indicated the hunting scenes and the tapestries. ‘The fact is you have chosen an inconvenient day to make your visit. My nephew, Richard, is about to be squired and I’ve just been informed he is ready to begin.’ He smiled at Samson’s bewildered face. ‘Or did you think all this was for your benefit? Sorry, no. But you may stay for the ceremony if you wish.’

  So, not for Samson after all. It seemed we had blundered into something that had nothing to do with our visit. I could sense Samson’s fury at the deliberate slight. Now to add further insult we were having to witness the event that displaced us. Lord William clapped his hands and the lamps were extinguished plunging the hall into instant darkness so that we couldn’t leave even if we had wanted to. The servants already had their hands on our chair-backs. There was no escape. The entertainment was about to begin.

  For a moment it was impossible to see anything in the gloom but as my eyes adjusted I could just make out a faint glow at the furthest corner of the hall. Gradually there came floating on the air the forlorn sound of a flute playing a lament. Then from behind the screen emerged a lone figure walking steadily towards us. At first it was difficult to see who it was but gradually I could make out a young man dressed in a white tunic with a red crusading cross emblazoned across it. This presumably was the nephew Lord William was referring to: Richard. I must admit he was a fine-looking young man clearly of the same noble stock as his uncle. In one hand he carried a lantern and in the other a sword. As he approached he could be heard reciting a poem that I knew from my student days: the legendary Song of Roland.

  The poem tells of the great Christian emperor Charlemagne who while fighting the moors in Spain finds himself outnumbered and on the verge of defeat. Just as all appears lost Roland, the hero of the poem, saves the day by blowing on his horn three times thus summoning help from the imperial army. But the effort of blowing the horn is too much for him and he dies. When Charlemagne comes across Roland’s body he is filled with such rage that he chases the moors back into Spain where they all drown in the River Ebro. It is a tale of Christian triumph, heroic deeds, knightly honour and self-sacrifice and as such very appropriate for a would-be squire. The young man had clearly learned his lines well and delivered them with conviction and facility which we all applauded enthusiastically.

  But then, just as we thought the entertainment was over, another figure burst onto the stage: another young man about the same age as the first. He was dressed identically to his companion in a white tunic with a red cross emblazoned on it, but instead of a flute he carried a tin sword and in place of a lantern he held a very strange-looking object indeed. It looked - incongruously - like an elephant tusk. Like the first boy, this one also had a few lines to recite but whereas the first had delivered his with great eloquence and artistry this one sounded as though he had a mouthful of stones:

  ‘It is I, Roland,’ he lisped. ‘Seeing the dust of the cowardly heathen army approaching I summon great Charlemagne’s army by blowing on my olifant - thus!’

  He then put that strange instrument to his lips and tried to blow it up. Nothing came out but a breathy fart. He tried again:

  ‘I blow up my trusty olifant a second time!’

  Another fart. I stifled a laugh. This was a joke, surely, a deliberate mockery of the first boy’s performance. A murmur of disquiet ran round the audience. Lady Isabel leaned across to her sister:

  ‘What did he call that thing he’s playing?’

  ‘I think he said it was his “elephant”,’ replied Maud.

  ‘I thought that was an animal,’ said Isabel.

  ‘It is,’ said Maud.

  Undeterred, the lad had another go at making the strange instrument speak. The trouble was his lips were too fleshy and his tongue too big to play a trumpet. Still, this time he did manage a vaguely horn-like noise out of it, but it was far too loud.

  Startled, Isabel jolted backwards. ‘Oh!’

  At this I had to cover my grin with my hand. This was preposterous. But who was this buffoon? Did he not realise what a fool he was making of himself? Buoyed by his new-found success, the fool grinned idiotically:

  ‘I blow my horn a third time!’ he announced followed by another ear-splitting screech. By now we were all covering our ears and groaning.

  ‘For the love of Jove!’ said the Lady Maud. ‘Can’t someone shut him up before we are all deafened?’ She looked accusingly at her brother, but Lord William was giggling too much to reply.

  Now the clown took out his tin sword and started waving it above his head: ‘The horn having sounded thrice, great Charlemagne’s army is summoned and Christendom is saved!’

  ‘Did he say Christendom will be “saved” or “shaved”?’ asked Isabel barely managing to hide a fit of the giggles.

  ‘Does it matter?’ giggled her sister. ‘With this oaf in charge Christendom will soon be awash with Saracens.’

  Now Lord William’s dwarf got in on the act. He hopped onto the floor and folding his awkward body in half so that his head touched the floor, he let out a real fart just to show how it should be done only to be chased off by the boy whacking his behind with his sword to much cheering and whistling from the audience. I looked across at Lord William to see his reaction but he was giggling himself too much to do anything. And I have to say it was funny. The boy clearly didn’t understand that he was the joke, that the audience was laughing at him not with him - which made him all the funnier, of course.

  ‘But the effort being too great,’ the boy yelled doggedly on, ‘my trusty olifant is split asunder. Alas I die!’

  ‘Well go on then!’ Maud yelled at him. ‘Die!’

  And obligingly he did just that - noisily and thoroughly unconvincingly to a cascade of floor-stamping and cheering.

  ‘Bravo!’ said Lord William descending from the dais. ‘Well done Nick!’

  The boy jumped up flushed with success. ‘Was I good uncle? Did I die well?’

  ‘You did indeed,’ said William. ‘You both did,’ and he summoned the first boy and a group of his friends over to congratulate him. At first I thought how charming this was that they should include the idiot in their number. But then I saw that what they were really doing was smearing his back with muck from the floor. Fortunately the boy didn’t seem to notice although I was sure Lord William must. But did I hear right? Did he just call Lord William “uncle”? I looked questioningly at Samson but of all the people in the hall he seemed to be the only one not laughing.

  Then the boy’s face lit up again: ‘Grandmother!’

  I glanced round to see what he was looking at. Amid the confusion no-one had noticed the door opening at the far end of the hall and a flurry of ladies flooding in - headed, I was pleased to see, by the Lady Simone. In the middle of this coterie was the grandest lady of them all. Tall and regall
y elegant, there was surely no mistaking the Countess de Warenne. The moment she entered the hall the hubbub instantly hushed into silence. Ponderously she surveyed the assembled throng.

  ‘What’s going on here? William?’

  By now his lordship had slumped back onto his chair: ‘Nothing mother. An entertainment, that’s all.’

  ‘One of your cruel jokes more like.’ Her eye fixed on the boy-clown. ‘And he, presumably, is the butt of it.’

  ‘It’s all right grandmother,’ the boy whined. ‘I don’t mind.’

  The countess merely hissed at the boy. ‘And why is the reverend abbot still here? Old friend. I’m sorry you had to witness this.’

  Samson took the countess’s proffered hands in his: ‘My lady.’

  The countess turned back to her son. ‘Well?’

  ‘I found him standing on the doorstep,’ sighed Lord William. ‘It seemed impolite not to invite him in.’

  His sister Isabel yelped at that and covered her mouth quickly.

  ‘You insult the lord abbot with your boorishness,’ said the countess. ‘My instructions were quite clear. Abbot Samson was to be escorted to your father as soon as he arrived. Why did you disregard them?’

  William suddenly flashed anger. ‘Am I to be questioned now in my own court?’

  ‘It’s not your court,’ she snapped. ‘Not yet.’

  William smiled at her sweetly. ‘But soon - eh, mother?’

  At that I thought the lady might explode. A pity she didn’t for I was enjoying the scrap. But it wasn’t to last. The aristocracy never wash their dirty linen in public - at least, not the really interesting bits. But then something else caught my eye; something small and white…

  Esme.

  My heart jolted. She must have followed me from the priory. Spying me now she came bounding across the floor towards me and skidding to a stop in the middle as two of the heralds darted out to block her path. Unperturbed, she sat on her bottom and watched impassively as the two men, their arms outstretched, tried to corral her. But Esme was too quick for them and hopped out of the way, to the nervous applause of the audience. The two servants tried again this time coming at her from either side. But once again Esme managed to scuttle out of danger to more delicate applause.