‘I am able to bear the responsibility for myself,’ said Beth, squaring her shoulders.
Gawain scrutinised her pale, tear-stained but proud face. ‘I would not dispute that you are an extremely capable young woman. Having said that, I deem the circumstances in which you find yourself in right now would prove difficult for anyone. You will need my help to deal with the rigmarole involved in a suspicious death. This will have to be reported to the proper authorities and I will need to hand over the weapon. If fortune is with us, then someone will recognise it.’
They both looked towards the table where he had left the dagger wrapped in its cloth. It was not there! ‘The murderer must have come in and taken it whilst I was changing and you were outside!’ cried Beth.
Gawain frowned. ‘They’d have to be invisible or hellish quick.’
‘Of—of course,’ stammered Beth. ‘Perhaps it is on the ground!’ She dropped to her knees and Gawain hunkered down beside her. They bumped heads, both winced and hastily drew back.
‘Did I hurt you?’ asked Gawain, reaching forwards and straightening her headdress.
‘N-n-no!’ She felt breathless. ‘Did I hurt you?’
He smiled grimly. ‘I have a hard head.’
‘You’d need to have with all the fighting you do,’ she said, without thinking.
‘My fighting days are mostly over,’ he muttered, getting to his feet.
‘It must be here somewhere,’ she said, continuing to search whilst wondering what he meant by his words.
‘I’ll have the servants make a thorough search.’ He held a hand out to her and pulled her to her feet.
Beth saw him wince. ‘What is it? Are you hurt?’
‘It is nothing!’ He was not about to explain that he was suffering for his foolish behaviour in accepting the challenge to wrestle earlier. Why did he feel this need to prove his manhood just because Mary had been seen with another man? Especially when he knew it could result in more than a few bruises and strained muscles? It was not the same sense of rightness and pride that had resulted in him resigning his position in Henry’s Gentlemen of the Spears, whose duty it was to look to the king’s safety on the field of battle, at court and on ceremonial occasions such as this one.
‘I don’t believe you,’ blurted Beth. ‘You are obviously in pain.’
‘It is nothing,’ he repeated through clenched teeth. ‘I will need to report your father’s murder to Cardinal Wolsey.’
‘No! Father—’ She paused to swallow the tightness in her throat. ‘He—he did not like Cardinal Wolsey,’ she added weakly. ‘Could you not investigate my father’s murder instead?’
Gawain hesitated. ‘It wouldn’t be right. I could be a suspect.’
‘Why should you be?’ She was aware of a sense of unreality and felt sick, then added faintly, ‘I cannot believe this is all happening. It is as if I was taking part in a masque.’
‘You’re not about to swoon, are you?’ he asked, taking her arm and lowering her on to the stool, praying that she would soon recover her composure. ‘Come, you showed such strength earlier,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I did not mean that I really was a suspect. You can trust me.’
‘Then why say what you did? You might as well say I could be a suspect, too. I have much to gain by my father’s death,’ said Beth, shivering.
He realised that what she said was true, but surely she would not have killed her own father? There came the sound of voices outside the tent. ‘Go into your sleeping quarters and remain silent,’ he hissed. ‘I’d rather you left this to me.’
Beth hesitated, but then, still suffering from that sense of unreality, she decided she had to trust him and wasted no time in doing as he bid. She gathered together the clothes she had worn earlier and stuffed them inside her pallet of straw and lay down. She could hear the murmur of voices, but could not make out the words. She wished she could leave this tent now and never return. Yet somewhere outside lurked her father’s killer.
Beth did not know how long she lay on her pallet, waiting for Sir Gawain to call her. It seemed an age before the voices trailed off and she heard him call her name. Then she rose and went out to him and saw that her father’s body had been removed. ‘Where have they taken him?’ she asked.
‘To the village church until he can buried in the morning,’ said Gawain.
‘So soon,’ murmured Beth. Yet she understood that it was the only sensible action to take in such heat. ‘I—I will go there later and speak to the priest about having masses said for his soul.’
‘If that is what you wish, but in the meantime I must inform Wolsey what has happened.’ Gawain’s voice brooked no argument. ‘He organised this whole event. He would think there was something amiss if I did not report the matter to him.’
‘You know him well?’
‘We are acquainted due to my having spent time at court,’ said Gawain.
The colour in Beth’s cheeks ebbed and she thought how there would definitely be an enquiry now by the Cardinal. She hated the idea.
‘Did your father not have a business meeting this morning in Calais?’ asked Gawain.
She hesitated. ‘Aye, but what has that to do with this? Monsieur Le Brun is but a master printer and he and my father have done business together for as long as I can remember. He would never hurt him.’
‘Your father wouldn’t have considered him a suitable husband for you?’
‘What!’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘He is an old man. Besides, he has a wife and three sons.’
Gawain was relieved. ‘It was just a thought. Yet his conversation with your father earlier today might provide some clue to his murderer. With his being an old friend he might have spoken to him about matters he would not have told others. Do you know his whereabouts in Calais?’
Beth mentioned the name of a street.
‘Then I will go there,’ said Gawain. ‘But first I must speak to Wolsey.’
He drew back the tent flap and ushered her outside. Immediately the strong wind caught her and almost blew her off her feet. She clung to his arm as her skirts were whipped about her legs and she felt him stiffen. Obviously he did not want her touching him, so she released her hold on him and was aware of curious glances as they made their way past the tents.
‘I wish we had never come here,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But Father was adamant that I should see some of the places that he had visited with the king’s father when he was a penniless fugitive.’
‘Perhaps it will be worth mentioning the link between the Tudors and your family to Wolsey.’
‘I do not doubt he already knows of it,’ said Beth. ‘My Welsh great-grandfather fought beside the king’s great-grandfather, Owain ap Twydr, at Agincourt, but that did not mean much to Wolsey. He and Father met and they disagreed on matters of religion.’
‘I see,’ said Gawain, wondering if the Llewellyn menfolk had been involved in the printing of illegal religious tracts at any time and, if so, maybe that could have had something to do with their deaths? ‘Anyway, I am hopeful that when I explain the situation to the Cardinal, he will speak with the king and he will allow me to escort you back to England as soon as possible.’
‘Why should you want to do so?’ asked Beth, surprised. ‘Would you rather not stay here?’
‘I deem it my duty to see you safely home,’ he said firmly.
‘I still do not understand why you should feel responsible for me,’ said Beth. ‘I have my servants to accompany me.’
Gawain