to be involved with Edith and her illegitimate child and why did he leave Tercel a ring inscribed with an emblem used by Lionheart? Can the furrier shed any light on that aspect of this misadventure?”
“I believe that he can, lady,” the Templar replied, “but I did not question him in detail about it, for I thought that you and Sir Richard might prefer to do so yourselves.”
Twenty-nine
When Simon Adgate was brought into the solar, the man-at-arms who had been guarding him brought him across the room to stand before the group of nobles. The furrier’s limp was more pronounced than formerly and his shoulders were slumped in dejection. With a bowed head he listened as Richard, in stern tones, admonished him for not revealing his kinship with Margaret earlier. It was not until Richard added that, for the moment, they were prepared to accept his statement that neither he nor Edith Wickson had been involved in the murder, that Adgate raised his head and his expression lightened.
“The sempstress will be questioned shortly,” Richard told him. “If she confirms what you claim, then charges will not be laid against either of you.”
Adgate’s relief was palpable and he humbly thanked the castellan’s son, on behalf of himself and his Mistress Wickson, for accepting, albeit with reservations, his protestation of their innocence.
“But there are still some aspects about Tercel’s birth that need to be explained,” Richard said. “How is it that Lionel Wharton came to be involved in the matter?”
“It was because of Queen Eleanor,” Adgate replied. “Even though she was being treated most cruelly at the time by her husband, King Henry, she still found it within her heart to concern herself in the plight of my poor cousin. She is a great lady.”
At mention of the queen’s name, the nobles looked at one another in confusion and Nicolaa leaned forward and said to Adgate, “I think you had better explain what happened from the beginning, furrier, and tell us, to the best of your knowledge, what you know of the events that took place so many years ago.”
“I did not learn the details until after the happenings, lady, for I was not in Winchester when they occurred,” Adgate replied. “I, and the girls’ parents, learned of them some weeks later, when my uncle and Margaret returned to Lincoln. But although I received the accounting at second hand, I believe it is accurate.”
“Then continue,” Nicolaa directed, and Adgate, taking a deep breath, began the tale.
“The purpose for which my uncle, Thomas Adgate, went to Winchester was to take some Lincoln greyne -the red cloth for which our town is so famous-to show to Queen Eleanor. He had been urged to do so by a longtime acquaintance of his, a draper of Winchester, who had learned of the queen’s interest in the material. Margaret and Eleanor begged to be taken along on the trip and my uncle, a widower with no children of his own, indulged the girls and acceded to their request. Not long after they all arrived, an interview with the queen was arranged and my uncle took samples of greyne to the fortress where Queen Eleanor was incarcerated. The girls went with him and were allowed to wait in an antechamber while he kept the appointment. They were both overjoyed to be so near to the presence of such a noble lady and even more so when, while they were sitting there, the queen’s young daughter, Princess Joanna, passed through the chamber and stopped to talk to them. The princess was most kind and must have been lonely for the company of girls her own age for, a few nights later, she invited both Margaret and Edith to come to the castle and listen to a troubadour that was to play for the queen and her ladies. It was on that evening, as Edith was making her way back to the rooms my uncle had hired for their stay in Winchester, that the attack took place.”
Adgate regarded the nobles with a look that begged understanding. “Margaret has always blamed herself for the fact that she sent Edith, who was younger than she, out alone onto the streets of Winchester that night. The reason Margaret did so was because she had caught the eye of one of Princess Joanna’s young menservants on their earlier visit and, after they left the hall where the troubadour had been entertaining the company, she stopped to talk to him for a while, telling Edith to go on ahead of her so that she could speak to him privily. Margaret never thought for a moment that Edith would be in any danger, for the rooms my uncle had taken for their stay were not far from the castle gate. As it turned out, Margaret’s assumption was a grave error. Edith had gone only a few steps outside the castle walls when she was attacked. She never saw her assailant’s face. He approached her from behind, dealt her a heavy blow to the head and then dragged her into a dark passageway where he violated her.”
The women drew their breath in sharply at Adgate’s bald statement and Richard cursed under his breath. The furrier paused and then, at a nod from the castellan’s son, continued.
“Edith, rendered unconscious by the attack, lay in the passageway for some time, her absence unnoticed until Margaret returned to the hired rooms and found that her sister had not returned. Alarmed, she and my uncle immediately set out back along the path to the castle to try and find her, but to no avail. It wasn’t until the guard on the castle gate heard them calling out Edith’s name and sent some of the castle’s men-at-arms to join them in the search that she was found. She was in a dreadful state; her clothes were torn asunder and blood was gushing from the wound in her head. The gateward, seeing the severity of her condition, decided that the queen must be informed and despatched one of the soldiers to tell her.”
The furrier’s voice, choked with emotion, was barely audible as he went on. “The men-at-arms carried Edith to the castle bail and Queen Eleanor herself came out to meet them. Margaret told me that when the queen saw Edith’s pitiful condition, she directed that my cousin be taken to her own private rooms and the royal physician called to attend her. The queen even draped her own cloak over Edith’s prostrate form, not caring that it would be stained with blood, and walked by my cousin’s side as the soldiers carried her into the keep.”
Visibly shaken by the strain of his recounting, Nicolaa gave Adgate a moment to compose himself, and then gently urged him to continue. “The queen’s physician was unable to rouse Edith from her stupor,” he told them haltingly, “but he confirmed what everyone feared, that the object of the attack had been to defile her. He thought it best that my cousin was given over to the care of women for, he said, when she regained her senses, the presence of a male so near to her person might cause her great distress. The queen ordered Edith taken to a nearby nunnery and the good nuns, only too willing to oblige a request from the royal lady, readily took my cousin into their care.”
“It must have been a terrible ordeal for such a young girl to suffer,” Nicolaa said. “And, from what you say, she was never able to identify the man who attacked her.”
“No, she was not, lady,” Adgate confirmed. “In fact, she hardly remembered anything of it at all, for which we all gave thanks to God. But, notwithstanding that, she lay unconscious for some days and, when she finally came to her senses, could not stand erect without losing her balance. The infirmarian in the convent thought that the blow to her head was the cause of her unsteadiness but, whatever it was, it took some weeks for her to recover from it.”
“And she remained in the convent during that time?” Petronille asked.
“Yes, Queen Eleanor had asked the nuns not to remove her from their care until her health was restored,” Adgate replied. “But by the time she finally managed to keep upright, the infirmarian in the convent noticed that she was beginning to show signs of gravidity and my uncle and Margaret-who had remained in the town awaiting the time that Edith should be well enough to travel back to Lincoln-were devastated by this further disaster. They had told their acquaintances in Winchester that Edith had tripped and fallen, hurting her head badly, and had been taken to the nunnery to be cared for. The queen, too, had concealed the truth about Edith’s injury, instructing her guards to tell no one what they had seen on that night. But now that Edith was with child, my uncle and Margaret knew it would be impossible to hide what had truly happened from the prying eyes of the world, and my cousin’s reputation would be ruined. There was also the problem of Edith’s impending marriage to Thomas Wickson. While the fact that my cousin had been assaulted could be hidden from him, it would be impossible to hide the babe swelling in her womb and they knew he would never countenance taking her as a bride when he learned of her condition. They did not know what to do until the queen, having heard from the nuns that Edith was with child as a result of the attack, sent for them to attend her.”
The furrier’s eyes were shining with admiration as he told of his uncle and Margaret’s visit to the queen. “She received them with great sympathy and, learning of their dilemma over Edith’s impending marriage, suggested that it might be best if my cousin was removed to a nunnery nearer to Lincoln-one not far from Stamford where the
