Beyond The Broken Bridges

Episode 1

The soft mood of romance was broken by the shrill sound of a frantic voice from the back.  It was Symo.  A murder, a murder! he cried. 

His brother Hamo ran between tables shouting the horrifying news, Scalded in a laundry kettle, his legs in the air!

From the platform of the King’s Table, Earl Richard stood to assess the situation, saying, What in God’s name is going on back there?  Bobo approached the Kings Table with an explanation as his brothers continued to stir the crowd with hysterics.  To remain calm under pressure was not in character with the Passelewe brothers.

Your Lordship’s Doorman and Herald Robert Passelewe begs to be heard.  After a brief hesitation, Earl Richard waved his approval. 

It seems to be The Flem Baron, announced Bobo. 

Who, asked King Henry?

Bobo, said Earl Richard.

"I know Bobo.  Who did he say has arrived?  Some Baron?"

Beg pardon, Your Lordships, explained Bobo with a deep bow, "The Corporal Mortimer seems to be the Baron Bicker Weyks."

The King leaned over to Richard, The what? 

"Corpus mortuum is what he meant to say, brother. The dead man is Weyks."

Earlier that day...

Much had changed since the arrival of the conquerors from the continent.  In that two hundred years the turmoil of anarchy had come and gone, the Norman language had imposed itself upon England and both castle and manor had continental ties.  Most of the Old Saxon families ceded property by marriage or decree to the Norman Knights and their descendants, or to certain Savoyan favorites of the powerful Plantagenet rulers – King Henry III and his brother Earl Richard de Cornewall, the wealthiest man in all of Europe.

But for young ladies in the year 1251, particularly those of prominent pedigree, only one question occupied their every thought and conversation.  Will I be so fortunate to marry for love, or will I be chosen an old ogre for a husband? 

"He is an ogre!  Have you not seen him?" a distraught young Beatrix implored of her two best friends.

Well, he is... began Mary, but she could find no other words.

"Oh, Trixie, we must find a way out of this dilemma," declared the third girl, whose name was Beatrice but who was called ‘Bea’ so as not to be confused with ‘Trixie’.

They sat together in a canvas labyrinth, aisles of sailcloth hanging in row after row where young people enjoyed playing surprises upon one another, shared plots and confidences, and generally hid from the view of their elders.

This Trixie, whose proper name was Beatrix de Andeville of Stratford-upon-Avon was not your typical girl of eleven years and ten months.  Almost twelve, she would politely but firmly remind all she spoke with, and she did so near the beginning of every conversation, although many missed the point as she spoke with the speed of a flittering sparrow.  Her mother’s name was Beatrice, her father Alexander, the Count of Andeville which was in Normandy where they held property.  Their residence was a stately manor in the village of Stratford-upon-Avon where the swans of the pond inspired young Trixie to think of nothing but true love for ever after.  Her parents, however, were of the notion that it was time for a suitable business arrangement regarding their only child’s union in marriage and they had begun the preparations with one Bicker Weyks, an old bachelor who some said was a profiteer and a scoundrel.

Trixie’s friends Bea and Mary were sympathetic to her plight, each for their own reasons.  Bea, also eleven, was beginning to worry that her father Peter de Savoy the Earl of Richmond would soon decide whom she would marry, although he was firm in his conviction that he would commit no dowry in her name until she reached the age of sixteen.  This was no comfort to her fears of being paired with an ogre herself.  Even worse, her uncle was Boniface the Archbishop of Canterbury and it was entirely possible that he would chose her husband from a list of landed candidates in the Savoy and thus she would be exiled to the Continent, away from her friends and the banquets and balls with which she had become so accustomed.

The youngest of the three, and strongest of will and spirit, was Mary.  Now all of ten, she had been married two years already to a boy only two years older, but was naturally still living apart from him until she reached the age of sixteen.  Mary de Lusignan le Ferrers was niece to King Henry III and so agreements for the betrothal of children born to nobility were of utmost importance and made early.  Hers had been made with the Earl of Derby, William de Ferrers, for his son Robert, who would one day become the 6th Earl of Derby, to marry the daughter of the king’s half-brother Hugh IX de Lusignan of the continent when he turned ten. 

Unfortunately, Hugh met with tragedy the year after and had died.  Fortunately, Mary then became a ward of her uncle the King of England, and stayed with the court of her other uncle, Earl Richard at Wallingford Castle, in Berkshire along the Thames.  The longer she could stay clear of her paper husband Robert Ferrers—the Ferret—as she often referred to him, the better.  After all, Mary was refined and proper, dressed very well, spoke and conversed in a rational manner, all qualities expected of her rank and privilege, qualities she would need to teach young Ferrers once they were together.  The Ferret, Mary would oft say to Trixie and Bea, has the manners of a toad and the mind of a marmot.

Their parents, and those of the group of a dozen or so boys who were referred to as The Guild of Pages and Princes, were part of the travelling nobility, the lords and ladies who attended all of the courtly events, weddings and banquets that moved from castle to castle around England, often along the Thames so they could travel by the comfortable yachts that were in fashion whilst the luggage and baggage trains bumped and tossed by land along the hollow-ways and old Roman roads.  This particular event, the dedication of Hayles Abbey by Mary’s uncle Richard, was bigger than any in memory and it drew nobles, knights, squires, many of the bishopric, and all of the wives, mistresses, clerks and cooks that were necessary to Wallingford Castle on the Thames. 

An ogre, repeated Trixie of the man Weyks, who not only resembled a wild boar with his broken teeth and smell of spoilt meat, he also carried the reputation of cruel landlord and manipulator.  Weyks had never married or fathered children, too expensive he had always complained, but now in his old age he wanted an heir and was in the buying mood, and close to concluding the deal with her father Count Alexander.  Baron Weyks, as he called himself, owned many properties and some ships with which he did a fair share of trade among merchants abroad.  The origins of his title were somewhat cloudy, certainly not of English or French peerage, and many speculated that it was a tenured barony originating from the Low Countries, perhaps even purchased.  In whispered circles he was referred to as the Flem Baron. 

Boys with which to elope are plentiful out in the Tents, said Bea, her nervous giggle betraying her own fantastical plan to escape an arranged marriage.

True ‘tis, sweet sister Bea, but most are of low birth, or questionable morality, Mary cautioned, her scorning tenor exposing a personal contempt for all of the rough gender.

And there are boys in town, and I saw several Pages meeting at one of the Royal Apartments within the walls, added Bea, still smiling.

There must be one among them who would marry for love, said Trixie as if in petition to the sky above more so than to her girlfriends’ confidence.

I will marry you, came a sudden ill-disguised voice from behind the sailcloth, which was quickly followed by the face of young Robert de Ferrers from a divide in the curtain.  Mary’s husband-on-paper bore an odd smile, his mouth seemingly two sizes smaller than the nose above it, his vocal chords nearly changed to the lower pitch but not quite, so that he forced a theatrical baritone which all found very funny.

You have a wife, fool of all fools, replied an exasperated Mary, referring to herself of course.

I shall have a Harem as they to in the East, laughed the future Earl of Derby.

The Lady Mary, in a most un-lady like manner, stuck out her tongue at him and hissed, "Thou art a polecat!"

The girls rolled their eyes, shooed him away and continued in their conversation with young Trixie, whose love life was in ruins, or so they thought.  Like many teenaged girls, every moment of every day was at once thrilling and tragic, full of laughter and full of dread, and most of all full of the anticipation of love.  No other matter was more pressing to young girls than romance, it seemed.  Like a tightly bundled bouquet of the yellow gorse flowers that decorated the Great Hall, the girls huddled closer and whispered, fearing other eavesdroppers.

And you are so delicate yet he is of such corpulent nature, I hate to think of... well, it is dreadful to ponder such things, said Mary, referring to the way his rather large frame burst from his shirts and busted his belts.  Then she said, Perhaps he will suffer a tragic misfortune.

Misfortune?  Do you mean...? asked Bea, her flowered tiara dropping petals as she quickly turned to see if others were lurking within their corridor of the curtained labyrinth, listening to their quiet confidences.

What if we kill him? Trixie boldly whispered.  The three leaned in to one another, holding their breath for what seemed a lifetime, eyes darting from one to another in some clandestine code, saying nothing, reading reactions, summing up the distance to that point of no return.

Could we?  Strike him down, that is, asked Mary.  No, I think not, answering herself after a heavy pause. "But we could afford him quick misfortune."

Perhaps, as he would pass a low branch the bow will break.  Or a stone will fall, a mere accident.

Oh Mary, you frighten me, said Bea.

No, Bea, it is men like our Trixie’s tormenter what should frighten you, cautioned Mary.

Episode 2

In preparation for the Grand Events, sailcloth had been sent by oxcart from Bath and Southampton, barged up the Thames from all points east, and the milliners and mariners from coastal port towns who supplied it earned considerable profit in doing so.  Those great tarpaulins not already in use as tents for the masses were draped in rows