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  Clara smiled. ‘I would have a man who loves you, milady.’

  ‘So would I, my dear friend, but a lover would be more appealing and useful if he were a wealthy noble, approved by Blandeforde, who sees merit in freeing his serfs.’

  ‘Does such a man exist, milady?’

  ‘Not yet, but with My Lord of Bourne’s help, he might.’ She smiled at the puzzlement in Clara’s face. ‘If he holds to the agreement Thaddeus has made with him, we have a chance of gaining our freedom lawfully.’

  ‘What sort of agreement?’ asked Clara suspiciously. ‘I’d sooner remain a serf than have you marry that vile old man. No one’s more deserving of freedom than you.’

  Lady Anne squeezed her fingers affectionately. ‘Have faith in Thaddeus,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t supped with the Devil every night to hand him the keys of Develish. I have a request that you may not like, however.’

  ‘You have but to ask, milady.’

  ‘We must forget our grievances against Bourne and show him only respect when he crosses the moat. Will you spread that word amongst our people? Thaddeus has persuaded him he has nothing to fear from educated serfs, and he will know it for certain if he’s treated with courtesy.’

  Clara gave the instruction the following day, saying it came from Milady, but in private she questioned what sort of agreement Thaddeus had made that allowed Bourne to think his sins forgiven. Many cavilled at showing respect to the Norman who had burnt their homes and attacked their demesne, but Gyles lent his authority to the request, saying nothing would be gained by giving Bourne reason to fear them. When the time came for My Lord to leave, better he went as a friend than an enemy. It would not bode well for Milady or her people if he took unfavourable tales of Develish to Blandeforde.

  This argument was accepted, and the old man received a warmer welcome than he might have expected. He chose to wait for Thaddeus and his companions to serve their fourteen days’ exclusion before entering with them, and there was so much joy from mothers at the prospect of being able to clasp their sons to their hearts again that he seemed to feel himself included in the happiness. It helped that Thaddeus had instructed his companions to introduce him to their families before accepting their mothers’ embraces, and Lady Anne’s leading serfs and their wives were more than willing to set the example for others to follow.

  When it came to Clara’s turn, she bobbed a deep curtsey and said she trusted My Lord was looking forward to the feast Milady had ordered in celebration of his arrival. He declared that he was, urging her graciously to rise, and she wondered if he was really so arrogant that he believed it was his arrival Milady wished to salute. Perhaps so, for he accepted Lady Anne’s offer of her husband’s chamber as his due, together with fine garments from Sir Richard’s coffers to replace his homespun tunic and britches.

  Dressed in a gown befitting her station—sewn from russet-coloured silk with softly falling skirts and a gold circlet about her waist—Lady Anne allowed him to precede her into the house in recognition of his superior status. Inside, she asked Master de Courtesmain to accompany My Lord to his room and assist him with any requests he might have. Gyles whispered to Thaddeus that he thought it a bad idea to give the Frenchman such free access to Bourne. Who knew what poison he’d whisper in the old man’s ear?

  Thaddeus placed a comforting hand on Gyles’s arm. ‘Milady knows what she’s doing, my friend. De Courtesmain will find a way to speak with Bourne whatever she does—most likely in the church with Father Anselm’s blessing—and Bourne will listen more closely if de Courtesmain claims he’s being kept from him.’

  ‘He’ll say nothing good about us, Thaddeus.’

  ‘For certain, but Bourne is neither blind nor foolish. He’ll learn soon enough that what I’ve told him about Develish is the truth. De Courtesmain will do himself no favours by trying to persuade him otherwise.’

  And as the days passed, this proved to be true. For all the Frenchman’s attempts to snare the old man, Bourne showed more willingness to consort with Lady Anne and her people. As often as not, he sat in the great hall, watching Isabella Startout teach the children, taking pleasure in hearing them read aloud from the English translations Lady Anne had made of the parables. Each day, he expressed new wonderment that urchins as young as ten were as fluent in letters as he was himself.

  Thaddeus’s companions were made uncomfortable by the welcome they received. The young girls swooned over them, begging to hear more of their stories, but they seemed to prefer each other’s company and took no advantage of the maids’ shameless flirting. As Clara said, Thaddeus’s influence over the boys was so strong they broke every heart with their courteous indifference. To Lady Anne’s private relief, they showed no interest in Eleanor, seeming more preoccupied by their ambitions to forge a future outside Develish.

  For her part, Eleanor was content to avoid them. She spent her days in Lady Anne’s chamber and only appeared for an hour or two in the evenings to sit with her mother and My Lord of Bourne. Her demeanour was always appropriate, and her affection for Lady Anne obvious, perhaps because Milady never failed to refer to her as her daughter. Some thought she’d forgiven the girl too readily for her bitter words of hatred; others pointed to Eleanor’s unlikely friendship with Robert Startout, which seemed to have had a soothing effect on her temper. Few understood why the eleven-year-old had spoken on Eleanor’s behalf at her trial for imprisoning and wounding Isabella, but there was no doubting she paid him more mind than anyone else.

  Most days, he visited her in Lady Anne’s chamber and, together, they played with the cats that Thaddeus had brought from Holcombe. At Milady’s request, Thaddeus had gifted them to Eleanor, and under Robert’s guidance, she learnt to love and not fear them. Father Anselm called them the Devil’s creatures, but Eleanor saw only good in them and found solace in feeding and nurturing them. And with this first small rebellion against the priest, her self-centred vision of the world, where her place was God-ordained by virtue of her birth, seemed to soften towards an acceptance that earthly life was not as intelligible as her father and the Church had led her to believe.

  Thaddeus and his companions built a shelter for themselves in the orchard, preferring to sleep outside as had become their custom. Thaddeus showed no interest in reclaiming his post as steward, speaking courteously to de Courtesmain whenever they met but he drew the man’s ire by spending an hour each morning alone with Lady Anne in the office. De Courtesmain’s frustration at being barred on these occasions, displayed by an impatient tapping of his foot until the door opened, amused every serf who saw it. He should have been grateful that Milady hadn’t stripped him of his duties and title; instead, he sulked and pouted because the counsel of a bastard slave was preferred to his.

  His irritation was further inflamed by Lady Anne’s willingness to allow Joshua’s dogs to roam freely about the compound. When she withdrew her people inside the moat, she had commanded the mongrels from the village to be destroyed in order to preserve food for human consumption. Now she humbly accepted Joshua’s argument that that decision had been wrong, agreeing that the curs would have guarded the walls as faithfully as his hounds were doing now. It mattered not that Hugh’s irritation had more to do with his fear of dogs than that Milady demeaned herself by admitting error to a serf.

  Not that Thurkell’s companions behaved like serfs. They conducted themselves well, listening when others spoke and showing consideration to all. Clara was not alone in finding it hard to recognise her son in the respectful young man who offered to perform chores that he’d have thought beneath him a month ago. James Buckler, more used to criticising Joshua for failing at tasks, found himself in awe of his son’s ability to control his pack and speak with confidence of acting as Thaddeus’s master of hounds. Meanwhile, Peter Catchpole, known for his laziness, astounded his parents and everyone else by his dedication to learning the skills of medicine from Lady Anne. A story circulated that he had brought Olyver Startout back from the dead by breathing warm a
ir into his mouth, and most believed it must be true when Father Anselm went out of his way to warn that such practices were heretical.

  De Courtesmain demanded the truth of the story from Isabella Startout. ‘I don’t doubt you’re aiding and abetting your brothers and their friends in the lies they’re telling,’ he said angrily. ‘But to what end? Does Thurkell seek to make himself master here by winning the hearts of the credulous with myths and falsehoods?’

  Isabella lowered her head ‘All are loyal to Lady Anne, Master de Courtesmain. There’s not a person in Develish who would wish to have anyone other than her as their liege lord.’

  ‘Except Thurkell. He makes his ambitions clear.’

  Isabella stepped away and her answer was so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d heard it correctly. ‘But not as clear as you make yours, sir.’

  (EXTRACT FROM A PRIVATE JOURNAL KEPT BY LADY ANNE)

  St Andrew’s Day, last week of November, 1348

  It has been agreed. On the first day of January, 1349, Thaddeus Thurkell, Ian and Olyver Startout, Edmund Trueblood, Peter Catchpole and Joshua Buckler will escort My Lord of Bourne to his estates in Wiltshire. They will remain with him one month in order to secure his property, bring his surviving bondsmen to live on his principal demesne and introduce some method to his affairs.

  As payment for this service—and in recognition that he is compromised by the letters he wrote on behalf of the ladies of Dorseteshire, which will stay with me in Develish—My Lord has agreed to prepare a scroll, bearing his signature and seal, introducing the man who carries it as My Lord of Athelstan. He will recommend Athelstan’s honesty and good character to all he encounters. My Lord is willing to write this falsehood but has warned Thaddeus it will be no protection if imposture is suspected. Thaddeus must play the noble at all times if he is to avoid detection.

  I have chosen Athelstan because the title was in my family until my maternal grandfather died without male issue. His ring came to me and I have kept it these many years, along with his crest and lineage. They show descent from Godwin of Wessex, father to King Harold, who was defeated in battle by William of Normandy. It may be that Thaddeus will be more in danger of exposure through claiming royal English blood, but My Lord of Bourne believes the opposite to be true. Few Normans have knowledge of Saxon ancestry, though most are acquainted with their own.

  I have taught Thaddeus all I know of my family’s history and have inscribed a new lineage, showing him to be descended from an invented younger brother of my grandfather, who departed these shores over half a century ago. I have urged him to say that his grandmother’s family is of Spanish-Moorish descent, for this will explain his dark complexion.

  My leading serfs, whose sons will accompany him, worry that the pretence will be uncovered, but Thaddeus has persuaded them it’s a gamble worth taking. To risk all is to win all. Nevertheless, so much faith is being placed in my belief that land will be cheap once the pestilence passes that I feel a weight of responsibility upon my shoulders. Only God knows if Eleanor’s dowry remains where Gyles left it on his journey home with Sir Richard. And only God knows if a base-born slave can pass for a lord and purchase the demesne of his choosing.

  Christmas Day, 1348

  I shall look back on this day as the happiest of my life. For the first time, the people of Develish were able to celebrate Christ’s Nativity together as equals. Father Anselm called us to prayer early so that the long-awaited games could take place at noon. We all laughed as fathers and sons vied for the laurel wreaths, since there was more cheating than competing in each event. Afterwards, we feasted on roasted mutton and warm bread while the children sang to us. How sweet their voices are and how ably Isabella has taught them. My Lord of Bourne has great admiration for her and remarked that she would make a better wife to a lord than most women who are born to the role.

  Thaddeus and his companions paraded themselves in the garments I and my seamstresses have stitched for them from the clothes they brought from Holcombe. Thaddeus looked every inch a lord and the boys—who seem to grow in stature with each day that passes—every inch his soldiers. For fun, they invited us all to join them in a merry jig. Neither Thaddeus nor I knew which steps to make, for we are sadly lacking in dancing skills, but Adam Catchpole’s rhythmic drumming of a goatskin was so enticing that I could not resist taking Thaddeus’s hand. It’s my greatest joy that my dear friend’s time out of Develish seems to have conquered his shyness.

  It can’t be wrong to feel such enjoyment, however ferociously Master de Courtesmain frowned to see us smile!

  The first day of January, 1349

  So many of our hopes have gone with the convoy that set off at dawn.

  My Lord of Bourne thanked me for the hospitality he has received in Develish, and gifted me the horses and tackle of his dead fighting men by way of compensation for my generosity. It amuses me that he is still unable to look me in the eye when he speaks to me. Thaddeus says he’s shamed by my refusal to accept a portion of the stolen gold, but I think it more likely that he continues to suspect me of practising black arts. Women have been inferior to men so long that it frightens him to see one such as I managing a demesne.

  Perhaps, more simply, he doesn’t trust me not to use his letters against him, though why he thinks I should be the first to break our bargain is anyone’s guess. Unless because I’m a witch!

  I have allowed Master de Courtesmain to accompany him to act as his steward in Wiltshire. Bourne has more need of a scribe than I, and Develish will benefit from de Courtesmain’s absence since his only ambition seems to be the sowing of discord. Father Anselm will miss him, since de Courtesmain is his single confidant, but I can’t imagine anyone else will regret his departure.

  Winter is well set in and I hope it stays with us for several months. If Thaddeus is right about rats and fleas spreading the pestilence, the journey will be safer with the ground frozen. Vermin and parasites dislike the frost and snow as much as we do.

  I bid farewell to the fear and misery of 1348 with a gladsome heart and pray most earnestly that my people, Dorseteshire and England will enjoy better fortune in 1349.

  1349

  Seven

  Bourne, Wiltshire

  HUGH DE COURTESMAIN HID HIS irritation behind a thin-lipped smile as he watched Thaddeus Thurkell take his leave of the peasants who crowded around him. It was the fifth day of February and past time the slave and his men allowed Bourne’s estates to be managed by their rightful steward. But how it galled Hugh to watch the hated giant’s departure. Thurkell might be a god for all the adulation being showered upon him. Even after a month of behaving no differently from the serfs who sought to kiss his hand, none of Bourne’s people questioned that he was My Lord of Athelstan.

  His height, his bearing, his dress and mannered speech, whether in French or English, suggested a person of privilege, and Hugh’s heart burnt with envy because he knew he lacked the ability to play such a part himself. Even now, he had a yearning to reveal the imposture, though he doubted these fools would view the harlot-hatched bastard differently if he did. The idea that one lower than they could rise above his station in life was more likely to excite than annoy them. It was only Hugh who felt demeaned by having to bend his neck to an imposter. He would have betrayed Thurkell gladly these last four weeks had he not feared Bourne’s anger at the secret of his protégé’s birth becoming known. Hugh had worked too hard to ingratiate himself with Bourne to lose his position out of momentary pique.

  He comforted himself that his time of being eclipsed by Thurkell was over. In minutes, the slave and his five companions would be gone, and the only commands these serfs would hear then would be Hugh de Courtesmain’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the figure of My Lord of Bourne at the top of the stone stairs, leading to the upper chamber, and he took satisfaction from the look of disquiet on the old man’s face as he watched the scene below. Could it be Bourne had finally come to understand the danger of allowing an English serf to
gain such ascendancy over his people?

  No one who entered the great hall of Bourne would question that the owner’s loyalties lay with France. My Lord had spent his wealth on dressing the walls and floor with the finest hangings and most elegant of French furniture, and the sight had warmed Hugh’s heart when he first arrived. Even as a young student in Normandy, he had never visited a house so fine. There were tapestries from Arras, armoires and tables from Limousin, stools from the Breton province and a carved oaken throne from Rheims. By comparison, Develish was spare and humble, and Hugh was certain Thurkell couldn’t understand the value of what he was looking at until he heard him murmur under his breath to Ian Startout that he saw now why My Lord had felt it necessary to steal from Dorseteshire widows. To My Lord’s face, he was less offensive, saying only that serfs could feed as well from a French table as from an English one.

  Whether through shame at having his thieving discovered or a genuine belief that treating his people with kindness would bring results, My Lord had given Thurkell leave to introduce Develish practices to his own estate. Hugh had questioned the sense when he saw the group of filthy, undernourished field serfs who assembled in the great hall within an hour of their master’s return. Of what use could education be to these cowering shadows? Their community had once numbered over six hundred but a bare hundred and twenty remained, and none looked capable of productive labour. The pestilence had destroyed their families and broken what little spirit they had left.

  Hugh had wanted to run at the sight of them, sure they carried the pestilence, but Thurkell, who had first addressed them outside, had accepted their word that a month had passed since anyone had died of it. He had already made enquiries of the servants in the house and all had given the same testimony. The last death had been at the end of November. Since Lady Anne had insisted on only two weeks exclusion to prove a person free of the sickness, he had persuaded Bourne that four weeks was long enough to believe his people, too, were free of it. And he didn’t doubt the cold winter was to thank for this blessing.