De werelden waarnaar historische fictie ons voert, lijken misschien totaal anders

...MAAR ZE BESTAANDE 

CHAPTER 11

WHISPERING SWORD

 

 

It wasn’t until very late that they said their goodbyes and started on their way home, lighting the way with an oil lit rag wrapped around a branch. Thomas was happy with how things had gone but he wondered if he would always feel like this. Things in his life always seem to have a way of becoming… complicated.

          On their way, Thomas thought back to the discussion he had earlier with John about his layered stone and mud house with the chimney. John had told him about how there was a labour shortage because of the number of deaths from the sickness in York and that now was the perfect time to talk to the steward about building a new cottage for his mother and Agnes.

          His mother wasn’t getting any younger and a warmer house that kept the drafts away would better her journey into older age. It wasn’t often that a parent was alive to see the marriage of their son, but he hoped it might be different this time.

          William walked along, talking loudly and a bit merry from the strong ale, ‘So brother have you thought about yer weddin’ night yet?’

          Thomas remembered what William had said to Agnes and went to grab him, but William was too fast and stepped just out of his reach. Thomas left somewhat off balance regained his footing.           

          ‘William, I am going to thump you ‘till your black and blue!’ He yelled while trying to intercept his brother’s run.

          ‘You’ve got ta catch me first, Tommy boy,’ William smiled and stayed just out of arms reach.

          Thomas was angered and put on a burst of speed that William wasn’t expecting, caught him and had him in a headlock, knocking him on the top of the head with his knuckles.

          ‘That’s enough you two,’ said Margery laughing at their antics but getting weary from the walk home and the lateness of the hour.

          Thomas let him go, satisfied with the punishment, ‘That’ll teach yer Willy boy. I can still catch ya’ and give you a hidin’.’

          As they walked along Moorehouse Lane the quiet was disturbed by rustling in the bushes and Thomas stopped holding the torch high to investigate.

          Two men jumped out into the middle of the lane, their faces hidden by cloth masks and shielded by the darkness. Cousin Mary shrieked raised her hands to her face in fright and took a step backwards. Thomas and William stepped in front of their mother protectively.

          ‘Who do we have here then? Seems you’ve been celebratin’,’ said one of the men, his voice muffled by the mask he wore on his face. He was brandishing a sword.  

          ‘STAND AND DELIVER AND NOBODY WILL BE HURT,’ yelled the other masked man holding a knife and a truncheon, nervously moving the blade back and forth intimidatingly.

          ‘We have no coin,’ Margery said, raising her voice in the hope that somebody else might hear the commotion. At that point, William ran at the masked footpad, trying to tackle him to the ground.

          ‘NO WILLIAM!’ screamed Margery as he lunged forward.    

          The footpad stepped, lifted his arm and brought his truncheon down on the back of William’s neck. William thudded to the ground, groaning. Cousin Mary started to sob. The robber then grabbed William by the scruff of the neck, lifted him and pushed him roughly back towards the others.

          ‘Now then, there were no need for that. If you give us your coin you can be on your way.’  ‘If not, there could be blood tonight.’

          Margery stepped from behind Thomas, ‘Why don’t theur leave poor folk alone,’ she demanded.

          The footpad moved the sword from Thomas to Margery’s direction, ‘Well then, if you have no thought for yourself you might have for the old wench.’

          ‘Alright, alright leave her be,’ Thomas reached into his codpiece and brought out the three shillings John had given to him to ask for the lord’s blessing.

          The second footpad took the coins, ‘There there, that wasn’t so hard now was it, not as poor as the old wench makes out. Right you are, all of you turn around ‘n say the Lord’s prayer if you turn back around before then there could be blood shed this night!’

          By the time they turned around, the footpads were long gone into the darkness across the moors. Thomas turned quickly and ran toward the edge of the trees to see if he could see them, but it was too dark, and the torch could shed light only so far.

          William sat by the side of the road groaning and trying to ease the pain with his hand, rubbing the tender spot tentatively.   

          ‘Are you okay brother?’

          ‘Let’s get him home. Come on Cousin Mary, the night is a devilish one with evil creatures lurking, let’s get home quickly,’ said Margery worriedly.

          They continued to walk home mostly in silence, except for poor William who continued to hold onto the back of his neck.

          Thomas thought about the bandit his voice sounded, well, familiar, he thought to himself. Who were they masked men? Locals? No couldn't be?

         When they got home, Thomas helped William to a stool, sitting him down so that Margery could have a look. She helped him take his shirt off and dabbed the red and blue that was starting to appear, on his back, with a wet cloth.

          ‘Where did you get the shillings Thomas?’ Asked Margery inquisitively.

          ‘John gave it to me earlier ta pay for the lord’s permission for the banns.'

‘Why did you fetch it with thee tonight? You know there’s been footpads working here abouts,’ claimed Margery angrily.

‘Well, I thought ta get the lord’s permission this week before next Sunday or else cop the fine for him not knowin,’ pleaded Thomas.

          ‘God help us. Where are we going ta get twenty shillings to make up the lost dowry?’

          Thomas looked down, almost ready to kick himself then he looked up ‘Did you say twenty shillings, he only gave us three shillings.’ They both looked at each other with relief.

          ‘I will visit John tomorra night,’ said Thomas. 'He should be told what happened.'

          ‘Aye and you can pay a visit ta thy new young lass,’ Margery went to the chest and pulled out a linen sewn handkerchief she had made. ‘Give this as a gift.’

 

          After sewing the seed all day, Margery and William, still aching from the previous night, were tired from weeding and scaring the birds so they went back to the cottage.

          Thomas continued to Sun Street past the broken drywall, cottages on the left, rising hills dotted with sheep on the right. Up the hill he went where it turned into Marsh Lane. The setting sun over his left shoulder, lighting the way. Thomas finally reached the top of the hill and let his legs carry him down the other side. Down he went past more cottages, Moorhouse Lane, across the field and there it was. The Hargreaves stone cottage, cattle door open; the light of the fire escaping through the shutter.           

          The dogs barked, ‘John are you there? It is I Thomas,’ he called out. Agnes appeared in the light of the door.

          ‘Father is away, but mother is here, it is grand ta see thee,’ said Agnes and pleased with  his visit.

          Thomas had noticed that she had taken off her Sunday best, but she still looked pretty in the working clothes that she wore. He could see the gravy stain on her apron where she had been mixing and the flour still in her hair from the manor kitchen. He had never seen her with her hair out and he was impressed, long and dark with a slight wave which added to the shine.

          ‘I must speak to your father; we were robbed last night on the way home, William was hurt, two footpads brandishing swords and bludgeons. They threatened mother and stole shillings your father gave me.’ Mrs Hargreaves looked over,

          ‘Is William alright? John is out tending to the crop but your welcome to stay and wait for him, sit by the fire. Agnes pour Thomas an ale.’

          Thomas sat at the form near the fire as Mrs Hargreaves had instructed. Agnes poured ale and walked over handing it to Thomas who looked up at her.

          Agnes blushed, ‘Would you like something to eat? We have the pottage from last night and some good dark bread, that I made this morning, I brought it back from the manor.’

          ‘Will you sit with me for a while?’ Asked Thomas, shuffling over to make room for her.

          Agnes looked over at her mother for approval, who looked away, letting Agnes make her own decision.

          She sat feeling far more comfortable than last night. They didn’t say a thing, just enjoyed each other’s company. Staring into the fire, they both seemed mesmerised by the dancing flames. That was until the dogs started barking and Agnes could hear her father approaching. She immediately stood up feeling self-conscious and trying to overcompensate by walking toward the door, ‘Farther, Thomas is here, he has bad news.’

          ‘So I can see,’ said John, not used to having other men in his house when he arrived home.

           He took off his hat and hung it on the nail, ‘So what is this bad news Thomas?’ He enquired.

          ‘We were robbed by two footpads on the way home last night. They belted William and made off with the three shillings that you gave me.’

          ‘Sard’, exclaimed John with an angry contempt, not for Thomas, but the brutes who got away with the three shillings. ‘That’s the second time!’

          Both Mrs Hargreaves and Agnes were taken back by this because they rarely heard their father swear, ‘Please husband sit and have your tea, what is done is done,’ pleaded his wife sympathetically.

          ‘Tomorrow we will both go to the manor to ask for an audience with the steward and report these brutes!’ Exclaimed John.

          ‘Tonight, you can stay here; we will go first thing in the mornin’.’ Agnes brought over a bowl of pottage and tankard of ale for her father at the table and a tankard of ale for Thomas.          

          Agnes sat down beside him, ‘Are you okay Thomas?’ She enquired.       

          ‘Times are hard enough without all this,’ Thomas said sadly.

           ‘No use in crying over spilt milk at least William is okay,’ she whispered wisely. ‘Are you still in the frame of mind that you were last night? Any doubts?’ She looked at him inquisitively.       

          ‘No doubts at all,’ said Thomas confidently. ‘And you and your prince?’

          She smiled and lightly elbowed him.

          Then he remembered, ‘Oh, I have something for you.’ Standing he reached into his tunic and handed Agnes the linen handkerchief, ‘I hope you like it.’

          ‘Oh, nobody has ever given me anything so beautiful before,’ said Agnes, blushing.

          ‘The pattern is fine, such intricate work and the colour of that rose, so beautiful,’ she held it up to the fire to inspect the stitching.         

          ‘Are you nervous about saying the banns on Sunday?’ she asked worriedly.

          ‘It's my duty,’ said Thomas. ‘I will build us a house made of mud and layered stone, with a chimney and a thatch roof. When you are ready, we will have children, many children,’ stated Thomas in a mature, demanding tone.

          Agnes looked at him, raising her eyebrows, ‘Will we now? Do I not get a say in these plans of yours?’ she asked cheekily.

          Embarrassed, Thomas realised he had overstepped the mark, ‘Please forgive me, I have insulted you,’ he looked down and shuffled his feet.

          ‘Not at all,’ claimed Agnes, ‘I was just wondering whether you wanted my help or if I was to just lie there in the mud and layered stone house,’ she grinned, enjoying toying with him.

          Feeling guilty and looking defensive, Thomas started to try to explain himself, ‘Agnes, I only meant….’

          Agnes liked his naivety, she smiled, then he realised she was goading him. He shook his head, ‘That was mean.

          ‘Why was it mean?’ she asked, still smiling.

          ‘Because I thought I’d insulted you,’ he claimed, looking down at the gravel floor, shuffling his feet. He felt inexperienced in the ways of women.

          John and his wife were sitting at the table facing away from them, John looked back to see Agnes smiling and Thomas saddened for some reason, ‘What is going on?’

          ‘Well, Agnes is smiling so I wouldn’t worry,’ grumbled Mrs Hargreaves.

          ‘Ayup, how do ya’ know she’s smiling wife? You haven’t turned around to look since the last bells.’

          ‘I don’t need ta turn around husband, I see things perfectly well.’

          ‘Wife don’t say things like that or else thee will be labelled a witch,’ John whispered.

          Mrs Hargreaves looked down at the table and tapped the knife that she used to gut fish and smiled. Holding it up at an angle with the blade’s edge resting on the table, she could see the reflection of Agnes and Thomas by the fire.

          ‘Wife, sometimes you are too cunning for thy own good,’ John laughed that laugh when he was really amused. The laugh where his head rolled back and his stomach pumped in and out, and the holes of his missing teeth were visible for all to see.

          Agnes noticed his peculiar jocularity, ‘Father, what is it?’ It was rare that she saw him in such good spirits, especially after a full day in the fields. It pleased her.

          ‘Agnes, I just remarked to your mother how good she is with the blade, you know, gutting fish and all that.’

          Mrs Hargreaves stood up from the table, ‘Right you two it’s time for bed, Agnes get out the mattress.’

          Thomas stood up from the bench and started to walk toward the animal fixture at the back of the cottage.

          ‘And where do you think you’re going Master Thomas?’ Mrs Hargreaves called out stubbornly 'You get right back here, you will not be sleeping with the animals tonight,’ she said confidently as she reached for her sewing kit.

          Agnes threw down the straw-filled mattress and disappeared into the corner of the cottage to disrobe and brush the flour from her hair, a nightly ritual.

          Mrs Hargreaves threw a linen blanket on the bed, ‘Lie down here Thomas,’ she instructed.

          Thomas felt awkward, ‘Mrs Hargreaves,’ he muddled his words, ‘I don’t think this is, well, right and proper,’ he claimed.

          Embarrassed, he looked over at Mr Hargreaves who had poured himself another ale and sat there smiling his gummy grin.

          ‘Now, doff thy hose and tunic,’ she demanded, helping him untie. Thomas looked around for Agnes; she was absent. Thank goodness, he thought.

          Mr Hargreaves continued to drink his ale in front of the fire and watched the commotion. He tried not to laugh.

          ‘Mrs Hargreaves, this is right peculiar,’ said Thomas as she helped him undress, pulling his hose by the bottom, lifting his buttocks right off the mattress.

         Thomas grabbed for his undershirt, ensuring it covered his nether regions.

          ‘Don’t you be too concerned about that Thomas Rushworth, seen it all, nothing you got that me two sons didn’t have.’

         Mrs Hargreaves was saddened by the thought but relished the idea of having another young male in the house. It brought back golden memories and disturbing ones that she pushed from her mind.

          When Agnes returned, she looked like an angel. She had a pure white linen undershirt on that hung to her knees. Her long hair had been brushed, the flour was gone, and it shone like silk. She had washed her face with cold water that had brought a rosy colour back to her cheeks. Her nipples were erect from the draught, slightly visible through the linen because of the light of the fire.

          She laid down beside Thomas, not saying a thing but smirking seeing him there in the light of the fire, bundled up in a linen sheet.  Mrs Hargreaves had sewn the outer two edges together with thick string at the front and folded up the bottom and sewn it shut. The front had been neatly sewn to the edge of material at the back over his shoulders. The only thing visible was Thomas' head sticking out of the cocoon-like garment.

          He could barely move and had a look of resentment on his face. He dared not say anything, but he could feel the tiny creatures starting to move about his crotch. He tried to scratch but didn’t want to arouse any suspicion about what he was doing under the cover.

          A minute later, Agnes lying beside him eyes open, stared up into the darkness and moved her hand closer to feel Thomas’ hand through the linen. Thomas opened his eyes staring up into the darkness too reciprocated. They both laid there in silence for a while until Mr Hargreaves belched, passed wind and then started snoring.

          Agnes giggled and whispered, ‘Welcome to the family.’ She rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

          Thomas, feeling the bedbugs running over his chest and the fleas itching his crotch, smiled in contentment, closed his eyes and laid there all night not sleeping a wink. Agnes didn’t move at all for some time, and he could hear her slow, relaxed breaths. When she did turn over, he could only see the outline of her face in the darkness, wisps of breath touched the side of his face and he wished it was lighter so he could see her rosy complexion up close.

          The next morning, Agnes got up, went to the back of the cottage, dressed and went outside while Thomas was released from his bundling by John using his wife’s gutting knife. Mr Hargreaves approaching with a knife was not a pleasant experience, especially after spending the night lying beside his only daughter.

          Mrs Hargreaves was already up and completing the morning chores. The sun was not up yet, but the household was in full swing. Mr Hargreaves led the cow and ox out to the common green. Mrs Hargreaves ushered the four sheep out of their keep attached to the back of the cottage. Thomas donned his hose, tunic and jerkin and adjusted his codpiece quickly before they came back inside.

          A few minutes later Mr Hargreaves returned and walked through the door wet from the Yorkshire drizzle that had just started. ‘Did theur sleep well Thomas?’

          ‘Aye John, warm as a bug in the rug,’ he said thinking about the bed bug bite marks on his chest and the itch from the fleas that were imprisoned with him for the night. He scratched.

          Mrs Hargreaves smiled at the pun knowing that he was referring to the sleeping attire that she had provided.

          Mr Hargreaves looked at Thomas with a serious look on his face, ‘I’m going to do some weeding ‘till sun is fully risen, then I’ll meet you at your cottage, we can go to the manor together.’      

          ‘Ahl be off then, sithee later. Where is Agnes?’ enquired Thomas.

          ‘Oh, she's long gone to the manor lest she be fined or whipped for being late,’ answered Mrs Hargreaves.

          ‘You can come back around t’night if theur like. We can make you as warm as a bug in a rug again.’

          Thomas grinned, realising she had picked up on his attempt at humour, ‘Right, tarreur then,’ said Thomas as he opened the cattle door and walked through.

On his way home, he thought about last night and he felt warm and content as if a large weight had been removed from his shoulders. He remembered how Agnes had  touched his hand affectionately through the linen bundling and smiled; then he frowned thinking about the new responsibility that he had to care and support her. His mind started to get all jumbled up with worries. What if she wasn’t a good wife? What if they couldn’t have children? What if there was a drought and he couldn’t provide for her and the young ones? He tried hard to dismiss the thoughts and concentrate on the job at hand, weeding the field and going to the manor.

          When he arrived home, Margery and William were already out in the fields. They were both wet and miserable from the continued drizzle but were happy to see Thomas lend a hand. Weeding and looking for pests on ten acres was a challenge.

          ‘And where have you been young Thomas?’ asked Margery, ‘Is your own family not good enough for you anymore that you must stay out to all hours?’

          William, less sore from his argument with the truncheon added, ‘He’s been kanoodling with Agnus mother, I wouldn’t expect much effort from him thereabouts.’

‘Shut up William!’ Shouted Thomas as the drizzle started to turn into larger droplets and run down his face.

          Thomas picked up a hessian bag laying on the ground, walked along the valley beside the seedlings pulling the chickweed and charlock from the ground.

          ‘William, you must accompany Mr Hargreaves and I to the manor later, we are going to report last night’s happenings to the steward.’           

          ‘And a lot it will do too,’ grumbled William. ‘They are long gone by now!’

          ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

          It doesn’t matter William, still has to be reported for the good of the village,’ said Margery, getting a cold shiver down her back from the coldness of her soaked kirtle.

          The three of them remained silent as they trudged along in the relentless rain, occasionally stopping, standing upright to ease the stiffness in their back.

          A ribbon of bright orange was the only indication of the start of sunrise. It burst through the dense cloud, trying hard not to be swallowed up by the sky. The birds started to make their morning song, silhouettes against the grey curtain of cloud. Some of them flew down to the field to get an early morning feed of worms that had ventured out of the damp ground. The Pennine moors shone under the enlarging orange beam of light that started to creep up the sky.

          Margery, Thomas and William made their way back up the hill, hessian bags full and thrown over their shoulder, their woollen clothes soaked through as they shivered. Their woollen and hide foot coverings were caked with mud and slippery underfoot, forcing Thomas to lend a hand to his mother.

          They opened the door and walked in, William shivered and sneezed. Thomas walked straight to the hearth and put another log on the fire, then stood there holding his hands out to the radiant heat. They all undressed, taking everything off except their undershirts. Margery hung their clothes over a piece of string that had been nailed from one side of the room to the other, for just that purpose. They sat down on stools around the hearth trying to warm themselves. Neither said a word just pleased to be out of it. They only had two sets of clothing, so they dried themselves and waited for their clothes to dry.

          Thomas looked out the shutter. The drizzle had started to subside, and the sun painted a rainbow over the red, green and brown of the moors. The cloud broke, and the sun shone on the lustrous green of the long strip of farrow fields. The rest, a hundred dark squares on a chessboard waiting for the seed to germinate and turn them green. William was the first to notice Mr Hargreaves walking toward the house. He was muddy and wet, and by the looks of it in no mood for trivialities.        

          ‘Ayup there anybody at home?’ he cried out so as not to startle the family.        

          'Come in John, dry yourself by the fire. Wicked morning, but it’s grand for the seedlings. God willing, we will have a good harvest this summer,’ said Margery.        ‘Thomas and William come, sit by the fire, let’s plan the strategy for battle.’        

          ‘Battle? Are we to take weapons John?’ enquired William sarcastically.      

          ‘No, not weapons William, just words,’ replied Thomas wisely.     

          John smiled at Thomas, impressed with his foresight and wisdom. John went on to explain that there were three reasons for the audience with the steward, the first was to ask for permission for Thomas’ union to Agnes, the second was to ask for permission to build a new cottage on the hide and the third was to report the abuse of the village residents and misuse of the king’s highways by marauders and footpads.           

          He wasn't to know at the time but these three simple requests were going to be a lot more difficult than he thought.

          ‘I’ll do the talking and offer the shillings for the banns for you and Agnes,’ John looked at Thomas.

          ‘Young William, just stay quiet and offer a look at the bruise on thy back if I command you ta do so, understand?’ He looked at William.

          All three walked out through the cattle door, Margery watched them walk out then put her head down and continued making the dough for bread. She realised that there were circumstances best left to menfolk, and she trusted Mr Hargreaves.

​

CHAPTER 12

TIME OF SERVANTS

 

 

They walked around the back of the manor; the reeve was there receiving vegetables from one of the village folk.    

          ‘Ayeup John, Thomas, young William, what brings theur to the manor?’    

          ‘There's been trouble, and we wish ta speak to the steward,’ said John.        

          ‘Emmm’, the reeve paused, ‘Theur can’t cum knocking on the lord’s door every time there’s bit of trouble in the village.’

          John tried to convince the reeve, ‘It’s not just trouble, both myself ‘n William have been assaulted.' Lord’s shillings were robbed. They were to be paid to the lord for father’s funeral.’ Thomas explained making it sound as if it were the lord’s money that had been robbed and it was he that was out of pocket.

          ‘Alright then. Well, you better hold on here,’ said the reeve as he turned and disappeared through the back door. He appeared a few moments later, ‘You better come with me.’

          They all took off their hats and walked through the large oak door into the kitchen; it was hustle and bustle of activity with three servant girls and a cook busily preparing the lord’s lunch and dinner. Large bubbling pots hung underneath a vast stone chimney that stretched almost the entire width of the room. Steam and smoke from the fire ascended and then disappeared up the chimney.

          Thomas and William were in awe of the size of the room, both looking up and turning their heads to take in the magnificence of the structure. When they both looked forward, they noticed Agnes standing at a large table plucking brightly coloured feathers from a pheasant. She was surprised to see them. She smiled but didn’t stop what she was doing in fear of being scolded by the cook. Thomas noticed the assortment of breads and bowls on the table, but he was most astonished by the amount of meat drying on racks over the fire. William also noticed the beef, chicken, lamb and pork and he started to salivate from the aroma. At the other end of the room was a large pantry filled with all manner of vegetables, fruit, eggs and hanging birds. Another small room to the side contained another fire and table, covered with flour for making the dough and cooking bread. There was a large serving opening through which the dishes were passed to be served to the lord in another room. Beside this was another opening through which the reeve walked, and the visitors followed. Thomas took one more look back to see Agnes looking toward him. He turned to the front as the reeve opened the large oak door to the great hall.

          John, William, then Thomas followed the reeve into the great hall, John walked forward but William and Thomas stopped and looked up into the roof trusses twenty odd feet above their heads. The room must have been thirty-five feet in length and over half that in breadth. At the end of the hall was a tall, narrow window capped by a sharply pointed arch and another clerestory window at the side; the sun was streaming in to light the room. There was wood panelling on the far wall and an entrance to a small chapel with a table and a cross. Opposite the clerestory window there was a fireplace and a high chimney. In the middle of the room, opposite the fire, was a large table where the lord sat. The steward was whispering to the lord as John approached, then stood upright and stepped back.          

          John strolled up to the table and dipped his head, ‘My Lord.’           

          Thomas caught up and stood beside him, William a step back. ‘Lord Birkhead,’ Thomas dipped his head, as did William. ‘Thomas Rushworth, I knew of your dear old father, he was a good man, I’m sorry to hear of his sickness and passing,’ said the lord in the King’s English. ‘John Hargreaves, one’s steward, tells me that there has been skulduggery about. What have you to report?’

          ‘Aye, my Lord, two footpads robbed Thomas and assaulted his brother William on the road ta Haworth on Moorehouse Lane. His mother were threatened with a sword and thy coin for the Rushworth funeral were robbed,’ reported John.

          The steward, trying to convince the lord of foul play, leant forward and whispered in his ear, ‘My Lord, they are giving excuses for failure to pay.’

          ‘John Hargreaves, when the coin was supposedly stolen it was not in my possession, so Thomas Rush worth is still indebted. Furthermore, how is one to know that this isn’t all a concocted story to delay payment?’ 

          ‘Maybe time in the pillory will ensure more prompt payment, my Lord,’ added the steward looking at Thomas.

          ‘My Lord, there is no need. We came here ta inform theur of the shenanigans hear abouts. I were assaulted ‘n left for dead not two weeks ago in the same area by two men I befriended at the Kings Arms.’           

          Still trying to convince his lordship, John turned to William ‘Then there’s this. William, come forward, lift thy shirt.’

          William took a step forward, turned and lifted his shirt, showing a large purple and red bruise on his upper back. He pulled his shirt down and returned to his place. The lord beckoned the steward closer, ‘Did you know of this steward?’

          The steward leant to whisper, trying to discredit the men that stood before them, ‘No my Lord, but I have seen these peasants drunk and disorderly thereabouts,’ remembering the night of the manor court.

          ‘Emm, the two footpads that robbed you, were they locals, what did they look like?’ Enquired the lord. ‘Had you seen them before?’  Thomas stepped in, ‘Begging thy pardon my Lord, it was dark ‘n their faces were covered.’

          Lord Birkhead raised his voice, ‘Do you know about this steward? Goodness me, I pay you to tend to business in the village.’

          ‘Yes, my Lord, I know about it.’

                  John placed coin on the table,

          ‘My Lord, I have three shillings for thy permission for my daughter Agnes ta wed young Thomas Rushworth and another for the funeral for Thomas Rushworth, may he rest in peace.’   

          ‘No John, that is my debt,’ whispered Thomas.

          John, whispered under his breath, ‘Don’t worry lad, all will be well.’

John had forfeited his land at the previous parish, due to his recusancy, but still had a comfortable sum left over after the purchase of the three acres at Oxenhope. This they had been living off but it would not last forever.

          ‘Steward have the clerk take notice of the payment of John Hargreaves and Thomas Rushworth and inform the night watchman and the deputies of the robbery and assault, Heavens above!’

          The steward picked up the coin, turned, dipped his head at the lord and walked across the hall and through the door. His steps echoing as he walked.

          ‘There is one other matter my Lord, Thomas would like ta build a mud and layered stone cottage with a chimney ta keep his family warm through the winter.’

          The lord, knowing of the labour shortage because of the black death, granted permission for the cottage and bid them farewell.

          They dipped their heads, turned and walked across the hall and back out the door into the kitchen. Thomas was keen to set eyes on Agnes, but she was nowhere to be seen. They walked through the kitchen, taking one more look at the food being prepared. Thomas turned to John while they were walking, ‘I don’t know how ta thank you John.’

          ‘No thanks necessary, it is I that should thank you for sparing me on that fateful night. Only God knows what would have happened if you and thy mother hadn’t come along.

          ‘Seems that the alehouse is the root of all the trouble,’ stated John deep in thought about his night of condemnation. ‘Two footpads robbed you and two men that assaulted me the night you found me, could they be one and the same?’

 

          The steward walked into the Kings Arms alarmed at the sharpness of the smell of urine and stale ale; he put his hand up to his mouth and coughed. Two men sat on three legged stools using a cut barrel as a gaming table. Their swords wrapped with a large black belt leant against the wall behind them. The steward walked up to them and sat down, and they dealt him into the game. The steward picked up the cards, but there was more than the game on his mind.

          ‘Two men from the village have met with the lord and told him of a robbery on Moorhouse Lane the other night.’

          His companions looked at each other then back at the steward. The steward placed two shillings on the table, his acquaintances picked them up and placed them in their coin purse. ‘Until things calm down, return ta Stanbury. Come back on Sunday for the rat baiting commanded the steward.

          His two companions placed their cards on the table, stood up and walked to the door.  The last one to leave took one last look back before walking out into the day.

 

          Thomas and Agnes sat together in church for the first time. They sat in a pew with Margery on one side of them and John on the other. William, Mrs Hargreaves and Cousin Mary sat in front for moral support.

          After the sermon, the vicar coughed and proceeded to read out the announcements from the lectern, ‘By the power of our Lord Jesus Christ our saviour and our sovereign, King James the first of England and Scotland, I herewith announce the banns of marriage between Thomas Rushworth, son of Thomas and Margery, of Haworth and Agnes Hargreaves, daughter of John and Margaret of Oxenhope. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, yee are to declare it.’

          Thomas and Agnes touched hands and looked at each other, then forward as the congregation now had their eyes upon them.

          ‘Now let us pray.

 

‘Lord, the source of all true love, we pray for this couple. Grant to them joy of heart, seriousness of mind and reverence of spirit, that as they enter into the oneness of marriage, they may be strengthened and guided by you, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’

 

‘Amen,’ the congregation repeated in unison.

 

‘Lord of love, we pray for Thomas and Agnes be with them in all their preparations and on their wedding day. Give them your love in their hearts throughout their married life together, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’

 

‘Amen.’          

          Margery and the rest of the congregation awaited the news.  

          The vicar spoke, ‘I have news from Windsor Castle, our sovereign King James of England and Scotland has proclaimed that England and Scotland will unite under his crown.

          ‘Our sovereign has forbidden any Londoners and other inhabitants of places infected with the Black Death not to come to court. He has also proclaimed that gentlemen of court should depart for the country to escape the ravages of the Black Death which has devastated so many in London and York.          

          The parishioners whispered excitedly.

          The vicar raised his hands, ‘Finally, he has decreed the execution of former laws against Catholic Recusants giving them a day to repair to their dwellings and not afterward to come to the court or within 10 miles of London without special licence.

          ‘There is also a reward for the arrest and capture of the traitor Thomas Percy for his thwarted attempt of the devastation of Parliament.  

          ‘God save the king.’   

         ‘God save the king,’ they repeated.   

          The congregation filed out of the church.     

          John Hargreaves called out, ‘Thomas ‘n William! ‘Fancy a celebratory ale at the Kings Arms while we’re up here?’      

          Thomas was more interested in spending more time with Agnes, but he didn’t want to disappoint his future father-in-law especially after he just paid his debts. He watched on as Agnes, Mrs Hargreaves and Margery continued to walk toward Sun Street and down the hill toward home.

 

 CHAPTER 13

THE OBSESSION WITH THE STARS

 

 

Thomas and William followed Mr Hargreaves into the alehouse. The shutters were open, and a stream of sunlight burst in. The heat from the sunlight caused a ripple of putrid steam to emanate from the ground. A chamber pot sat in the corner, still not emptied from the previous night. The room was full, handicraftsmen, workers of all sorts, labourers, cobblers, pedlars and porters. Other poor folk drank the swill from the jacks left behind and begged for coins. The maidservant dropped jacks of ale to the different tables, her bosom accentuated by the open front of her blouse.

          William couldn’t divert his eyes.      

          The maidservant noticed him staring and sauntered over to him. She leant over and whispered in his ear, ‘Looking is free, but touching will cost ya'.'

          Thomas was listening to John but watching William and the maidservant flirting. Her large bosom accentuated by the tight drawstring across her chest.

          ‘It seems that any strange goings on has links with this establishment. They must frequent this tavern or at least get information about the goings on from somebody local.

          ‘This tavern,’ Thomas agreed. ‘Whoever it is they would have heard about your winnings that night and heard about mine and Agnes’ commitment to the banns. They would have known about the dowry!’

          John peered at Thomas, who was transfixed by what was happening behind his back; he turned to see William, his eyes fixated on the bosom of the serving wench. She was still bent over, bosom at William’s eye level, giving him a good look at her pushed up cleavage. John lifted his leg and placed his foot on her behind and gave her a mighty push which sent her reeling across the room.

          ‘Be off with you foul mistress, play thy seduction games with another,’ said John protectively. The maidservant, angrier about losing a potential customer than the physicality, gathered herself, straightened her wimple and moved on.

          The door opened and the reeve from the manor walked in, ‘Ayup John, Thomas, William, all the best with the banns Thomas,’ he had heard them read out at Church of Saint Michael All Angels that morning.

          ‘What keeps you in deep discussion,’ asked the reeve. ‘I heard about the trouble on Moorhouse Lane. These are desperate times ‘n desperate times make desperate men,’ he said wisely. 

          ‘It seems that any trouble that occurs near the village has links with this alehouse,’ whispered John.         

          ‘Then you best speak to the steward; he oversees the place for Lord Birkhead.’  ‘The steward overseas the alehouse?’ asked Thomas.

          ‘Aye, has done for years, organises the entertainment downstairs in the basement as well,’ he remarked as he picked up the jack that the maidservant had dumped on the table. She gave John a look of disdain.

          The reeve always made sure that he was honest and straight forth with the tenants of the lord’s demesne, as it was them that voted him in at the festival of Michaelmas. When the lord and the steward was away, he had the run of the place a position that he had held for several years.

          ‘Can’t speak ta him now though he’s away in Stanbury, should be back tomorra. In his absence you could speak ta his deputies, one of them is sitting over there.’ The reeve pointed to three men sitting at a table across the room.

          Thomas approached the table, none of the men looked up, ‘Your grace, I have urgent business ta report.’

          The deputy was looking at his cards; it was apparent that he was losing as the other two gentlemen had small piles of coin in front of them, whereas his part of the table was void of any. ‘

          Can’t you see I’m busy lad?’ Claimed the deputy refusing to look up. He placed his hand down on the table and waited for his two companions to do the same. One of the others placed his cards on the table, grinned and collected the remaining coins.

          ‘Sard, that’s it, I’m out,’ stated the deputy angrily.      

          ‘Right lad, what’s this business you need ta report so urgently that theur interrupt the card games?’     

          ‘Would you be so kind as to join me and my companions?’ Thomas held out his hand and ushered the deputy toward John and William. The reeve stood up and encouraged the deputy to be seated.

          ‘Greetings,’ said John as they all sat back down again, ‘This is William Rushworth and I am John Hargreaves, you know the reeve. The reeve dipped his head and left, not wanting to get too involved in deep discussion with the deputy.

          ‘Aye, I know who you are. I heard about the trouble you had on Moorhouse Lane t’other night,’ said the deputy.

          He put on a serious face, ‘Sounds ta me like footpads from out of town, maybe those coney-catchers seeking retribution.’

‘And I heard theur had trouble of thy own John Hargreaves,’ enquired the deputy.

          The deputy looked around the tavern, ‘I’ll wager it is the same two rogues that caused thy misfortune. From Stanbury or Oxenhope can’t see it being one of the locals. Unfortunately, we can’t do much unless we cop them in the act.’

          ‘Seems both incidents may have something ta do with the alehouse,’ stated John, as he sat forward and whispered.

          ‘How do you figure?’ Asked the deputy. The deputy stared at Thomas, ‘It is his grace the steward who oversees this place. Did theur not see the fine job he did apprehending the coney-catchers on the night of the manor court?’

          ‘Aye, ah did,’ whispered Thomas, ‘But it is too much of a coincidence, John was assaulted after the rat baiting. Where would one hear of our betrothal? Everybody in here knew of it!’  

          ‘I think you are barking up the wrong tree, it were the steward who reported the trouble on behalf of the lord. If he or the householder were involved, why would he report it? I’d be careful if I were you before you all end up in the pillory for slandering,’ the deputy warned.

           John looked at the deputy worriedly.

          ‘The manor court is in session next week; I will keep an eye out. In the meantime, I suggest you quieten thy wayward ideas, lest me and my partner come knocking on your door. We are under the steward’s orders to catch these bastards so let us do our job.’

          The deputy stood and walked to the bar to get another tankard of ale. The householder poured from the barrel and placed it in front of him.

          ‘What were all that about?’ Asked the householder inquisitively. He liked to keep abreast of any news.

          ‘Oh, just a private matter,’ said the deputy, having been in the job long enough to know not to fill other’s ears. He picked up his pewter tankard and walked back to the card table in the corner of the room.

          A week had passed, and once again, Thomas and Agnes sat together in church. The congregation seemed to have adjusted to them sitting together, and nobody had declared illegitimacy to their union.

          ‘By the power of the Lord Jesus Christ our saviour and our sovereign King James the first of England and Scotland, I herewith announce the banns of marriage between Thomas Rushworth, son of Thomas and Margery, of Haworth and Agnes Hargreaves, daughter of John and Margaret of Oxenhope. This is the second time of asking, if any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.’

          Margery awaited news, the vicar cleared his throat and spoke from the lectern, ‘I have news from Windsor Castle, our sovereign Lord King James of England and Scotland has proclaimed the authorisation and uniformity of the book of common prayer and enjoying conformity to the form of the service of God now established.’

          ‘God save the king.’    

          The churchgoers repeated in unison, ‘God save the King.’ Then filed out of the church and went their separate ways.

          Thomas, John and William walked ahead of the womenfolk. Thomas was deep in thought about the deputy’s words, and the idea of being locked in the pillory gave him cold shivers down his back. 

          ‘I go to the manor court during the week, best go and be spared the lord’s fine,’ Thomas claimed.

          ‘Thomas, why don’t theur come back ta ours for supper? We'll travel together to the manor court. Safer that way,’ John claimed.

          ‘Aye, but I have work to do first; animals need tending and peat needs collecting,’ explained Thomas.

          Margery heard and interrupted, ‘Gew on son, nowt that William and I can’t do. Spend time with thy Agnes. Won’t be long before the harvest and then it will be all hands to the sickle.’ Agnes didn’t let on but had hoped that Thomas would visit again. They had been so busy in the fields that it had seemed like weeks since they had talked. She spent most of her day at the manor and any free time with her mother and father, weeding so that the young shoots of wheatgrass had a chance to grow.      

          ‘Right, you are then. Agnes does thee have any objections?’ asked Thomas.        

          Agnes caught up to him, John and William walked ahead, and Margery and Mrs Hargreaves walked ten paces behind, slowing down so that the two could have their privacy but still be in earshot of the conversation. Both Thomas and Agnes both started to say something, and both stopped to allow the other to say what they were going to say. They both laughed.

          ‘You go on,’ said Thomas politely.        

          Agnes smiled, ‘Can’t believe it’s only one more week ta go till the handfasting.’

          ‘Still no doubts?’ Enquired Thomas.         

          No, none at all,’ she replied then grinned.         

          Thomas frowned, ‘What you grinnin’ about?’        

          ‘I remember when mother first mentioned it, I were dead against it. I had visions of you beating me ‘n sending me to the ducking stool.

          ‘Them laws can go on too far. I say, would the Lord do it thusly? Fear not Agnes Hargreaves, you are safe with me,’ replied Thomas.

          They walked in silence for a while, just enjoying being at each other’s side. Soon after, William and Margery turned toward home and the others continued to Moorhouse Lane, stopping briefly where the footpads had robbed them.

          Thomas noticed something at the side of the road clinging to a piece of blackberry bramble, ‘Ayup, what’s this?’ He asked trying to wrestle it away from the thorns of the bush.  

          His hose got caught in the bramble, so he let out an almighty yelp, refusing to move until he had untangled himself.          

          Agnes became impatient, ‘Come on Thomas, let’s get home.’

          ‘It’s a piece of a sleeve from somebodies’ undershirt, could belong to one of the footpads that robbed us. Look John, it were about here where they jumped from their hiding place.’

          John turned and walked back, taking the small piece of cloth in his hand, ‘Could be, but doubt it. There are fifty that walk past this bramble every day.’ 

          ‘You're probably right,’ Thomas took the cloth looking disappointed and put it in his cod piece for later inspection.

 

          Thomas and Agnes walked up to the cottage and sat on a wooden bench near the cattle door. They allowed the sun to shine on their faces. The bright green of the growing wheat sparkled on the hills, further accentuated by the beige, pinks and brown hues of the moor.

          Mrs Hargreaves walked out to them and gave them both a jack of ale, ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ she said, stopping to appreciate it then stepping back inside the cottage.

          ‘Thy mother is a prize of a woman,’ said Thomas.

          ‘She has had a difficult life, lost two boys ‘n two girls, two at birth, two within five years because of the sickness. Father were crushed,’ Agnes started to tear up.

          ‘Ah, I’m sorry Agnes,’ he put his arm around her, until he heard Mrs Hargreaves cough then took it away again.          

          ‘Come Agnes,’ he took her by the hand Mrs Hargreaves coughed again so he let go.        They walked to the wood and wattle enclosed vegetable garden. ‘Right you are, you see that large branch in the fence at the bottom of the garden there, I wager I can hit it two out of three times with any stone that you pick,’ joked Thomas.     

          ‘That’s impossible, but if it’s a wager, what are we wagering on?’ asked Agnes. 

          ‘Well, if I lose, I will do thy weeding for a day. But I’m not gonna lose,’ he said cheekily. ‘And if I win?’

          ‘Aye, what if you win? Though I doubt it unless a miracle happens here in Oxenhope.

          Well, what do you want? I have nowt.’

          ‘Simple, a kiss,’ Thomas hesitated then grinned, waiting for the inevitable retribution.

          ‘Thomas Rushworth, do you want ta see my mother come screaming with the broom ta see thee off and my father ta have thy guts for garters?’ She said alarmingly, but then quietened as her mother appeared at the door.

          ‘Well, you say I can’t do it, so what’s to worry Ms Agnes Hargreaves.’

          ‘I think you presume too much, Thomas Rushworth,’ she said while looking for a stone.

          Thomas took the stone in his hand, squinted his eye and threw it, hitting the branch at its centre almost twenty paces away.

          Agnes was stunned, ‘You've done this before, Thomas. Is this how you get girls from the village ta kiss thee? By throwing stones at a twig?’

          ‘Nah, William and I used ta have throwing contests ta see who had ta shovel out the animal enclosure.’

          She looked around for another stone, one that would swing the wager in her favour. She found one almost half the size of a man’s fist; ‘There you go, try this one,’ she said smartly while placing it in Thomas’ hand.

          ‘Agnes, this is unfair. This is not a stone,’ he said, sizing up its weight and the distance that he had to throw it. ‘Am I that foul that a kiss would be punishment for thee?’

          ‘Lower your voice and just stick to the wager,’ she said, ignoring all other suggestions and consequences.

          Thomas took the stone in his right hand, squinted his eye and threw it, but it landed a foot too short.

          ‘Seems like the wager is lost Thomas Rushworth. I’ll leave the hessian bag for thee,’ she said smugly while looking for another stone even more difficult to throw than the last.

          ‘There you go,’ she said boldly, trying not to demoralise her young suitor too harshly.

          She found a stone, quartz, rough and peculiar looking. And started to feel sympathy for Thomas but stayed on course as she knew this was not a test of love, but a test of wits. 

          She handed the stone to Thomas who looked at it and smiled, ‘Agnes, you are too cunning for thy own good.’ He sized up its weight and the distance that he had to throw it; he looked at her, then back at the target.

          Impatiently Agnes rolled her eyes, ‘Thomas, in God’s name just throw it.’

          Thomas took one last look at the stone and one last look at the target, brought his hand back confidently, then walked past Agnes down the side of the vegetable garden and turned to face her.       

          Agnes frowned, ‘Thomas, what on earth are you doing?’

          Thomas raised his voice, ‘If you remember Agnes, the wager were ta hit the twig twice out of three times with any stone that ya’ pick. I said nowt about throwing the stone.’

          ‘Seems like the wager is lost, Ms Agnes Hargreaves,’ he had his back to the twig, released the stone, hitting the twig right in the middle.

          All this time, Mr and Mrs Hargreaves had been peeking through the gap between the shutter and the wall, giggling.         

          Thomas placed the stone in his codpiece then walked back up the garden.

          Angry that she had been fooled so easily, ‘Seems you have me at a disadvantage, Thomas Rushworth.’

          ‘Disadvantage, advantage, ah suppose it depends on the way you look at it.’

          John heard the bell of Saint Michael of All Angels, realising the time he called out, ‘Thomas, it's time to get on our way say your goodbyes.’

          Agnes was stunned by the sound of her father’s voice as if it woke her from a dream.

          ‘It seems like it is time for you to go,’ Agnes said as Thomas walked up the side of the garden to say farewell.

          He stood facing her he could tell that his prank still perturbed her; he held her hands in his. Knowing that she had her back to the cottage door, he leant forward. She closed her eyes and relaxed, her lips almost in a pout for what seemed like an eternity; she opened her eyes.

          Thomas released her hands, ‘It has been a pleasure spending time with you this afternoon Agnes, I hope we might do it again sometime.’

          Grinning, he joined John as he walked out the cottage door.

          Stunned, Agnes turned angrily as Thomas walked away, ‘THOMAS RUSHWORTH, YOU ARE… ERRGH…’ she growled and grunted then marched off toward the cottage.

          John watched Agnes storm off in contempt, ‘I see you have been getting ta know my daughter. She can have a wild spirit when she wants ta,’ he said. ‘Aye I've noticed,’ replied Thomas.

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