Knight of Betrayal: A Medieval Haunting (Ghosts of Knaresborough Book 1) Read online

  Knight of Betrayal

  A Medieval Haunting

  Ghosts of Knaresborough (Book 1)

  by

  Karen Perkins

  Contents

  Cast List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Author’s Note

  Book Club Questions

  Fiction by Karen Perkins

  About the Author – Karen Perkins

  The Haunting of Thores-Cross

  Acknowledgements

  Bibliography for Knight of Betrayal

  Knight of Betrayal

  Cast List

  Main Historical Figures and Titles

  Henry II – King of England, Duke of Normandy, Duke of Aquitaine, Lord of Ireland

  Thomas Becket – Archbishop of Canterbury

  Sir Hugh de Morville – Baron of Burgh-on-the-Sands, Lord of the Manor of Cnaresburg

  Sir William de Tracy – Baron of Bradninch

  Sir Reginald FitzUrse – Lord of the Manor of Williton

  Sir Richard le Brett (also known as Richard le Breton/de Brito)

  Cnaresburg and Yorkshire:

  Sir William de Percy – Baron of Topcliffe, Lord of Spofford and Wetherby

  Sir William de Courcy – Lord of Harewood

  Sir William de Stoteville

  Lady Helwise de Morville

  Other:

  Sir Hamelin Plantagenet – Earl of Surrey

  Sir William de Mandeville – Earl of Essex

  Sir Richard de Humez – Constable of Normandy

  Sir Ranulf de Broc – Overlord of Saltwood Castle

  Hugh Mauclerk

  Modern Characters

  Helen Forrester – director and scriptwriter

  Paul Fuller – plays Henry II

  Charlie Thorogood – plays Thomas Becket

  Ed Thomas – plays Hugh de Morville

  Mike Bates– plays William de Tracy

  Dan Stoddard – plays Reginald FitzUrse

  Sarah Stoddard – plays Richard le Brett

  Alec Greene – sound and lighting technician

  Donna – owner of Spellbound

  John Stoddard – son of Dan and Sarah

  Kate Stoddard – daughter of Dan and Sarah

  Richard Armitage – feva committee member

  Place Names

  I have used the historical spellings of place names in the knights’ timeline and modern ones in the Castle Players’ timeline:

  Cnaresburg – Knaresborough

  Goldesburgh – Goldsborough

  Plumton – Plompton

  Riche Mont – Richmond

  River Nydde – River Nidd

  Screven – Scriven

  Spofford – Spofforth

  Chapter 1

  Saltwood Castle

  29th December 1170

  ‘This is our chance. You heard the King’s words,’ Sir Reginald FitzUrse said. ‘Becket has shamed him.’

  ‘He called us all drones and traitors for allowing Becket to get away with it,’ Sir William de Tracy said.

  ‘Yes!’ shouted FitzUrse, and slammed his fist against the table to emphasise the word. The four men sitting with him flinched at his exuberance. Sir Reginald FitzUrse, or The Bear as he liked to be called, resembled the ursine creatures he was named for in more ways than one. Large, hairy, loud and strong with a temper to beware of, his friends and vassals were afraid of him, although were eager to please him – even the mature yet impressionable Sir William de Tracy. Sir Hugh de Morville exchanged an exasperated glance with Sir Ranulf de Broc – the overlord of Saltwood Castle and the knights’ host.

  ‘No one has avenged me,’ FitzUrse quoted their king, Henry Plantagenet of England, leaning forward now and staring at each man in turn. ‘No one has avenged me,’ he repeated.

  ‘A clear plea,’ Broc, FitzUrse’s master in the King’s household, agreed. ‘King Henry raised Thomas Becket from a low-born clerk to Archbishop of Canterbury, for God’s sake, and look how he has repaid him.’

  Tracy nodded with enthusiasm. ‘Yes! He excommunicated l’Évêque, Foliot and Salisbury, and for no good reason.’

  Broc glanced at him in annoyance. ‘As I was saying, two bishops and the Archbishop of York excommunicated and damned for eternity for crowning the Young King.’

  ‘Well, his father, King Henry, still lives.’ Morville tried to calm the rising tempers as Broc signalled to his steward to refill the jugs of fine Rhenish wine. ‘It may be customary for a king to crown his successor before his own death in Normandy, but it is rare in England. Only King Stephen did it, and that was just to spite the Empress Matilda.’

  ‘It is King Henry’s prerogative!’ FitzUrse slammed the table again, and Sir Richard le Brett – still a boy – steadied the now full flagon of Rhenish, then proceeded to empty it into goblets. Morville sighed as he watched Tracy down half in a single gulp.

  ‘Yes,’ Tracy slurred. ‘It’s nothing to do with Becket. It would not surprise me if Becket meant to depose the Young King and try for the crown himself.’

  ‘Always was an ambitious bastard,’ Brett agreed, then picked up a bone and noisily sucked the marrow from it.

  ‘Are you sure we arrived on England’s shores before Mandeville and Humez?’

  ‘Yes, I have had my men patrolling the coasts to slow them down. They failed me when they allowed Becket to beach from France. They will not fail me again.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ FitzUrse asked, pointing a half-eaten pheasant leg at his host.

  Broc laughed. ‘Oh, I can be sure. One captain lost his head – the rest all want to keep theirs.’

  Morville drained his wine, once again regretting FitzUrse’s choice of ally. The other men laughed, and Morville realised they were well into their cups. He poured more wine and drank again – in their cups may well be the only way they’d survive this day.

  ‘So we shall beat them to Becket?’ Tracy asked.

  ‘We have to,’ Broc said. ‘If they arrest Becket, they shall receive all the accolades – the two of them already hold more castles and titles than the five of us put together. If we can take Becket to the King, he will surely be indebted to us and who knows what his favour may bring?’

  ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ FitzUrse roared, pushing himself to his feet. His fellow knights followed suit, throwing down the remains of the meat they’d been gnawi
ng on and draining their goblets.

  The men-at-arms seated in the hall below shoved as much meat in their mouths as possible before following their masters to the stables. Half an hour later the company of over a hundred armed men cantered through the imposing towers of the castle’s gate and took the road to Canterbury.

  *

  While Broc garrisoned his men in the town, FitzUrse, Morville, Tracy and Brett – along with a small retinue of their most trusted vassals – clattered through the gatehouse to the Archbishop’s Palace and dismounted in the courtyard.

  Morville glanced at his companions, still concerned at the glazed eyes which the three-hour ride had done nothing to clear.

  FitzUrse produced another wineskin which he passed to Tracy after taking a large slug himself. ‘Are you ready for this?’

  ‘We need to disarm,’ Morville said before the other knights – still focused on the wine – could reply.

  ‘Disarm? God’s blood, Hugh, we are here on the King’s business.’

  ‘This is a house of God – the Archbishop will have mere monks, priests and clerks about him. No men-at-arms and no weapons. We shall not need arms to arrest him.’

  ‘He is correct,’ said Brett, ‘we can kill him with our bare hands if necessary.’

  ‘Richard!’ Morville was horrified. ‘We are not here to kill him, merely to arrest him and take him to King Henry to deal with as he sees fit.’

  ‘If necessary, the boy said. If necessary,’ FitzUrse jumped to his sycophant’s defence.

  ‘Why should it be necessary?’ Morville asked.

  ‘Thomas Becket stands against not only the Young King, but King Henry himself. He has just returned from exile. Look what he has done already, who knows what he would do when called to account? We must be ready for anything.’

  ‘But we leave swords and mail here,’ Morville insisted. Despite FitzUrse’s bluster, as Baron of Burgh-on-the-Sands, Sir Hugh de Morville held the highest status amongst the four men.

  FitzUrse hesitated, then succumbed to him. ‘Very well, if it shall make you happy. Arms and mail stay here.’

  Mauclerk, Morville’s clerk, helped the knights out of their heavy hauberks and mail hoods and piled the armour, along with their long blades, under a nearby mulberry tree. ‘They will be safe here with me,’ he said.

  FitzUrse glanced round the knights. William de Tracy in particular looked nervous and vulnerable without his arms or armour. Despite his thirty seven years and own barony, he appeared younger with a boyish clean-shaven face, copper curls and slim build. At this moment, if one ignored the lines of worry around his eyes, he appeared a child.

  FitzUrse passed him the wine. ‘Who are we?’ he called.

  ‘The King’s men,’ the other three chorused.

  ‘Who are we?’ FitzUrse shouted louder.

  ‘The King’s men!’

  ‘Who are we?’ Louder still.

  ‘The King’s men!’

  ‘Á Henry Plantagenet!’ FitzUrse roared, and the others joined in, the wineskin forgotten and trampled on the cobblestones.

  FitzUrse crossed to the door of the great hall and banged his clenched paw upon it. ‘In the name of the King, open up!’ Then again, and again, the other knights joining in the cry and the thumps on the door – even Morville was carried away now with the purpose of their mission.

  ‘Thomas Becket, in the name of King Henry, permit entry or we shall break down this door!’ Tracy yelled, then stumbled back at the sound of bolts being drawn.

  Chapter 2

  ‘This is an insult,’ FitzUrse fumed. ‘He affronts the King by keeping us waiting.’

  ‘I suspect it is the four of us he intends to disrespect,’ Morville countered.

  FitzUrse glared at him. ‘We are the King’s men. He affronts us, he affronts King Henry.’

  The entrance of a monk interrupted the resultant awkward silence. ‘The Archbishop shall see you now.’ He backed against the open door as the knights passed through.

  Thomas Becket was still seated at table in the company of near half a dozen men, and Morville recognised John de Salisbury, Benedict de Peterborough and William de Canterbury. A monk seated at Becket’s right hand glared at them, but the knights dismissed him. He was of no consequence.

  ‘Ahh, Hugh, Reginald, William, how good of you to welcome me back to England’s fine shores. It has been long that I have been away, and there is no sweeter pleasure than returning home and reuniting with old friends.’

  The knights faltered, unsure of how to proceed in the face of this effusive and seemingly sincere welcome. Then FitzUrse stepped forward.

  ‘We are not here to welcome you, Becket.’ The Archbishop’s brows rose at this calculated insult; the proper form of address was Your Grace. ‘We are here to return you to Normandy. You have grievously wronged the King.’

  ‘Wronged the King? My Lord, what do you mean? What evil and disgusting lies have been told of me?’

  ‘No lies, Becket.’ FitzUrse’s face reddened further under the mass of hair that covered it. ‘Do you deny that you have excommunicated three loyal subjects of King Henry? Roger de Pont l’Évêque, Gilbert Foliot and Jocelin de Salisbury – the King’s most loyal Archbishop of York and two of his most loyal bishops. What say you to the charge?’

  ‘Those facts are correct. Pray, what is your complaint?’

  ‘What is my complaint?’ FitzUrse’s voice rose and he stepped forward, then glanced back at his fellow knights who stayed where they were and showed no sign of speaking. He grunted in exasperation.

  ‘Those three honourable, devout and loyal subjects met the King’s wishes in crowning his son, Henry the Young King, as his successor. As you know this is normal practice in France and a custom that our king desired to be enacted on England’s shores. Yet you bring down the worst punishment on these good, God-fearing men – a punishment worse even than torture and death, for it will condemn their souls to reside in Hell for eternity.’ FitzUrse paused for breath, and Archbishop Becket waved him to continue with a smile. He looked as relaxed as if he were enjoying a much anticipated reunion with the friends he had claimed them to be.

  FitzUrse continued with another aggravated glance at his silent companions, ‘By excommunicating them for the crowning of the Young King, you have declared yourself against not only the Young King, but King Henry himself.’ FitzUrse pushed himself to his tallest and thrust out his chest. ‘As such, by the command of King Henry, I arrest you for the good of England, and charge you with sedition and treason.’

  ‘Sedition and treason? Surely it must be one or the other, Reginald. Committing treason or inciting others to commit treason. King Henry would know that you cannot charge me with both. Which tells me that you and your friends are here on your own recognisance, perhaps to find favour with Henry, hmm?’ Becket stood as he spoke and planted his fists on the table before him, pulling the full force of his position as Archbishop of Canterbury about him. FitzUrse stood his ground, but the others shrank back.

  ‘Henry also knows that it is the duty of the Archbishop of Canterbury to crown a king, an obligation not given to the Archbishop of York nor any other man. King Henry accuses you as traitor. You shall come with us.’

  ‘Do I need to remind you that you are my sworn vassal, Reginald? Your good self, Hugh de Morville, and you, William de Tracy, all swore fealty to me. You,’ he peered at Brett, ‘you have not, although I know you, do I not?’

  Brett ground his teeth, but said naught.

  ‘No matter. As my sworn vassals, I demand you leave my presence. I shall hear no more of this nonsense.’

  FitzUrse strode forward to Becket’s table and planted his own fists upon it. ‘Yes, we swore fealty to you, but as Chancellor of England, not as Archbishop of Canterbury. Yet even so, the fealty sworn was second to King Henry. I – we—’ he glanced behind him, disgusted that his fellow knights still hung back, ‘—serve the King above all others. Including you.’

  ‘Then tell Henry I have no issu
e with either himself or the Young King. Coronations in England are performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury and no other. Now leave my presence and explain to our king that I am his loyal servant still. The excommunications stand and are an issue between myself, the bishops concerned, Pope Alexander III, and no other. King Henry has my love and fealty, as he has yours. Please try your best to understand that and depart. This has grown tiresome. I bid you goodnight, My Lords.’

  Becket turned, his green robes swirling, and left by a door the knights had not noticed, followed by his clerics. At a loss and alone in the great hall, the four knights turned to depart.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Where is he?’ Broc – standing at the head of a column of men-at-arms – demanded. The knights looked at each other and said naught. ‘Are you telling me that four knights of the realm, four of the King’s own warriors, were no match for one paltry churchman?’

  FitzUrse stepped forward. ‘We offered Becket a chance to come gracefully. He refused. Now we shall take him.’

  Broc glanced at the pile of swords and mail with contempt. ‘You had better dress yourselves then.’

  The knights hurried to the mulberry tree and Brett hauled up the first heavy hauberk: FitzUrse’s. He held the coat of mail wide, heaved it up, and dropped it over FitzUrse’s outstretched arms and shoulders. The Bear grunted as the weight landed on him, then straightened up and shrugged it over his torso. Mauclerk did the same for Morville, then Tracy and Brett helped each other into theirs.

  ‘Ready boys?’ Broc taunted.

  ‘Always, My Lord,’ FitzUrse replied, hefting his sword, then strode back to the door of the great hall of the Archbishop’s Palace. It remained barred to them.

  Tracy glanced behind at the smirking Broc, and called, ‘Round the back! There must be another way in.’

  Without a word – or a glance at his master – FitzUrse led the way round the great building to the administration buildings attached to the north side of the cathedral.