Twist of Fate - Chapter Nine

     Young Dafydd had been conscientiously about his duties from an early hour, working diligently on the tasks that had been set for him. It was an important day, as he'd been granted permission by his master to travel with him on an unexpected journey. At this stage he was unaware of its destination.
     Although he still had a lot to learn, Richard was putting his trust in him which he took seriously. 
     Soon there was a sound upon the air of leather saddles creaking and reins being taken up. Dafydd scurried out from where he'd been working to find the party of men preparing to depart. Richard had chosen a smaller, fairly docile animal for him to ride, at the same time being spirited which he thought was within Dafydd's abilities to control. At least he hoped so.   
     As the men settled down between pommel and high cantle, voices were heard murmuring and last minute adjustment to stirrups were being made, saddle bags refilled. Most of the party had stayed overnight at a large inn nearby.
      The horses were becoming fidgety, eager to get started, some pawing the ground and stepping sideways when the men lowered themselves into saddles.
     Richard made last minute checks himself, acknowledging the presence of a few other men accompanying him. He glanced over to Dafydd, seeing him sitting straight-backed, reins in hands, a serious expression on his face and smiled to himself.
     Then activity in the courtyard ceased altogether, the gathered party setting off, soon disappearing through the main gates, riding two and three abreast, the pace increasing to a steady trot. The sun still low, was lightly misted - an early spring-like breeze causing the banner at the front of the mounted riders to flutter with a gentle movement. 

      The manor house suddenly felt empty around her. Katherine had been gazing wistfully from the window overlooking the courtyard, knowing her husband's absence would be necessary, her home for the moment, feeling eerily quiet. It was difficult to accept at first, but necessary.
     She turned to Martha who had just entered the solar, the last horses with their riders blotted from view, leaving small clouds of dust in their tracks. Where they'd assembled had been a hive of activity, now all was quiet apart from a few birds aloft a tall tree singing and chirping.
     'So they've gone then?' she said quietly, almost to herself, head bowed examining her clasped hands held in front.
     Before answering, Martha bobbed a quick curtsy glancing over to where her mistress was sitting by a window.
      'It appears so madam.'
     Katherine sighed slowly, turning toward Martha. 'I couldn't see them off. It's too upsetting - so sudden.' She was still feeling confused.
     'No madam.' Martha walked over near another window and looked out briefly as she busied herself, adding, 'At least the weather holds fine. There is nothing worse than getting soaked at the beginning of a long journey.'
     'Yes, that is a good start - indeed it is Martha.'
     Apart from worrying about the journey Richard was undertaking, she was aware it was expected of her to at least appear under control, even if deep down she was already missing her husband. Tears would not achieve anything. From an early age she learned to curb her emotions, even though they may be raging inside her. After all, she was Lady Katherine Trowbridge and must gain the respect of the servants, believing respect needed to be earned. It was necessary now, to centre her thoughts on other matters, regardless as to the sadness and emptiness she was already feeling. It may be a long time before Richard returned.
      Katherine had only just turned twenty years of age, and although young, was very capable when she put her mind to it. But it puzzled her when Richard received that message - the suddenness of it, leaving the very next day - she didn't understand its meaning, thinking no doubt there was had to be a very good explanation behind it. She was still feeling uncertain as she left the room.

      Richard was mindful of the need to take young Dafydd along with him, the lad riding with confidence and within a few strides behind his master, aware slightly that something was amiss. Nevertheless with youthful intelligence and willingness, wished to keep within earshot in case he was needed at any time. It was not for him to question his master. He was being tested and although nervous, wanted to prove his worth.
     Before leaving, Edmund and Hugh had worked hard to prepare the horses - saddles and bridles needing last minute adjustments, while Dafydd, with due care, had been allowed to clean Richard's sword and prepare other items to be taken. Although very young, he was determined to prove to Richard he was capable of anything asked of him. Richard hoped in time as he grew older, Dafydd would become more competent.
     The road ahead was narrow and winding, rutted after the winter and not easy for the horses. At first they only made slow progress, but once clear of a thick woodland into open countryside, the horses quickened their pace from a trot to a steady canter for a while. 
     Richard was again riding his favourite horse Bedwyr. Apart from being named after one of King Arthur's companions to whom he sometimes entrusted his sword, Bedwyr was keen to have his head, at first pulling on the bit, but soon settling to a quieter rhythm. His rider was well aware of the horse's temperament, handling him accordingly.
     Other than Dafydd, accompanying Richard were three other men from the estate, trusted for their ability and loyalty.
     Roger, many years older than Richard, with a fierce rough-hewn look about him, reminding his lord of a newly felled tree trunk. His dark features appearing severe at first, hands well worn from years of toil, but possessing a good strong common sense attitude, able to reason, although he never learnt to read. Not many did, but Roger was hard working, reliable, once proving himself a worthy victor in a fight he was involved in on the estate. He always stood up for what he strongly believed in, not always able to bend with the wind, which possibly was a good thing anyway. 
     Toward the end of his life, Richard's father was mortally wounded on the battlefield at Lewes, which took place a good year prior to the battle of Evesham. Roger had been present at the time, being loyal to Sir William, when victory went to Simon de Montfort, the king's army having been defeated. About that time the barons, led by Simon, were tired of bad government, of royal extravagance, preferring rather the country was governed by a council. 
     On the eve of the feast of St.Pancras, the king's army were camped at the priory, their presence causing considerable disruption for the monks.
     After the battle north of Lewes, the king's army retreated to the priory and it was here that Richard's father was buried. He did not die immediately, and Roger who stayed loyal until the end, saw to it that a priest was summoned, in order for the last rights to be administered. Sir William had been a well known knight and fought bravely on the side of the barons.
     Owen, who had a Welsh father and an English mother, rode alongside Roger. He was in his mid thirties, with two small children and a doting English wife who worshipped the ground he trod. 
     Alex, the younger of the three, was unmarried as was Roger, possessing a keen eye for the girls, or rather sometimes ladies a little older than himself. There had been some gossip in the local village, of a girl who was too free when his charms overwhelmed her. His fair hair and blue eyes complimented his good looks and easy manner. He was also a steady worker and Richard trusted his judgment. He had a good head on his shoulders most of the time.

     The way ahead was becoming easier during their first day in the saddle, the party of men covering many miles, at times close to the river, passing through several villages and a town or two. The weather remained fine, and as they ventured northwards, the air became cooler. Plumes of pale smoke drifted from rooftops, as if dancing on the gentleness of breezes, wafting into the chilling air. The men tightened clothing to keep out the cold.
     Before pausing at a small monastery for the night, the sun glowed golden, gracing the tips of hilltops, as it sank low behind a whisper of clouds toward the western sky, leaving a temporary peace upon the land.
     The next day saw them experiencing light rain, the weather becoming inclement and cloaks, mantles and any other items of clothing were once again drawn tighter around necks and over saddles. 
     The rate of progress was temporarily halted, the state of the roads becoming wet and slippery. It was at that moment they had arrived at crossroads, a few looking surprised at the interruption, when those at the front drew on their reins.
     Alex turned to Owen with a questioning frown. They had been engaged in some desultory chat, riding side by side for the last few miles.
     'Now what,' he said under his breath, sounding somewhat impatient.
     Owen twisted in his saddle, noticing a group of horses approaching from a side track. 'Think we're about to find out,' he answered, keeping his voice low.
     Richard pulled on his reins, drawing up beside them.
     'Now there's some faces I recognize.' It had been some time when he'd last laid eyes on the three men about to join their group. John, William and Simon had accompanied him to and from Kenilworth, toward the end of the previous year. They were in the employ of Katherine's father and always an asset to have around. Richard was well accustomed to their abilities and secretly pleased to see them.
     The tall man who had delivered the message to Richard at his manor, nodded in their direction. 'Greetings gentlemen. Glad you could join us.'
     William answered with a tone sounding none too pleased, but for now needing to curb his tongue. 'Yes sir. We are too.'
     The tall man turned his horse at the front and led them forward once more, the rain easing, as a chill wind gripped them, turning their clothing cold and damp.
     Richard wasn't far behind, thinking that this journey was becoming more and more mysterious. The three men who had joined them, rode alongside Richard for the time being.
      John skewed slightly in his saddle, his head to the left facing Richard. 
     'It seems like you, we have been summoned. Do you know what this is all about and what is required of us at journey's end?'
     'Not exactly,' replied Richard, somewhat nonplussed.  But several ideas were going through his mind as he wondered why these three men had joined them at this stage.  
     Eventually after what appeared to be a long endless distance, riding many more miles, and another night's stay at a run down inn, they came upon a large camp.
     One by one they swung down from the saddle, glad to be free of it for a while, or at least so they hoped. It was good to stretch legs and let the blood flow back into veins.
     It was no surprise to Richard that a chosen few were asked to appear before the prince, their presence immediately required without giving them pause for breath.
     Edward himself was ensconced within the centre of the camp, his colours fluttering above one tent in particular.
     Richard, with the three retainers, John, William and Simon, were ushered through the tent flap and sitting at a trestle table busy writing, was Edward - one day to be king of England. He was surrounded by a few of his advisors, not looking up to acknowledge them as they approached for what seemed like minutes passing - but eventually facing the four men who had entered. His expression was difficult to read.
     They went down on one knee until the prince raised them up with a simple gesture.
     'I see you've arrived gentlemen, and may now be wondering why you've been summoned.' 
     Richard paused briefly before answering.
     'Yes sir.'
     'Hmmm...' muttered Edward, his face still unreadable. He related a few brief words to a waiting monk for several moments, who nodded and made his exit, before addressing the men standing before him, awaiting their fait. 
     'Do you remember how you revoked your allegiance to Simon de Montfort last year?'
     There was another long pause before Richard answered again, trying to think on his feet.
     'Yes sir.'
     Richard and the other men were by now, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, not knowing where this was leading.
     The prince looked away, then slowly brought his gaze back to the expectant faces of the men standing before him.
     'I thought it about time that new loyalty to my father the king, was brought to bear.'
     The feeling among the men was becoming one of almost fear and trepidation. Was this going to be an old score the royals needed to settle? They didn't dare utter a word until prompted to do so - Edward continued.
     'But first I'd like you to join me in a tournament that's being held tomorrow.'
     This was not what the men were expecting. Not by a long way. It was almost possible to hear the temporary fear being lifted from their shoulders as each man let out a slow breath quietly. Their fear for now, was abating, wondering what the morrow had in store for them.
     Was this a twist of fait? 

A Difficult but Necessary Decision - Chapter Eight

     Katherine swept into the room, one hand below her swelling breasts, waist starting to thicken under her gown, a look of concentration on her beautiful face. The neatly coiffed fair hair was tucked beneath a linen veil, with one curl escaping toward deep blue eyes. Katherine's simple gown, embroidered at the hem, brushed gently over fresh, sweet-smelling rushes as she moved lightly across the floor. The lady of the manor wore soft leather shoes upon her small feet, head slightly bowed as if deep in thought. Upon entering the room, immediately sensing  something was wrong, she promptly forgot what she wished to speak with her husband about.
     She found Richard with shoulders hunched slightly, standing one arm raised to the wall at the side of the brazier, gazing into the flickering flames, their warm glow not helping to lighten his mood. Katherine took one look at him, noticing the screwed up message in his clenched hand.
     'Richard...what's wrong? You look worried. Has anything happened - why are those men here looking so sullen and formal?'
     Her husband took a deep breath before answering and it came as a statement, or rather as a question.
     'It's not possible...' he spoke quietly, almost to himself - 'there must be some mistake, surely...?'
     'What's not possible? I don't understand.' Katherine was becoming a little agitated, having never seen her husband in this mood before. Richard's expression was one of morose gloom. He sighed and straightened up, before facing his anxious wife. There was a long pause before he spoke.
     'It appears I have been harbouring a rebel...'
     Katherine couldn't help interrupting before her husband could continue. 'A rebel? We don't have a rebel. What on earth does this mean Richard?' She was becoming more than a little concerned by now, her young mind in turmoil.
     'They think young Dafydd is some sought of threat, having strong sympathies toward Simon de Montfort.
     'Dafydd? He's only a boy!' Katherine sounded exasperated, incredulous.
     'Yes, we know that,' replied Richard, 'but it appears necessary I may to have to prove it to the king himself.' He walked slowly over to the window and peered out, his mind working fast as he watched a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Beyond was a garden, which was slowly waking up after the cold winter. Spring wasn't far away, shoots of new greenery beginning to appear.
     Katherine clenched both hands together, frowning. 'But you have sworn allegiance to the king. Doesn't that count for anything?'
     Richard answered with a question. 'Don't you remember me telling you about the Dictum of Kenilworth? Well, perhaps not. It stated somewhere, that corporal punishment was threatened if anyone considered Simon de Montfort holy or just.'
     'But Simon was killed over a year ago.' His young youthful wife in her own mind, was trying to reason, finding the situation troubling, almost intolerable.
     Richard continued slowly. 'Evidently the lad became a keen supporter of Simon and what he believed in, following in his father's footsteps, learning from him. Had Simon lived, Dafydd may have become a threat in time. Simon stood for so much, the lad impressionable.'
     Katherine retorted unrestrained. 'But he is still a young lad and surely cannot be considered any sort of threat. Not now, or even in the future.'
     Richard for the moment, studied the activity outside the window, his thoughts in concentration. He could see Dafydd looked to be in conversation with young Hugh, or at least Hugh was gazing at him in awe.
     Since his mishap with the horse, riding close to the entrance of Oakfield Manor, Dafydd now an orphan, possessed the ability to learn quickly what was required of him. He was adept at fitting into the general running of the place as and when needed - constantly applying himself to anything new, unusually astute for a lad of his age, a willing and conscientious contender. He went about his duties methodically, giving Richard cause to be pleased with him thus far. Both his parents were dead and never once were his or their political beliefs ever discussed and he continued to excel in becoming Richard's squire.
     Richard smiled to himself before becoming serious again, and walked slowly back toward his wife. 'It will be necessary to do as I'm bidden or I could be in serious threat of losing my land. I don't have a choice.' He knew only too well what the consequences were for disobedience.
     Katherine interrupted him again. 'But that is unfair...' She shook her pretty head, eyebrows in a frown of scorn, trying to keep her opinion and willful thoughts under control. She could be outspoken at times, not necessarily admired by men of any standing.
     'Nonetheless, I've been summoned by the prince himself.'
     'Edward? surely not.'
     'He has been busy patching up, mending fences between the remnants of the rebels, trying to put the realm to rights.
     Katherine continued frowning. 'Do you have to leave again so soon?' It came as almost pleading.
     'Apparently so, I am to meet with the prince further north. I've heard recently he's possibly taking part in several tournaments.'
     There was a sudden knock on the door at that moment. Wallace, Martha's husband, appeared looking anxious.
     'My lord, you are needed to give some sort of answer to the tall gentleman standing at the door. He looks very errr...official.'
     'Thank you Wallace. Will you tell him I'm on my way.'
     'Yes lord.' He bowed briefly, before closing the door behind him. Footsteps were heard walking briskly away down the hall.
     Richard drew a deep breath, turned to his wife clasping both her hands in his. 'Don't worry my dearest, the sooner I attend to this, the sooner I'll be home again. I know this doesn't make any sense to you, but the matter will soon be cleared up. I have no doubts about that,' he stated firmly. 'Whatever Edward has in mind I'm yet to find out.'
     But Katherine wasn't so sure. She needed to adjust to the fact that her husband would be away again, finding it difficult. For how long, she knew not. Her safety and that of her unborn child were at the forefront of her mind. She also cared deeply for her husband. 
     Richard, face tense but resigned, turned and headed with long strides toward the main door.
     The men responsible for delivering the message to Sir Richard, were accommodated nearby that night. They and their horses were in much need of rest, and the next day dawned bright, the sky marbled with scudding clouds - hues of pink, blue and white-tipped grey. There was little frost, the air almost sweet-smelling, breathing life into the early morning with an intoxicating freshness of an early spring day.
     The staff were up and about their duties as Katherine joined her husband in the hall to break their fast. She wanted to spend every remaining moment left to them in the presence of her lord. Richard's mind was full of everything he needed to do before departing. The manor as usual, would be left in the competent care of Henry, his estate steward - the rest of the staff were capable of running things in his absence, or so he thought. 
     Richard finished the last mouthful of food, while noticing his wife was quieter than usual.
     'Are you alright my dear? You look a little flushed and have gone quiet?' She shifted on the bench briefly and gazed across at Richard with a gentle smile on her face.
     'Yes...yes, of course,' she replied
     Richard thought something may be troubling her. 'But you've hardly eaten at all. Are you sure the babe is alright and still active?'
     'I'm sure,' Katherine smiled again.
     'Now you've got me thinking.' Richard was puzzled by his wife's unusual mood.
     'It's just that...' she began again.
     'Just what?' Richard was rising from the bench they'd been sitting on.
     'Well you see, it's the day I was born, my birthing day.'
     'Oh, I'm sorry my love, I quite forgot. There has been much on my mind of late.'
     He placed his hand gently under her chin, lifting her head slightly, her deep blue eyes looking straight at his. 'Forgive me. I'll be sure and make it up to you as soon as I return.'
     Katherine looked down thinking of the forthcoming birth, praying that Richard would be home in time. Neither were deeply religious, although there was a tiny chapel within the walls of the manor which was used regularly - but she hoped her prayers would be answered.
     Not long after, Richard joined the gathered men by the stables, noticing the tall man who had delivered the message the day before, wearing a formidable expression upon his face. With them Richard had arranged for three men from the estate to accompany him, together with Dafydd.
     Edmund the groom was there to lend a hand and for the moment the tall man flung the reins of his horse at Edmund, before strolling over to converse with one of his party. Edmund who was none too pleased.
     A few moments later, Richard glanced over to the messenger and nodded briefly, his face serious, thoughtful. He had recruited his estate men as assurance and also hoped Dafydd was up to his duties, as the journey to meet Edward could be hazardous.
    

     

The Hissing of Winter!

     Slugs and bugs, snails and trails and I'm about to drink the water drops that fell upon the lettuce leaves overnight.
     Rocket greens, grow out toward me as I reach and pluck their flavour. Every tiny seed sown has germinated, flourishing with vigour and laughter when it rains. I can watch it growing. Throughout the winter it thrives to meet the mint. Wait until spring and it will try hard to outsmart the rocket, providing digestible leaves of love - a refreshing salad each day if necessary - tea that tastes of impeccable impishness, exploding with fragrance and aplomb with these freshly picked leaves of affability - mini explosions of summer in a mouthful. 
     Mint is everything at once, enhancing any salad, impossible to do without. The chocolate mint I have indulged in, turning a plain old cheesecake into another life. Pots of basil mint have also stood me in good stead a few years, never owing as much as a tiny leaf, shrinking back over nights of harsh frosts, but its roots coming alive in spring, shooting forthwith without fail, its loyalty assured.
     When I visit my best friend's garden in England, I wander to the borders, around which the hedges of West Dorset grow high and wide. All the varieties of different mint flourish with unrestrained vigour -  for I put them there. I need my fix of mint when I visit, but she doesn't thank me for it, when they take off into the hedgerow banks amongst pale blue geraniums, foxglove, beech and oak. Spearmint grows at the base of the beech roots, while apple mint rubs shoulders with the last of dying foxglove clumps - it is September and they have flourished in the lanes during June and July, when summer is at its height.
     It rains well in England, hissing through a summer's day as well as in the winter. If cold enough it turns to snow, falling with large fluffy wet flakes that sit on the end of your nose. If the temperature dips enough below freezing, the snow may turn to drifting power - like cakes, the trees and hilltops are transformed with a dusting into a winter wonderland, from which it's difficult to extract yourself - so pure, brightest white and beautiful beyond measure.
     I heard the hissing of winter rain through the air last night, unrelenting as it cascaded down the window - each drop in competition with the ones next to them - ravishing the soil below with wind-rippled moisture. 
     Walking through the park next morning a red wattle bird calls with its familiar sound, high in the branches of a bare silvery birch tree. Its call unmistakable, while the creek rushes on toward the sea, singing with gurgling glee. 
     The golf course was soaked, it heard the hissing succinctly - but neither the creatures from under the ground or high above would hear it as I do. - tapping on the roof, trickling down like miniature streams in the valleys, until it drains and is lost to the sea.
     Winter can charm the brain, lull the mind, its cold may chatter the teeth, but when the hissing of winter rain subsides, the dawn breaks still and quiet, the sun will always rise, its rays lengthen, wrapping themselves lovingly around you, feeling of lingering warmth it brings, till winter turns to spring, horizons full of promise.

Sworn Loyalties - Chapter Seven

     During winter, early in the year twelve hundred and sixty seven, life appeared to return to some form of normality. More snow persisted from time to time - flurries descending in slanting drifts shivered around the manor house encapsulating the surrounding countryside, not far from the River Severn. Wavering clouds of moistened fog breathed low over its surface, and from the rooftops, icicles sometimes dripped, forming glistening peaks when the low winter sun appeared lazily above an eastern horizon.
     Throughout the Christmas festivities, the hall had been duly decorated with large sprigs of holly and other greenery. All the people from the estate, dressed in their best refinery, gathered within the warmth of its walls, woven tapestries hung each side, helping to keep the chill at bay. Welcoming wall sconces flickered, casting a soft glow over the festivities. As it had become custom, a Christmas feast was shared among those reveling, enjoying themselves in noisy banter after several cups of ale had been consumed. Music played from a raised platform at the end of the hall, as large logs crackled and glowed in the hearth.
     There was one duty in particular Richard felt he needed to do, and that was in memory of Thomas, a young man who tragically lost his life, during the latter part of the long siege of Kenilworth, toward the end of the year that had come to an end. He had been killed outright by a stray arrow resulting in a great loss to his family, buried not far from where he fell. 
     Richard now tried to put that right and his parents were summoned before him. They were not accustomed to being before their lord and found it difficult to face him square on, eyes humbly lowered to the floor. Richard approached them with a certain amount of grace, allowing them several month's free rent in lieu of their son's death. Thomas was a huge asset to his parents and they felt his loss deeply. They were instantly gratified by Richard's gesture and thanked him accordingly, but knew nothing would ever replace the life of their son Thomas. 
     Young Dafydd had become almost as a new member of the family and in time, Richard learned of his father's loyalties to Simon de Montfort, before he too was killed on the battlefield at Evesham. 
     There had been a clause of the Dictum of Kenilworth which threatened corporal punishment if anyone considered Simon de Montfort 'holy or just'. Richard was aware of this and Dafydd had learned to favour the same loyalties as his father. He was a fast learner, adapting himself to most tasks. It now appeared that both he and young Hugh originated from similar areas of the Welsh Marshes. 
     In his twelve years he'd developed several skills from his parents, and Richard considered him a suitable candidate as his personal squire. It was normally highborn youngsters who were sent to apprentice as squires in noble households, but Richard noticed several possibilities in Dafydd's character and hoped in time, to develop them. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere, more or less thrust upon them and as he was keen and willing, Richard saw fit to allow Dafydd this unusual attachment within the inhabitants of the manor. After all he was now orphaned and slowly proving to be an asset. The lad was more than happy with the opportunity given him and set about his duties with renewed enthusiasm, dedicating himself to Richard, eager to please. 
     There existed an uneasy truce with King Henry III, being mindful during the restoration of royal authority of recent tensions, aware that further outbreaks of civil disorder were still possible. The Lord Edward was working hard at political and social reconciliation between his father and the rebels, the realm becoming more pacified.
     Katherine's pregnancy was progressing well, and one morning while standing by the warmth of a brazier, Richard appeared dressed for hunting.
     The low, nearby hills were shrouded in mist, while a harsh whispering wind sighed over the treetops; slanting sleet-driven rain soaking the ground the night before. 
     Looking up at him, in her humble opinion she feared for her husband's comfort. She knew not why, having a premonition about the day, mindful of her negative thoughts, before regaining her composure; Richard was clad in warm enough clothes, bent on some serious hunting. To Katherine, it was all too soon to venture out, as the deep wound on his arm was still healing. She bit on her bottom lip, holding her thoughts at bay, for she wasn't happy about him going.  She knew Richard looked forward to some hunting and today was one of those days. The ground underfoot had thawed temporarily, therefore placing no danger to the horse's feet, but the previous night's rain made the ground underfoot slippery. 
     Several hours had passed, when outside the sound of several horses could be heard on the  large, cobbled courtyard. Katherine looked out noticing a great deal of movement, as sweating horses had entered the gates, one bearing a low litter. She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to believe Richard had been involved in some sort of hunting accident. But alas, she knew only too well.
     Immediately Edmund and Hugh were at the scene to lend any assistance. 
     Katherine sighed, her face tensing, the scene reminding her of when her betrothed Philip was involved in a hunting accident, falling from his horse, killing him soon after. She shivered, the memory still fresh in her mind, which had happened before she ever met Richard.
     Martha, their housekeeper clicked her tongue, wiping hands on a cloth as she stood close to the door, opening it wide to allow the men carrying Richard, into the hall. Katherine was at his side in an instant, her expression one of grave concern for her husband.
     'Richard, what..?'
     'Don't worry...,' he intervened. 'Only a severe bump on the head as I fell, and the wind knocked out of me.' He smiled grimly at her, but she wasn't that easily pacified.
     'You could have been killed...how did this happen and so soon after your return from Kenilworth?'
     Richard recovered soon enough and sat on a chair, head lowered rubbing the back of it, still feeling a little disorientated. 'A slight mishap that's all...'
     'A slight mishap you say...are you badly hurt? What happened?' Katherine couldn't help feeling dismay for her husband. Recent wounds had barely healed. 
     'I'll live,' muttered Richard, his pride hurt more than anything.
     Not long after, Martha presented him with some hot spiced wine, which he drank gratefully. It appeared to revive not only his body, but his spirits - he was glad to be warm again before a crackling fire. Outside was wet and cold where he had fallen, his clothes muddied and damp. 
     After he'd changed into fresh clean clothes, enjoying the company of his wife, as sparks leapt into the air with a red glow, his body thawed after the chilled air outside. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. Richard felt badly bruised, but thankfully nothing was broken.
     He stretched out, beginning to relax more, taking another long drink from his wine cup. 
     Richard sighed as he glanced over at his wife. 'My horse is fearless as you know,' he tried to explain, 'and content with taking on every obstacle in his path, jumping fallen trees and the occasional hedge; but when presented with a very wide ditch, appeared to think twice about it. He dug in his heels, hesitating, looked at it for a moment and that was when I went clean over his head. I wasn't pleased, but there was nothing I could have done. I think he lost his stride, and the hesitation was to my detriment.'
     Richard took another long sip of the wine, accepting a warm pastry from Martha. She had the cook excel herself at Christmas, when an attempt at castle battlements and arrow slits appeared before the gathering, much to the astonishment of Richard in particular. The structure not only looked impressive, but tasted delicious with what was beneath, surprising everyone immensely.
     Katherine was relieved to see her husband seemed to be recovering and in good spirits, considering what had happened. It could have been a lot worse, her thoughts still dwelling on the past. 
     Several weeks later, when winter was almost at an end, spring not far away, the courtyard was once again full of riders, looking as though they'd ridden many miles. The main gates had been left open and they rode through without hesitation. The horses were sweating badly, in need of rest, as were the riders. There was an official air to their presence.
     Richard was standing close to the stables, in conversation with his steward, Henry - Edward busy nearby, while Hugh inspected the feet of Richard's horse, Bedwyr. He looked up, startled to see what looked like Prince Edward's banner at their head. Their faces were stern and Richard straightened his back, eyebrows drawing together, when their leader immediately dismounted, withdrawing a sealed message from his tunic.
     Richard nodded, briefly acknowledging their efficiency, surprised with the sudden and unexpected intrusion.  The tall man with a sullen face, squared his shoulders and faced Richard.
     'Are you Sir Richard Trowbridge of the manor of Oakfield?'
     'I am of that name,' Richard replied somewhat stiffly, wondering what this was all about, his insides beginning to churn.
     The tall man handed Richard the sealed message with a certain amount of formality, the accompanying riders looking on with equally stern expressions. 'I'm requested that you read it immediately,' he added.
     Richard was hesitant at first in the company of such a band as these official-looking men, well armed with swords at their sides, their helms polished, now spattered with mud.
     He said something briefly to Henry, turned on his heels , and walked briskly toward the main door. He felt the need for privacy when reading this unexpected message, not wishing to share any uncertainties with these men. He'd begun to have serious misgivings with what he was about to read.
     Richard entered a small room, broke the seal and read.
     It didn't take long and with a feeling of rising indignation, anger and a certain amount of worry, he screwed the message tightly in his hand and stood for several moments before reacting.