The Bladesmith Read online

  'Hold your tongue, Lily, no-one's interested in your prattling,' growled the landlord, entering at that moment with two brimming tankards of ale. 'Off you go now, there's a good lass. We can manage now.'

  Eyes downcast, Lily gave another bobbing curtsey and hurried away.

  'Lily comes in to help when we're busy, but she be inclined to chatter. Her father's a fisherman and a widower, so she don't keep a deal of company.' The landlord cast a critical glance at the table, and, apparently satisfied, picked up the basket. 'Missus'll bring your food along in a twinkling, sirs.'

  'So we are not to be served by the lovely Lily,' remarked Matthew, when they were alone.

  'Careful, Matty, remember your vows to Molly.'

  His servant grinned. 'Of course, but 'tis no sin to enjoy looking at a handsome girl, and Lily is a gem. Pretty face, good figure, remarkably trim ankles – '

  'And a beau at the Keep, if she is to be believed.'

  Matthew nodded and took a thoughtful sip of his ale.

  'Well, it would be unusual for such a piece of perfection not to have a lover.'

  'Her father would do better to find her a husband to keep her safe,' retorted John. He glanced up as the door opened to admit the landlady with their food, and the gentlemen turned their attention to satisfying their hunger.

  As soon as their meal was finished Matthew ordered their horses and they set off again, trotting out of the village towards the coast. As they crested the ridge the light breeze strengthened and they drew rein, taking in the view before them. The ground dropped away gently to a line of undulating grass-covered dunes that separated the rich grazing pastures from the sandy beach, beyond which lay the grey northern sea, an unceasing line of white-topped waves racing towards the shore. To the north the ridge and the dunes curved into the distance, disappearing into a misty haze, while looking south, the skyline was dominated by the outline of Warenford Keep standing proud on its rocky crest. The afternoon sun threw the castle walls into shadow and the Keep's outline was stark against the blue of the summer sky. Matthew raised his arm and pointed.

  'There's our party, Master John. They look to be about half-way between here and the Keep.'

  'Then let us catch them.' John touched his heels to Dorcas's flanks. 'Time to forget about pretty serving wenches, Matty, and enjoy some fine sea air!'

  They were approaching the castle from the north, where the sheer cliff reared out of the sea. The Keep's wall ran along the very edge, culminating in a great square tower that loomed over the in-coming surf. Following the wall from the tower inland to the first of the round gate-house towers, John noted that the curtain wall was much higher and castellated, even though the cliff was equally high and precipitous. As the pack-train neared the promontory the path swung inland in a wide curve, turning back on itself to join the gentle slope leading to the main gateway set between its two imposing towers. As they approached, the grey walls rose up menacingly before them.

  'A forbidding place,' remarked John. 'I can almost imagine those old knights waiting to pour boiling oil over us.'

  Matthew smiled, but could not avoid a nervous glance upwards as they clattered through the shadowed gateway.

  A tall man in a brown bag-wig and dark frock-coat was waiting for them in the yard, and introduced himself as Davis, Lord Warenford's steward.

  'I'll show you to the north tower,' he said curtly. 'It's on the far side of the bailey – that is, this inner courtyard. My men there will help you to unload.'

  Matthew bridled at the curt tone, but John said quietly, 'Lord Warenford agreed lodgings for the night, and fodder for our horses?'

  'That is in hand. If you have a man to spare, Abel will show him the arrangements now.' He signalled to a thick-set man in a leather jerkin who was watching from the doorway of one of the towers.

  John's blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he observed Matty's frown. His man would not take kindly to such rough and ready treatment.

  'Matthew, do you go now with, er, Abel and look to our accommodation. I will oversee the unloading.'

  'As you wish, sir.'

  John's amusement deepened at this curt response, and he watched the two men cross the courtyard before following the steward across to the square tower he had noted from their approach, the pack-horses strung out behind him. The north tower looked as if it had changed little since it had been built centuries before. The windows were no more than narrow arrow-slits with no glass or coverings, but fresh mortar showed that some repairs had been carried out to the walls, and a new door of stout oak had been fitted.

  'No comforts here,' he observed to his guide.

  Davis grunted. 'Don't need 'em. We only use this for storage.' As he inserted a large key into the lock he shouted to a couple of men who were lounging against the wall to come and give a hand. John stepped inside, noting how the thick walls prevented the warm sun from penetrating the tower. He found himself in a large, bare room with an earth floor beneath his feet. In one corner a narrow wooden staircase circled to an upper floor. He turned to the steward.

  'The boxes will not go up those steps. Do you want to unpack each one?'

  'No, we'll stack them here.'

  John looked across at the square of light at the far side of the room, a large aperture in the wall, no less than three feet square and giving a view of the sea and sky.

  'What is the point of your stout locked door when you have an open window here?'

  Davis grinned. 'Go and have look at it.'

  John walked across the room, leaning over the thick sill. The opening was built into the northern wall, giving a good view of Sleaton Bay and the coastal approach road. Looking down, John could not see the sheer cliff, only the waters foaming around the jagged rocks.

  'No way of getting a boat within reach of the cliff,' said the steward, standing aside as the first of the boxes was carried into the tower room. 'We can put up a leather curtain to keep out the worst of the weather, but nothing save the odd bird has ever entered this room through that window. Well, let's take a look at your wares, sir.'

  Davis motioned to one of his men, who stepped forward and prized off the lid of the first box. John reached in and pulled a sword from amongst the chaff packing. After a brief inspection he handed it to the steward.

  'Forty-eight dozen longswords, leather handle, cup-guard.'

  'As Lord Warenford decreed.' Davis balanced the weapon on his hand before turning it to the light as he studied the design on the hilt. 'A wolf's head?'

  'The company emblem, Master Davis. 'Tis my brother's sign.'

  'Hmm. A fine sword, sir. You wear one yourself, perhaps?'

  John shook his head. 'I have a rapier, as is the fashion. I have no need for a new blade.'

  Davis shrugged and went back to inspecting the weapon in his hand.

  'Well balanced, and a serviceable blade.' He broke off, looking towards the door.

  John glanced round to see Matthew, looking very smug, entering the tower behind a tall gentleman whom John realized immediately was Lord Warenford. In a glance John took in the powdered and curled hair and a midnight-blue velvet frockcoat worn over a flowered waistcoat, heavily laced with silver. A diamond pin winked from the froth of lace at his throat while a number of fobs and seals danced across the front of his waistcoat. An ornate sword swung from his belt: a serviceable blade, John noted, despite the intricate basket-work around the hilt. White knee-breeches encased powerful thighs while the gentleman's silk stockings were heavily embroidered with gold clocks. The elegantly attired figure would have looked at home in a London drawing room: in a medieval tower on the north-east coast of England he was decidedly out of place.

  'Ah Davis, why did you not inform me that Master Steel had arrived?' The gentleman made an elegant bow, his jewelled fingers almost sweeping the glittering buckles of his shoes. 'Sir, I am Warenford, at your service.' He straightened and watched as another case was brought in. 'My very dear sir, I am sure we can leave Davis and your man to complete the in
ventory. Pray allow me to escort you to the house. You will dine with me, of course?'

  'All of which gives me to think,' opined John later that night, when Matthew was helping him to prepare for bed, 'That someone has been puffing off my consequence.'

  The servant grinned. 'The steward, Davis, was too superior by far, so when I was being shown our quarters, I let slip that you were related to the Crewes of Durham. Heir to the family estates, in fact. The lackey couldn't wait to scuttle back to his master with the news.'

  John handed him his waistcoat.

  'Well if it saves me a night sleeping above the stables I am not sorry for it.' He cocked an eyebrow at his servant. 'Are the men being looked after?'

  'Aye, sir, they've been fed well enough and there's plenty of fodder for the ponies.'

  'Good. Tomorrow we will give Sealy the receipts and a note to take back to my brother.'

  'Oh, are we not going back to Shotley Bridge?'

  John slipped his nightshirt over his head.

  'Not immediately. Lord Warenford is giving a dinner tomorrow night and I am invited.'

  'And you think perhaps Mistress Ellingham will be in attendance?

  'That is a possibility of course. Moreover, I am curious to know why our host has need of so many longswords.'

  Matthew's brows snapped together. 'You suspect he might be a rebel?'

  'Hush Matty. One never knows who may be listening. But yes,' he said softly. 'I think all this hospitality is to discover where my sympathies lie. After all, the support of the prestigious Crewe family would not go amiss, would it?'

  A morning spent writing a note to his brother and giving instructions to Sealy, who was to take the pack ponies back to Shotley Bridge, gave John little time for leisure and when he had concluded his business the morning was well advanced. Lord Warenford had gone out, leaving instructions with his steward to afford his guest every assistance, including a guide, should he wish to ride out.

  'A guide?' John looked amused. 'Does his lordship think I should lose myself if I venture outside the gates?'

  Davis did not smile. 'In such uncertain times, sir, one can never be sure what may occur. My lord is always solicitous for the comfort and safety of his guests.'

  'Such concern does your lord credit, but I have no plans to step outside the Keep today. I hope Lord Warenford would not object if I take the air around the grounds, once I have broken my fast?'

  'Not at all,' returned the steward politely.

  Thus, after a hearty repast, John set out to explore the Keep. The Earl's living quarters were built against the southern curtain wall; a large stone house with a central porch and stone mullions and castellation in keeping with the fortified nature of the original. A small parterre was laid out in front of the house, with a high wall and iron gate separating it from the bailey. In the summer sunshine the old walls reared up, gleaming a pale grey against the clear blue of the sky.

  A small lock-up was built against the northern curtain wall, beneath a boarded parapet walk that stretched from one of the round towers of the gate-house to the north tower where, John noted as he walked past, the oak door was now firmly shut. A series of new wooden buildings had been erected between the house and the north tower, separating the bailey from the outer ward and providing plenty of accommodation and stabling. Much more than was necessary for a country squire, John thought. More in keeping with a private army.

  He made his way through a narrow alley between the buildings and found himself in the outer ward, a flat, grassy plateau, where horses grazed together with a few cattle. There was no shelter here from the fresh breeze, and John buttoned his coat as he set off to follow the route of the curtain wall. As he had noticed when they approached the Keep yesterday, on the northern side the wall had been built merely to prevent the animals from falling over the cliff edge and was quite low.

  John leaned over to looked at the sea which frothed and boiled around the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. As he followed the wall around to the south he noticed that the rocky cliff gave way to a more gentle slope and consequently the curtain wall was higher and thicker. There was only one door in the wall surrounding the outer ward, a small, iron-banded oak door at the most easterly point, and beside it a small loophole. Looking through, John could see nothing more interesting than the black rocks sloping away into the sea. Moving round to the south wall, more huts were built, mainly latrines and cattle sheds, where men were busy making repairs. One of the men stopped hammering as John went by and touched his forelock in response to John's friendly nod.

  'Lord Warenford keeps you busy, I see.'

  'Aye, sir. He does that, like.'

  John paused. 'Good master, is he?'

  The man shrugged. 'Nor better, nor worse. We'd seen neither hide nor hair of him for years then, last winter, he sends his man with instructions that all's to be put in order, roof repaired, stables cleared, even these old shippons to be made watertight.'

  'And why would that be?'

  The man leaned against the doorframe and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

  'On account of Miss Kate, no doubt 'bout it.'

  'Miss Kate?'

  'Aye, Mistress Ellingham, that is. Lord Warenford is to marry her.'

  'They are betrothed,' exclaimed John, unable to help himself.

  'Aye, sir, that they are. But she's a proud lass, and well thought on in these parts, for all her family's as poor as church mice. So his lordship's out to impress her.'

  'You think so?'

  'I know so,' declared the man, pushing himself upright and reaching into the leather pouch at his waist for another nail. 'Why else would he be spending so much money doing up this place?'

  Another voice barked.

  'His lordship doesn't pay you to be chattering, Jed Mortimer. He wants that piggery finished by tonight, man.'

  John turned and found the steward Davis at his side, scowling.

  'Master Steel, I am sorry you fell victim to such a prattle-box.'

  With a smile and a nod to the workman John moved off.

  'I fear the fault is mine, Master Davis.'

  'No, sir. These country folk will stop and talk at the drop of a hat.' Davis fell into step beside him. 'All of it complete nonsense, of course.' He waved a hand in the general direction of the house. 'Perhaps, Master Steel, you would like to take a little refreshment before you change for dinner?'

  John assented and turned to accompany Davis to the house. Clearly, he was not to be allowed to wander as he pleased in this place.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Well, Matthew, will I do?'

  John surveyed himself in the mirror, looking unusually solemn. His fair hair was tied at the nape with a black ribbon and confined in a simple satin bag. A sapphire pin nestled in the snowy folds of linen beneath his chin, matching the blue waistcoat that he wore beneath a frockcoat of burgundy velvet. Apart from the pin and the quizzing glass hanging on its blue ribbon, the only other ornament he wore was a heavy gold signet ring. 'I did not come north expecting to have need of my finery.'

  'Then you should thank Mistress Crewe for insisting I always pack your cravats,' remarked Matthew. 'She also ordered me to bring the hair powder …' Matthew paused, looking hopeful. John's scowl disappeared.

  'You know me better than that,' he grinned. 'I have promised my aunt that when King George invites me to court I'll powder my hair, but I'll be damned if I'll do so before, not even for the magnificent Earl Warenford.'

  'You need have no fear, Master John. Your coat may not be dripping in gold and lace as I'll wager his lordship's will be, but we both know the cut and style are as fine as any you will find outside London, and you've the look of a gentleman, that no-one can deny!'

  John met his servant's eyes in the dark glass.

  'Being heir to the Crewe fortune will no doubt make up for any short-comings.'

  * * *

  As Katherine Ellingham entered the red saloon of Warenford Keep she felt her brother give her fingers a
pinch.

  'Damnation, Kate, this isn't a wake,' he hissed. 'Smile, can't you!'

  She winced and felt a stab of anger, but she obediently bestowed a dazzling smile upon their host, who approached her now, dressed in a suit of pink and beige figured silk. His black hair was grey-powdered and curled, but despite his pale attire there was an animal strength in the earl's bearing, and a cold, calculating look in his dark eyes that did not please her at all. She did not trust him. He took her hand.

  'Katherine, my dear. So you came after all.'

  Beside her, Henry laughed.

  'I told you she would, my lord, but you know what these ladies are. They like to keep us guessing.'

  'As you say, Henry,' murmured the earl. 'But you cannot be persuaded to accept my hospitality and stay until morning?'

  'Our father is too poorly to be left for such a time,' Katherine replied.

  'Your devotion to your father is truly commendable, madam.'

  Her brother gave another nervous laugh.

  'I have assured Kate that he will do well enough with his valet and housekeeper to watch over him, but my sister insists upon driving back by moonlight, my lord.'

  'Then let us be thankful for a clear sky and a late moon, so that you do not need to leave me before midnight,' said my lord. 'Henry, there is a little matter I wish to discuss with you. Not now, my dear sir, it is too near the dinner hour, but afterwards. If you could spare me a few moments before you leave?'

  'Delighted, my lord.' Henry bowed low, smiling, but as Lord Warenford moved away he turned a glowering face towards Katherine. 'By gad you are a cold fish, Sister. Your treatment is enough to make Warenford cry off from your engagement!'

  Katherine shrugged. Passion and desire she could have borne, but the earl's attitude towards her was one of possession, as if she was merely another treasure for his collection. She sighed.

  'I wish he would do so.'

  'Do you?' Henry retorted. 'Remember that without his protection we would even now be in a debtors' prison. Aye, you may stare, miss, but that is the truth of it, and how long do you think our father would last if that came to pass?'