Dragon's Court

They passed through Northampton without being delayed and it was the first and only time Anne did not wish to linger there to gaze into the booths of the silk merchants.

Simpkin Cooper, the man-at-arms who had been in the van of the little party, suggested they take refreshment at an inn on the southern side of the town.

“It may be some time, Master Allard, before we find anything so suitable for the ladies. The village taverns are very squalid in this district.”

“I defer to your experience, Master Cooper,” Richard Allard said mildly and turned in the saddle to inform Anne of their decision.

“You will certainly become saddle sore if you do not stop and rest soon, however much you insist that you enjoy riding,” he said, “and the horses will need watering.”

Anne looked up at the sun, low and bright, and thought how the weather was unusually sultry for this time of year.

“Can we not eat outside in the open since it is warm?” she enquired. “I do not suppose we shall get another such opportunity on this journey. Inns are always so smelly and crowded. I shall feel more refreshed if we stay outside. Surely we can find shelter from the wind, though it is very mild and I doubt we shall need that.”

Richard shrugged. He was accustomed to camping out even in the depths of winter, and she was right: the weather was pleasant for the time of year. He consulted Simpkin as to the whereabouts of some pleasing spinney where they could be away from prying eyes on the road for an hour or two.

“We’ll need to find water for the horses,” he reminded the man, who nodded thoughtfully.

“Aye, Master Allard, it is a good notion, today, at any rate.” He thought for a minute, then scratched his chin and grinned. “I know one small spinney about a mile and a half further on.” He cast Richard a knowing look. “It’s not more’n a few yards from our way and sheltered by bushes. A small stream runs through it.” His roguish glance confirmed Richard’s suspicion that Simpkin had, most likely, done some of his courting in that same spinney.

“Right, man, lead us to it,” he agreed. “We have cold meats and cheese as well as fresh bread in plenty and good wine and ale too.”

Anne had been listening to the exchange and called to Mary Scroggins, who was riding behind with Wat Glazier. Mary passed no comment. Objections would be useless. She knew, from past experience, that there was no arguing with Mistress Anne when she had one fixed idea in her mind, though, for her part, Mary would have welcomed the opportunity to sample a tavern’s hot food and have warmed water and towels for washing at their disposal.

For all her protestations, Anne was glad to be lifted from the saddle of her palfrey when they pulled off the road some half-hour later, following Simpkin’s directions into a small spinney bordering open pasture land beyond. Well-matured oaks and beech trees gave ample cover and a bramble hedge offered protection from the wind. Simpkin led the way unerringly to a small clearing from which, in the distance, Anne could hear the faint burbling of a small stream.

“It’ll be more’n a mite muddy round the stream bank,” Simpkin advised. “Better camp here, Master Allard, it’ll be more comfortable for the women folk.”

Richard glanced round and nodded approval after first moving off to reconnoitre the ground further on and returning to the clearing.

“This seems fine,” he said. “Spread horse blankets on the ground for the ladies and Mistress Anne can lean back against my saddle. She’ll find the roughness of the tree bole somewhat uncomfortable.”

Mary looked round anxiously and Simpkin reassured her.

“Don’t worry, Mary. There’s a spot just behind them bushes as you and Mistress Anne can use when you need to, while we keep watch without “aving to intrude on you, like.”

Mary grunted and Anne gave a little chuckle. It seemed Simpkin was, indeed, very well acquainted with this terrain.

Food was unpacked from one of the panniers and ale and wine poured. It was quiet in the wood and she lay back against the supporting saddle, her hood pushed back, listening to the song birds who had not flown south for the winter and the rustlings of the little wood creatures.

She had often gone fishing near the Nene with her father and Ned and always enjoyed the peace of the countryside, for the manor was rarely quiet, echoing with the sound of voices from kitchens, dairy and buttery as well as calls from the stables and the sounds of hammers in the outbuildings where smiths, carpenters and coopers were going about their various duties on the desmesne.

Anne’s mother had kept her employed, learning housewifely skills in the house itself, as well as overseeing the maids in the dairy. Anne enjoyed learning the healing arts in her mother’s still room, but she hated the hours in the hall and solar with her embroidery and distaff for Margaret Jarvis had insisted that it was necessary still for every woman to learn to spin.

Richard Allard sat eating and drinking ale but she thought he seemed more than a whit restless, as if impatient to be once more on the road. However, he said little, every now and then glancing in her direction and ensuring she had all her needs provided.

Food always tasted good to Anne eaten out in the open and she revelled in the fresh, clean tang of cheese and new-baked bread and the salty tastiness of crisp, cold bacon. She wondered if she would develop a taste for the rich sauces and extravagant roast peacocks and swans served at Court, though her mother had informed her that often those strange, exotic meats were tough and everything had grown cold before it reached the table, having been carried from kitchens some distance from the eating hall.

The men went off eventually, leading the horses to water them. Mary sat back against a moss-covered rock, seemingly dozing. Anne rubbed at her greasy hands. She had a napkin but would welcome now some water for washing. The men would be at the stream bank, which could not be far away. She would go in the direction of the sound of water and wash her hands. She looked down at Mary then decided not to waken her and, soft-footed, hurried off.

The track appeared well marked as if people had come this way often and she had few problems with over-growing branches. She walked confidently, humming a little tune she had heard one of the grooms sing. In the distance she could hear the reassuring sound of laughter and jovial voices in banter. The three men were very near and would hear if she cried out.

She reached the stream at last and stood admiring its quaint beauty as it burbled over stones. The summer had been dry but there had been several days of heavy rain about a week back and the stream was quite high. It was very narrow—she could have leaped across very easily—and, obviously, it was not deep, but she approached the bank cautiously. She had no wish to slip on muddy ground and fall into the water, it would ruin her fine new cloak and gown.

There was an area of rock some feet away, overhanging the stream, and she could crouch down there and refresh her hands and face without fear of muddying her gown hem. She moved carefully and managed it quite well, stooping low on solid ground which fortunately was not slippery. The water was cool and clean. She dangled her right hand in for some time, revelling in the chill but silky feel of the water on her flesh, then washed both hands and splashed her lower face gently to remove any surplus bacon grease from around her mouth.

She stood up and was aware now that the sounds of the men had stopped, so they had moved back towards the clearing. She almost stumbled over her cloak hem as she made a little hurried leap towards the relatively dry track with its carpet of fallen leaves. She would be missed. She must hurry. She knew, instinctively, that Master Richard Allard would be angered that she had not woken Mary and had moved alone out of sight of her escort.

To her surprise she discovered there were several well-marked tracks leading away from the stream bed that she had not noticed before. She stood for a moment, uncertain as to which one to follow back to the clearing. She had been so certain that the way was unmistakable that she had taken no particular note of her surroundings and the varieties of certain of the trees in passing.

Finally she decided the wider track must be the correct one; in any case, she could not end up far from the clearing and she was in hailing distance of the others so she set off along that one.

When she heard sounds of movement ahead she thought she had followed the right path and was now close to the clearing. Either the men had returned or Mary had begun to gather up the remains of the meal and the utensils they had used. She was about to call to her when she stopped still suddenly and listened intently.

She could hear muttering, heavy breathing and scrabbling sounds that seemed unmistakable. There were people struggling together ahead of her, fighting. She knew those sounds only too well for wrestling and fighting with the broad sword and dagger were necessary lessons in Ned’s military training, undertaken with expert advice from Simpkin Cooper and her own father as tutors. She had watched them often in the courtyard at Rushton.

She remained, for moments, stock still, uncertain how to proceed. These combatants could not be members of her escort. Simpkin Cooper and Wat Glazier were friends and utterly trustworthy. Neither man would fight with the other or attack Master Allard for any reason whatever. She went a trifle cold as it occurred to her that someone might have discovered Mary alone in the clearing and accosted her.

A sense of the enormity of her guilt suffused her. How stupidly crass she had been to leave Mary alone—and yet Mary had been within call of the members of the escort, as she was. Mary Scroggins was perfectly capable of defending herself if necessary, she would not stand by tamely and allow a strange man to approach her without giving tongue.

No, this could not be Mary, nor did Anne think it could be the two men-at-arms. Someone else was in the spinney. She had branched off further from the clearing than she had expected to be and was obviously on the wrong path. She was suddenly frightened. Anne was rarely frightened. Life at Rushton had never allowed her to be.

She had been terrified once when out hawking with her father and a boar had suddenly broken cover and rushed straight at her, but she had been aware of the nearness of her father and had trusted him to come to her rescue which he had done immediately. He had launched his merlin at the creature to frighten it and then rushed it on horseback so that it turned at bay, then, squealing ferociously, run into the undergrowth.

Now she felt totally unguarded and uncertain what to do. The noise of conflict grew louder and more desperate, and even over that Anne could hear the sound of her own frantic fast breathing. She could turn and run, but if she did, would the combatants hear her, cease their fighting and turn on her, or should she stay where she was, quiet, and await the outcome of the conflict?

Suddenly the decision was taken out of her hands when the two men burst on to the track in front of where she stood petrified. They were grappling close, panting hard for mastery and she caught glimpses of sunlight on dagger blades as each struggled to get one crippling or fatal blow at the other. Anne gave a gasp of horror when she saw one of the men was Richard Allard.

That one gasp betrayed her, for Richard’s assailant turned to look at her—an erroneous decision, as Richard struck a sudden blow at his arm. He sprang away, clasping it as bright blood dripped to the floor of the forest track. Anne gave a sharp scream of dismay.

She was so startled that she was taken totally by surprise when she was suddenly seized by the stranger and drawn across his thick, muscular body to face his antagonist. Blood from the arm wound dripped on to her cloak. She tried to struggle free but his strong arm held her fast and the other hand lifted his own dagger to her throat. She was effectively held hostage.

She could smell the male sweat of exertion and the sharper, unmistakable musky stink of fear. She stopped struggling then and remained very still in his grasp, looking steadfastly at Richard Allard who stood back a little distance, chest heaving, mouth stretched in the distinctive attitude of utter hatred and the trained warrior’s determination to kill. Anne drew in a hard breath and swallowed.

Her captor grated hoarsely, “Drop your weapon, Allard, or I shall undoubtedly kill this woman. I noticed before in our acquaintance you have a somewhat foolishly gallant attitude to women, even peasant women, that prevents you from harming them or allowing harm to come to them.” His tone was sneering.

Neither man moved. Anne found the dagger was so close she dared not swallow again. The utter shock of events caused her to remain unnaturally calm. She knew she must not scream or cry out to Richard for assistance. She could not imagine what had caused these two men to engage in so desperate a fight or how they had encountered each other here in this wood. Obviously they were old enemies and knew each other’s worth in the art of killing.

A deadly numbness assailed her. One of these two would not come out of this alive, she knew, and she prayed silently that it would not be Richard Allard. He must deal with his assailant and she must do nothing now to endanger him further. Her eyes widened in abject terror as she ascertained that Richard had been wounded. She could see ominous markings upon his jerkin and his left sleeve. An ugly scratch marred his right cheek. They had been so close in this struggle it was a miracle that both still remained on their feet. She continued to remain passively still, looked coolly at her protector and waited for him to determine the next step in this game.

It came so swiftly that she had no time to cry out. There was a sudden flash of light as Richard Allard’s dagger flew from his hand unerringly and buried itself in her captor’s shoulder. He gave a harsh scream and let her fall forward on to her face.

She lay still for moments, scarcely able to breathe; when at least she managed to scramble upright, Richard Allard had sprung once again at the stranger who was now supine on the track with Allard’s body full across him. Anne stood back on very wobbly legs as Richard stood up. His back was to her but with trembling lips she saw him retrieve his dagger, stoop to wipe it on the grass and turn to face her.

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