wearily
at the sight.
That house had lots of fond memories for him. It had been the place where he had grown; his father had been the armourer to
good Squire William, and when the squire rode to war in Ireland with his lord, Pagan’s father had ridden with him. A lord’s
host needed men who could wield a hammer or an axe. The old man had died there when they reached Kells. There the Scots persuaded
the despicable de Lacys to turn their shields and become traitors to Mortimer, their master – Squire William’s master. Kells
fell and there was a terrible slaughter.
Squire William too died that day, and the family which Pagan had served so long had been thrown into turmoil. It was all very
well for William’s son, Squire Robert, to be born to a title, but without money a title was worthless. And the family had
nothing. Pagan had remained to serve Squire Robert because he could imagine no other function, and all he could do was act
as steward to the people he knew so well and hope that their fortunes might change.
As they had – but not in the way he had hoped. With thedeath of Squire Robert at Bridgnorth, still fighting on the side of his master, Lord Mortimer, there was little the family
could do to defend itself. Robert had died in the service of a rebel, and the king’s rage at such people knew no bounds. Whole
families were punished for their heads’ loyal service to their lords; bodies still hung on gibbets even now, years afterwards,
and the king’s own advisers, the Despensers, saw that they could seize the advantage. They cheated, they stole and they killed
to take what they wanted.
That was when the family lost their house. Squire Robert’s widow, Isabel, was forced out by that thief, that deceiver, that
disgrace to chivalry, Hugh Despenser. He took everything, leaving them only a hovel in which to live. It was fortunate that
Pagan still had his own cottage, for there was hardly space in hers for the squire’s widow, her son Ailward and her daughter-in-law,
Ailward’s wife. Only Sir Odo had tried to help, riding over occasionally from Fishleigh to visit her. Not that Pagan would
stay when Sir Odo was there. He knew why Sir Odo wanted to see the widow, and it wouldn’t be seemly for Pagan to be there
to watch.
Yes, from up here he could see what Despenser’s lackeys were up to. Last afternoon they had ridden off to the west, returning
only late, after dark, and Pagan knew what they had been doing. Everyone knew. All had heard of the attack on the poor sergeant
of Sir Odo’s over towards the ford.
Someone must stop them.
Sir Odo was a man who liked routine. Each morning he would rise with the dawn, and call for his horse while he drank weak
ale and ate a hunk of bread broken from a good white loaf. By the time he’d finished, the stable boys shouldhave finished preparing his old grey rounsey, and he would walk out to take his early morning ride round his estate.
Today he stood in the doorway and snuffed the air while he pulled on heavy gloves; a middle-aged man of only some five and
a half feet tall, he made up for lack of height by his breadth. In his youth he had been a keen wrestler, and he had maintained
his bulk over the years: his neck was almost the same diameter as his skull, and his biceps were fully larger than most men’s
thighs.
His temper was foul today. The grief that had afflicted Lady Isabel on hearing of the loss of her son had naturally affected
the manner in which she dealt with everyone else. Sir Odo felt that grief keenly. He was a long-standing friend of Lady Isabel,
and to see so noble a lady reduced by the death of her only child was dreadful.
He sniffed and closed his eyes. Seeing a lad of only five or six and twenty die was always sad, but this case was worse than
most. Sir Odo had thought that Ailward would shortly be finding his place in the world, that he might recover a little of
the family’s fortune, but
at the sight.
That house had lots of fond memories for him. It had been the place where he had grown; his father had been the armourer to
good Squire William, and when the squire rode to war in Ireland with his lord, Pagan’s father had ridden with him. A lord’s
host needed men who could wield a hammer or an axe. The old man had died there when they reached Kells. There the Scots persuaded
the despicable de Lacys to turn their shields and become traitors to Mortimer, their master – Squire William’s master. Kells
fell and there was a terrible slaughter.
Squire William too died that day, and the family which Pagan had served so long had been thrown into turmoil. It was all very
well for William’s son, Squire Robert, to be born to a title, but without money a title was worthless. And the family had
nothing. Pagan had remained to serve Squire Robert because he could imagine no other function, and all he could do was act
as steward to the people he knew so well and hope that their fortunes might change.
As they had – but not in the way he had hoped. With thedeath of Squire Robert at Bridgnorth, still fighting on the side of his master, Lord Mortimer, there was little the family
could do to defend itself. Robert had died in the service of a rebel, and the king’s rage at such people knew no bounds. Whole
families were punished for their heads’ loyal service to their lords; bodies still hung on gibbets even now, years afterwards,
and the king’s own advisers, the Despensers, saw that they could seize the advantage. They cheated, they stole and they killed
to take what they wanted.
That was when the family lost their house. Squire Robert’s widow, Isabel, was forced out by that thief, that deceiver, that
disgrace to chivalry, Hugh Despenser. He took everything, leaving them only a hovel in which to live. It was fortunate that
Pagan still had his own cottage, for there was hardly space in hers for the squire’s widow, her son Ailward and her daughter-in-law,
Ailward’s wife. Only Sir Odo had tried to help, riding over occasionally from Fishleigh to visit her. Not that Pagan would
stay when Sir Odo was there. He knew why Sir Odo wanted to see the widow, and it wouldn’t be seemly for Pagan to be there
to watch.
Yes, from up here he could see what Despenser’s lackeys were up to. Last afternoon they had ridden off to the west, returning
only late, after dark, and Pagan knew what they had been doing. Everyone knew. All had heard of the attack on the poor sergeant
of Sir Odo’s over towards the ford.
Someone must stop them.
Sir Odo was a man who liked routine. Each morning he would rise with the dawn, and call for his horse while he drank weak
ale and ate a hunk of bread broken from a good white loaf. By the time he’d finished, the stable boys shouldhave finished preparing his old grey rounsey, and he would walk out to take his early morning ride round his estate.
Today he stood in the doorway and snuffed the air while he pulled on heavy gloves; a middle-aged man of only some five and
a half feet tall, he made up for lack of height by his breadth. In his youth he had been a keen wrestler, and he had maintained
his bulk over the years: his neck was almost the same diameter as his skull, and his biceps were fully larger than most men’s
thighs.
His temper was foul today. The grief that had afflicted Lady Isabel on hearing of the loss of her son had naturally affected
the manner in which she dealt with everyone else. Sir Odo felt that grief keenly. He was a long-standing friend of Lady Isabel,
and to see so noble a lady reduced by the death of her only child was dreadful.
He sniffed and closed his eyes. Seeing a lad of only five or six and twenty die was always sad, but this case was worse than
most. Sir Odo had thought that Ailward would shortly be finding his place in the world, that he might recover a little of
the family’s fortune, but
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