Sharon Kay Penman - Reckoning

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ALSO BY SHARON KAY PENMAN

The Sunne in Splendour Here Be Dragons Falls the Shadow

THE RECKONING

SHARON KAY PENMAN

Ballantine Books New York

Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is

coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as "unsold or destroyed"

and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of

Random House, Inc., New York, and distributed in Canada by Random House of

Canada Limited, Toronto.

This edition published by arrangement with Henry Holt and Company, Inc.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 92-90046

ISBN: 0-345-37888-1

Cover design by James R. Harris Cover art by Bryan Leister

Manufactured in the United States of America First Ballantine Books Edition:

October 1992

20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12

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THE RECKONING

EVESHAM ABBEY, ENGLAND

January 1271

1 HERB were no stars. The sky was the color of cinders, and shadows were

spilling out of every corner. Brother Damian was truly content with his lot in

life, but border winters were brutal, and he sometimes found it hard to

reconcile his monk's vow of poverty with his subversive yearning for a woolen

mantle luxuriously lined with fox fur. Folklore held that St Hilary's Day was

the coldest of the year, but he doubted that it could be as frigid as this

first Friday in January, a day that had begun in snow and was ending now in

this frozen twilight dusk, in swirling sleet and ice-edged gusting wind, sharp

as any blade.

He had reached the dubious shelter of the cloisters when a snowball grazed his

cheek, splattered against the nearest pillar. Damian stumbled, slipped on the

glazed walkway, and went down. His assailants rushed to his rescue and he was

soon encircled by dismayed young faces. With recognition, the boys' apologies

became less anxious, more heartfelt, for Damian was a favorite of theirs. They

often wished that he, rather than the dour Brother Gerald, was master of the

novices, as Damian was young enough himself to wink at their indiscretions,

understanding how bumpy was the road from country lad to reluctant scholar.

Now he scolded them roundly as they helped him to his feet and retrieved his

spilled candles, but his rebuke lacked sting; when he tallied up sins, he

found no room on the list for snowball fights.

His duty done, Damian felt free to jest about poor marksmanship before sending

them back to their studies. They crowded in, jockeying for position, warming

him with their grins, imploring him to tell them again of the great Earl Simon

and the battle of Evesham, fought within sight of the abbey's walls. Damian

was not deceived, as able as the next man to recognize a delaying tactic. But

it was a ploy he could never resist, and when they entreated him to tell the

story "just one more

time, for Jack," a freckle-faced newcomer to their ranks, he let himself be

persuaded.

Five years had passed since the Earl of Leicester had found violent death and

martyrdom on a bloody August morn, but his memory was still green. Evesham

cherished its own saint, caring naught that Simon de Montfort had not beenand

would likely never becanonized by the Church. No pope or cardinal would

antagonize the English Crown bj| sanctifying the Earl's rebellion as the holy

quest he'd believed it to be. f was the English peoplecraftsmen and widows and

village priests and shire gentrywho had declared him blessed, who flocked to

his grave in faithful numbers, who defied Church and King to do reverence to a

French-born rebel, who did not forget.

Evesham suffered from no dearth of de Montfort partisans. Some of the more

knowing of the boys had concluded that if every man who claimed to have fought

with the Earl that day had in fact done so, de Montfort would never have lost.

But Damian's de Montfort credentials were impeccable, for all knew he had

actually engaged the great Earl in conversation before the battle, that he had

then dared to make his way alone to Dover Castle, determined to give the

Earl's grieving widow an account of his last hours. Damian not only believed

in the de Montfort legend, he had lived it, and the boys listened raptly as he

shared with them his memories, his remembered pain.

So real was it still to Damian that as he spoke, the cold seemed to ebb away,

and the boys began to breathe in humid August air that foretold a coming

storm. They saw the Earl and his men ride into the abbey so that the captive

King Henry might hear Mass. They experienced the rebel army's joy that

salvation was at hand, for the Earl's second sonyoung Simon, known to friends

and foes alike as Branwas on his way from Kenilworth Castle with a vast army.

And they shuddered and groaned when Damian told them that Bran had tarried too

long, that through his lack of care, his men were ambushed by the King's son.

Flying Bran's captured banners, the Lord Edward had swept down upon Evesham,

and by the time Earl Simon discovered the ruse, it was too late. Trapped

between Edward's advancing army and the river, he and his men had ridden out

to die.

"Earl Simon knew they were doomed, but his faith never faltered. He told his

men that their cause was just, that a king should not be accountable only to

God. 'The men of England will cherish their liberties all the more,' he said,

'knowing that we died for them.' " Damian's voice trailed off. There was a

somber silence, broken at last by one of the younger lads, wanting to know if

it was true that the Earl had been hideously maimed by his enemies. It was a

question Damian had often

been asked, but it was not one he found easy to answereven now. He hesitated

and a young voice came from the shadows.

"They hacked off Earl Simon's head and his private male parts, dispatched them

as keepsakes to Roger de Mortimer's wife. His arms and legs were chopped off,

too, sent to towns that had favored the Earl, and his mangled corpse was

thrown to the dogs. Brother Damian retrieved what was left of the Earl's body,

carried it on a ladder into the church, and buried it before the High Altar.

But even then the Earl's enemies were not satisfied. They dug his body up,

buried him in unhallowed ground. It was only after Simon's son Amaury appealed

to the Pope that we were able to give the Earl a decent Christian burial."

It was a grisly account, but none thought to challenge it, for the speaker was

another who had reason to be well versed in the de Montfort mythology; Hugh de

Whitton's father had died fighting for Simon on that rain-drenched Evesham

field.

Damian gave Hugh a grateful glance, then sent them off to wash up before

supper. He was not surprised when Hugh lingered, offering to help him carry

his candles to the sacristy. Of all the boys who lived at the abbey, both

novices and students, none were as generous, as open-hearted as Hugh. Damian

was very fond of him, and he grieved for the bleakness of the boy's future.

For a lad of fourteen, he'd had more than his share of sorrows. His mother had

died giving birth to a stillborn son when he was just four; he'd been but nine

at the time of his father's battlefield death, and there were none to redeem

his sire's forfeit lands. A cousin was found who'd grudgingly agreed to pay

for the boy's education, but now that he was in his fifteenth year, the

payments had ceased. Damian knew that the Abbot could not keep the lad on

indefinitely. Nor would he stay once he realized his presence had become a

charity, for Hugh was as proud as he was impoverished. Damian was by nature an

optimist, but even he had few illusions as to what lay ahead for Hugh.

Landless orphans did not often prosper, even in the best of times.

As they headed for the church, Hugh shortened his stride to match the monk's.

He might lack for earthly possessions, but not for stature; he was already

taller than many men, and his long legs, loose-gaited walk, and broadening

shoulders gave promise of even more impressive growth to come. Now he studied

Damian through long, fair lashes, blue eyes shadowed with sudden doubts.

Nothing he'd heard this eve was unfamiliar; he knew the history of the de

Montforts as if they were his own family. The Earl, a highborn lord who'd

championed the commons, a legend even in his lifetime, arrogant and gallant

and hot-tempered and reckless, a man who'd pre-

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ALSOBYSHARONKAYPENMANTheSunneinSplendourHereBeDragonsFallstheShadowTHERECKONINGSHARONKAYPENMANBallantineBooksNewYorkSaleofthisbookwithoutafrontcovermaybeunauthorized.Ifthisbookiscoverless,itmayhavebeenreportedtothepublisheras"unsoldordestroyed"andneithertheauthornorthepublishermayhavereceivedpayment...

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