[Roger the Chapman 06] - The Wicked Winter (12 page)

With one brawny arm, she lifted the cauldron off the fire and poured some of its now seething contents into a wooden bowl, while I emptied the fresh water into the barrel and went back for a second pailful. This time there was no interruption, although I heard voices raised behind the closed door of the Emprynghams' bedchamber, but was unable to distinguish anything of what they were saying. It was snowing too hard to eavesdrop, and I hastened back to the warmth of the kitchen.

Chapter Eight

As I re-entered the kitchen with my burden, I saw that a young man had joined us, still wearing boots and cloak, both garments liberally caked with snow. He was arguing vehemently with Martha Grindcobb about the necessity of providing him with food.

'You'll have to make do with bread and cheese,' she was complaining loudly. 'I can't be expected to start cooking again at this time of the evening.'

'It's barely past the hour of Compline!' he protested indignantly. 'I'm cold and hungry. I'll not be fobbed off with bread and cheese.'

The cook snorted, plunged her arms once more into her bowl of hot water and continued to wash the dishes.

'You'll not be fobbed off! And who do you think you are?' she demanded sourly, but answering her own question went on, 'Sir Hugh's rent and debt collector, that's who! No one of any great importance, whatever you might think!' The young man smoothed back the pale, fair hair which hung to his shoulders. The grey eyes glittered angrily.

'I've been on the road for three whole days and have ridden all the way from Woodspring since dinner time, weighed down by two saddle-bags full of money. I've done my job, so why can't you do yours?'

Martha Grindcobb withdrew her arms, red to the elbows, from the bowl and stood with hands on hips, regardless of the water dripping steadily down her skirt.

'Because I'm busy. Because I'm having to do a task that should normally be done by Edith and Ethelwynne. But they've decided to indulge in a fit of the vapours and are no good to man nor beast. That's one thing I'll say for you, Jenny,' she added grudgingly, turning to the little kitchen-maid who was silently drying the dishes, 'you don't let your feelings get the better of you. If you have any, that is.'

The young man had by now removed his boots and cloak, but paused in the act of shaking them free of snow to glance inquiringly at the cook.

'Why should the girls be having the vapours? What's happened to upset them?'

We all stared at him for a moment, then Martha Grindcobb shrugged and said, 'Of course, you don't know.'
 

'Know what?' As I passed him to empty my pail of water into the barrel, the young man followed my progress with his eyes. 'And who's this?'

'This is Roger Chapman and this, Friar Simeon. Both are spending the night here.' The cook resumed her labours.

'This is Sir Hugh's rent and debt collector, Fulk Disney.' The youth drew himself up to his full height, so that the crown of his head came just above my shoulder level.

'Fulk D'Isigny!' he hissed. 'My forebears came with the Conqueror from France.'

I held out my hand. 'Master Disney, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.'

My gesture of friendship was pointedly ignored.

'D'Isigny' he breathed again.

'Bless you, my son,' Simeon intoned, giving the sign of the cross, but he continued to stare solemnly into the heart of the fare, detached from the proceedings of us lesser mortals.

'What has happened?' Fulk Disney repeated impatiently.

'The mistress has slipped and fallen to her death from the tower,' Jenny Tonge put in, unable to remain silent any longer, and received a damp box on the ear for her pains.

'You speak when you're spoken to, my girl,' Martha Grindcobb told her, before enlarging on the subject to the horrified Fulk.

To do her justice, the cook was brief and to the point, not wasting her breath, as so many women are inclined to do, on fruitless speculation and patently false emotion. But there was only one aspect of the tragedy that interested Master Disney.

'What of Maurice? How is he bearing up? I must go to him at once - to tender my condolences,' he added swiftly.

But I saw Simeon's gaze rest briefly on the young man's face before returning to the fire. I reflected that our holy man was not as divorced from what was going on around him as he would have us believe. He was as capable of leaping to conclusions, either rightly or wrongly, as I was myself. I looked at Martha Grindcobb but, apart from a slight thinning of the lips, her face gave nothing away. Jenny Tonge's was equally expressionless, but I judged her too young and innocent to be possessed of such thoughts as Simeon and I were sharing, and I suddenly felt ashamed. Nevertheless, as soon as Fulk had quit the kitchen, all idea of eating temporarily forgotten, I went to sit beside the friar, dragging my stool as close as possible to his.

The two women being once again absorbed in their task, anxious to finish it as quickly as they could, Simeon turned his head and muttered wrathfully, 'Small wonder that poor dead creature wished for my guidance and advice. This house is a dung heap of iniquity! Adultery and the ancient vice of the Greeks ! My presence was needed to cleanse this Augean stable!'

I choked back a laugh at the thought of Simeon in the guise of Hercules, but then realised that his moral strength was probably just as great as the physical prowess of the ancient hero.

'We mustn't allow ourselves to be misled,' I whispered in return, 'or make false assumptions without proof. All Fulk Disney has so far done is to express a natural concern for his master's son, who has just lost his mother.'

'His stepmother,' Simeon replied tartly, 'and one, moreover, young enough to be his sister. I noted very little sign of grief in Maurice Cederwell.'

'All the same,' I urged, 'let's curb our imaginations. We are allowing them to run riot with nothing more to spur them on than a single, unguarded sentiment. Why should Fulk Disney not be worried for someone who is obviously his friend?'

The friar sent me a glance of ill-concealed contempt before hunching his shoulders, turning his back pointedly in my direction and sinking once more into his reverie. Resigning myself to the fact that I had for the moment forfeited his respect, I shifted my stool a little distance from both him and the fire, intent on finding out as much as I could from Martha Grindcobb. But before I had had time to utter more than a pleasantry or two, there was an interruption. We heard the door in the adjacent storeroom rattle open and then slam shut. Seconds later, Adela Empryngham made a tempestuous entrance into the kitchen.

'I'll not share a bed with Gerard any more tonight!' she announced to anyone who cared to listen. 'I've talked to him until I'm blue in the face, but he'll not see reason. We should leave here and go home to Gloucestershire now that Jeanette is dead. What can we possibly hope for if we stay, except humiliation and ultimate defeat? For Hugh doesn't want us here and will turn us out as soon as he can. He's already made that plain. But Gerard refuses to budge and talks wildly of retribution and other such nonsense, as he did earlier, in the hall.' She burst into noisy sobbing.

Martha Grindcobb left her dishes and placed a brawny arm about Adela's shoulders.

'Come to the fire, my dear, and warm yourself. Get up, Chapman, and let a lady sit down.'

I duly gave up my stool to Mistress Empryngham and sat on the floor among the rushes, while Jenny was sent running to the buttery for a stoup of ale. The recent animosity I had witnessed between the cook and her late mistress's sister-in-law seemed to have evaporated in their mutual condemnation of men.

'There's no doing anything with them when they're in that sort of mood,' Martha commiserated. 'I know. I've had two husbands and both as stubborn as mules when the fit was on 'em. Don't you worry, my dear. I'll make you up a spare pallet in the women's dormitory. Master Gerard'll be more likely to see reason in the morning. Jenny,' she added, as the child reappeared with a cup carefully cradled between both hands, 'you'll have to finish the dishes on your own. I'm away to settle Mistress Empryngham for the night. She's sleeping in with us, and perhaps she can talk some sense into the rest of the girls, for one of them'll have to assist Mistress Talke with laying out the body. All our nerves are a-jangle, and no wonder after the happenings of this day.' When Adela Empryngham had drunk her ale, she and the cook left the kitchen together and calm was restored. While Jenny washed what was left of the dirty pots and pans, I dried them for her. She gave me a timid smile but said nothing, for which I was grateful as I tried to marshal my thoughts into some sort of order. But I realised yet again how very tired I was, and my mind reeled under the impact of all that had occurred since I had left the boulder house that morning; the visit to Lynom Hall, the subsequent two mile walk to Cederwell, revisiting Ulnoth on the way, my encounter with Friar Simeon, the finding of Lady Cederwell's body and everything which had taken place subsequently. I was suddenly desperate for sleep, and as soon as I had finished my chore, I gathered up my belongings and retreated to a shadowed corner of the kitchen where the wall ovens still gave out some heat. I wrapped myself in my cloak, stretched my length on the floor and pillowed my head on my pack, keeping my cudgel close at hand. I was only vaguely aware of Simeon following my example and settling himself within a few feet of me, saying his prayers and shifting around for a while in the straw, searching for a comfortable position.

After that, I was oblivious to everything and everyone around me, and knew nothing more until next morning.

I was suddenly wide awake, refreshed after my long, deep, dreamless sleep and at once aware of a strange, almost unearthly light creeping through the cracks in the shutters.

The only sound in the kitchen was made by Brother Simeon's snoring, and as I rose to my feet, I could see that he was lying on his back, spittle dribbling from one corner of his gaping mouth down into his straggling beard. The night's growth of stubble adorned my own chin, and I reckoned that the sooner I got the fire rekindled, the sooner I should have hot water in which to shave. I trod softly across the kitchen and picked up the bellows, thrusting them into the remains of last night's fire, working them hard.

The room was freezing cold and I was shivering in spite of being fully dressed. I thought at first that the fire would have to be swept away and relaid, but at last a spark caught and then a stick began to crackle. I threw on extra logs from the basket and was rewarded by a sudden blaze. Satisfied that it would now burn well, I went into the main passageway, walked the length of the house to the front door, drew back the bolts and opened it. A remarkable sight met my gaze.

Every undulation, every contour of ground had vanished under a thick pall of snow. It lay inches deep in drifts of pure, dazzling white, stained here and there with shadows the colour of bilberry juice. I felt again the insensate longing of youth to stamp on it; experienced the same destructive urge to mar that pristine freshness, because such unadulterated beauty was more than the heart and eye could stand.

It had stopped snowing, but the watery sunlight was without warmth and the cold was intense. Blowing on my fingers, I returned to the kitchen where the sight of the fire crackling on the hearth was more than welcome. I filled one of the smaller cauldrons with water from the barrel and hung it from a trivet-hook to heat. The friar was still asleep, but began to rouse a little as I tramped about in my usual clumsy fashion. By the time I had unearthed the razor and a bar of soap from my pack, he was sitting up, sneezing violently.

'Bless you, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,' I said, grinning.

'Where...? Where am I?' he demanded, wiping his nose on one of his sleeves. 'Ah! Yes. I remember. Well, I suppose there's nothing more for either of us to do here, Chapman. When we've broken our fast, we'd best be on our way.' 'Without first cleansing the Augean stable'?' I asked, surprised.

Simeon clambered stiffly to his feet.

'Don't mock!' he ordered. 'The gentle lamb who brought me here is dead. Let the rest of them stew in their filth. God will exact His payment on the Day of Judgement, when they are all cast down into the Pit! He needs me elsewhere! My preaching mission is as yet only half accomplished.'
 

'I'm afraid neither you nor I will be going anywhere today,' I answered cheerfully, ladling some of the hot water into a bowl and proceeding to lather my chin. 'Several inches of snow have fallen during the night. Depending on how quickly it melts, and whether or not there is more to come, we might be snowed up here for days.'

He stared at me in horror, then rushed to throw open two of the shutters. A frame of thin, oiled parchment obscured his immediate view, but once, with my assistance, this had been removed, he was able to see for himself the heaviness of the fall. The narrow gully between the back of the house and the sheer cliff which rose behind it was, I reckoned, almost a foot deep in snow.

'It's worse here than in other places,' I said, 'but that's only to be expected. Nevertheless, it's bad and the tracks will be impassable. We may both heartily thank God that we're in a safe billet and not holed up in some barn or byre.

At least we're assured of warmth and food, four solid wails and a roof above our heads. Sir Hugh may not welcome our presence, but the laws of hospitality won't allow him to turn us out in such weather. Nor,' I added, struck by a sudden thought, 'Mistress Lynom and her grooms.' I chuckled. 'He'll not be pleased by all these extra mouths to feed.' Simeon made no reply, but edged closer to the fire, holding out his hands to the flames. He appeared even more bedraggled than he had done the day before. His sparse hair and beard were unkempt, a faint fuzz of down covering his tonsure. His robe was mired almost to his knees and I noticed a great rent in the hem. The winter pallor of his skin was more pronounced and his shoulders drooped, but no amount of discomfort or fatigue could quench the fiery fanaticism of his eyes.