“Glastonbury’s murdered and Wells flourishes, and no sign of Useless Eustace since. For why? Because the bishop’s spirited him away so’s he can’t be made to confess.”
Inevitably there would be a scapegoat, Adelia thought. When whole towns became a furnace, as they sometimes did, as this one had, it was either put down to God’s punishment of wickedness—and Glastonbury was regarded as too holy for that—or to arson. There had to be blame; it was too banal that such suffering was caused by the accidental fall of a lighted candle.
To divert a complaint that could carry on for a long time, and because anxiety for Emma gnawed at her, Adelia asked, “By any chance have you heard of a lady with a child and a wounded knight traveling in the vicinity? She was making for Wolvercote Manor but doesn’t seem to have arrived there.”
Hilda sat herself down at the table to think about it. “Lady and a wounded knight, you say?”
“He’s a foreigner, a German.”
“No-o-o, can’t say as I have. I do hope as nothing has happened to your lady, for the roads ain’t safe anymore, what with men havelost their living and turned to robbery—and worse nor robbery, the which there’s travelers having their throats cut over there by Wells, like it wasn’t enough to lose their purses but their lives as well, poor things.”
“That road from Wells is a right disgrace,” Captain Bolt said through a mouthful of porridge. “Trees up to its edges, there’s bound to be robbers. Who’s to catch them in that forest? I wonder as the abbot don’t make it safer.”
Hilda turned on him. “Don’t you blame my dear abbot, don’t you dare. He’d make all safe for everybody, God bless him, but that’s Wells forest—well, the king’s really—but the bishop does his hunting in it and won’t have a twig touched in case it upsets the deer. Oh, if I was a swearing woman, I’d tell you things about the bishop of Wells… .”
She proceeded to do so—at length.
The enmity of Glastonbury for Wells, and Wells for Glastonbury, was not just between their churchmen but, according to Hilda, had existed for years among the people of the two towns. Wells had always been jealous of its famous neighbor. “Them Wellsians ain’t Christians, and I’d be sorrier for them when they come to the Seat of Judgment if they didn’t deserve every flame in hell.”
The bishop of Saint Albans, Adelia thought, was going to have his work cut out when he came to make peace between the two.
Captain Bolt cut the diatribe short. Despite only a couple of hours’ sleep, he was taking his soldiers back to Wales immediately.
Adelia was amused to hear him quibbling over the bill for accommodating his men. “I’ll expect you to charge the king only half a night’s tariff, Mistress Hilda, that being all as we spent in our beds, seeing as how we had to set ’em up.
And
we saw to ourown stabling—you can’t expect the Exchequer to pay for comforts not provided.”
Like king, like captain,
Adelia thought.
And then she thought,
Damn Henry, he’s done it
again.
There’d been a sharp exchange between her and the Plantagenet before she left him.
“My lord, I am
not
going to Glastonbury penniless and with only a paper warrant. Suppose there’s an emergency necessitating cash
?”
“Emergency? It’s a holiday I’m giving you, woman.
”
In the end she’d managed to inveigle two silver pounds out of him, which—because he didn’t carry money—he’d had to borrow from a reluctant chamberlain. Now at least one of those pounds would have to go to a landlord who’d otherwise be forced to accommodate her on credit that his devastated inn could ill afford to extend—it took a long time before anybody received payment from tightfisted Henry’s equally tightfisted Exchequer.
Nevertheless, she was sorry to see Bolt go; she’d come to like him, impatient as he was, as well as his men.
She was touched to find that he’d already reconnoitered
Inevitably there would be a scapegoat, Adelia thought. When whole towns became a furnace, as they sometimes did, as this one had, it was either put down to God’s punishment of wickedness—and Glastonbury was regarded as too holy for that—or to arson. There had to be blame; it was too banal that such suffering was caused by the accidental fall of a lighted candle.
To divert a complaint that could carry on for a long time, and because anxiety for Emma gnawed at her, Adelia asked, “By any chance have you heard of a lady with a child and a wounded knight traveling in the vicinity? She was making for Wolvercote Manor but doesn’t seem to have arrived there.”
Hilda sat herself down at the table to think about it. “Lady and a wounded knight, you say?”
“He’s a foreigner, a German.”
“No-o-o, can’t say as I have. I do hope as nothing has happened to your lady, for the roads ain’t safe anymore, what with men havelost their living and turned to robbery—and worse nor robbery, the which there’s travelers having their throats cut over there by Wells, like it wasn’t enough to lose their purses but their lives as well, poor things.”
“That road from Wells is a right disgrace,” Captain Bolt said through a mouthful of porridge. “Trees up to its edges, there’s bound to be robbers. Who’s to catch them in that forest? I wonder as the abbot don’t make it safer.”
Hilda turned on him. “Don’t you blame my dear abbot, don’t you dare. He’d make all safe for everybody, God bless him, but that’s Wells forest—well, the king’s really—but the bishop does his hunting in it and won’t have a twig touched in case it upsets the deer. Oh, if I was a swearing woman, I’d tell you things about the bishop of Wells… .”
She proceeded to do so—at length.
The enmity of Glastonbury for Wells, and Wells for Glastonbury, was not just between their churchmen but, according to Hilda, had existed for years among the people of the two towns. Wells had always been jealous of its famous neighbor. “Them Wellsians ain’t Christians, and I’d be sorrier for them when they come to the Seat of Judgment if they didn’t deserve every flame in hell.”
The bishop of Saint Albans, Adelia thought, was going to have his work cut out when he came to make peace between the two.
Captain Bolt cut the diatribe short. Despite only a couple of hours’ sleep, he was taking his soldiers back to Wales immediately.
Adelia was amused to hear him quibbling over the bill for accommodating his men. “I’ll expect you to charge the king only half a night’s tariff, Mistress Hilda, that being all as we spent in our beds, seeing as how we had to set ’em up.
And
we saw to ourown stabling—you can’t expect the Exchequer to pay for comforts not provided.”
Like king, like captain,
Adelia thought.
And then she thought,
Damn Henry, he’s done it
again.
There’d been a sharp exchange between her and the Plantagenet before she left him.
“My lord, I am
not
going to Glastonbury penniless and with only a paper warrant. Suppose there’s an emergency necessitating cash
?”
“Emergency? It’s a holiday I’m giving you, woman.
”
In the end she’d managed to inveigle two silver pounds out of him, which—because he didn’t carry money—he’d had to borrow from a reluctant chamberlain. Now at least one of those pounds would have to go to a landlord who’d otherwise be forced to accommodate her on credit that his devastated inn could ill afford to extend—it took a long time before anybody received payment from tightfisted Henry’s equally tightfisted Exchequer.
Nevertheless, she was sorry to see Bolt go; she’d come to like him, impatient as he was, as well as his men.
She was touched to find that he’d already reconnoitered
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