Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [301]
“Where’s my father?” he asked.
In the two months since Hugh had left, the old knight had resumed control of the estate and, to distract his thoughts from the quarrel with his son, he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the business. He had visited the mill every two days and Peter, though the older man never asked him, had always mentioned the fact if he had seen Hugh in the city and given Jocelin a report of him, as though he did not know of the quarrel between them. Few people at Sarum would have dared to do such a thing, but Peter suspected that the knight’s regular visits to the mill were not unconnected.
“Should be by shortly,” he answered.
The three men waited in silence. All knew what this visit meant. And it was not long before Jocelin came into sight.
He was erect as ever. From a distance he might have been a young man. He seemed for a moment to hesitate, but then walked his horse straight towards them; as he came up, his eyes seemed very bright and very hard. Father and son faced each other. Jocelin’s eyes fixed on his son’s cloak.
“Do you have the right to wear that cross, monsieur?”
Hugh inclined his head.
“Oui, monsieur. The Bishop of Worcester and three other bishops have given us the right.” That several bishops should recently have decided that his rebellion ranked as a holy war was a great coup for Simon de Montfort. “I have come to ask for your blessing,” Hugh continued.
The older man nodded curtly. He need not refuse what a bishop had already granted. He dismounted and Hugh did the same.
Without a word, Hugh knelt on the ground in front of the mill. Gently Jocelin removed from his own neck the little chain on which the badge from the shrine of St Thomas à Becket at Canterbury hung. Silently he placed it over the head of his son.
“I do not agree with your quarrel, but go with my blessing all the same,” he said gruffly.
Hugh got up. It was curious to see the two men, Peter thought, the one so perfect a replica of the other. The reconciliation made, both men looked relieved. Hugh looked down at the little badge and touched it affectionately.
“I understand, monsieur, that your journey takes you towards the shrine of this saint,” his father said wryly. “Perhaps you could kindly bring me another badge.” It was a courtly jest, that Hugh smiled at: for it was well known that the forces of Montfort were gathering in Kent, on the Canterbury road.
“Certainly, monsieur,” he replied gracefully. “We hope to be only briefly detained on the way.”
No one spoke as he rode away; and as soon as he was out of sight, Jocelin too, having forgotten his business at the mill, mounted his horse and rode up towards the high ground. From up there, Peter suspected, the knight might catch another glimpse of Hugh as he took the road towards the east.
But neither the Godefrois, Shockley or the mason realised that there had been two other witnesses to the scene. William atte Brigge and his son John, a dark, sharp-eyed boy of seventeen, had come from behind the mill, unnoticed, just as the two Godefrois had dismounted. Hanging back by the corner of the building where they would not be seen, they had watched carefully as Hugh received his blessing. William had looked thoughtful: one never knew the value of information, but he sensed that what he had witnessed was important.
“Remember that,” he said quietly to his son. “It might come in useful one day.”
The battle of Lewes took place on May 14, 1264.
The town of Lewes lay near the coast, some sixty miles west of the Dover Straits and immediately below the high chalk ridge of the South Downs. It was a small place