“Damn.” Richard Siward grumbled to his companion Hugh Mansel as he rearranged his dark woollen cloak, attempting to pull it more firmly around his broad frame. The rain had been steadily pouring from an iron grey sky for several days straight, and his cloak had stopped offering any warmth or protection from the constant downpour. They had felt the necessity for their mail hauberks, for only fools travelled unarmed through a countryside plagued by bands of outlaws. But the weight of the mail and their sodden clothing had made this last leg of their journey particularly uncomfortable. Hugh grimaced; the litany of curses had dogged their journey as constantly as had the inclement weather. This was to be one of the last before they reached their destination.
“Come on Richard. We’re almost there now.” Hugh spoke impatiently, pulling smartly on the reigns of his horse in a last attempt to quicken the pace of his friend. The presence of the two well-kept horses and the conspicuous bulk of broadswords under their cloaks spoke of their position within society. They were knights serving in the household of the younger William Marshal. Hugh supposed that it was no longer necessary to distinguish between father and son, now that the elder had been dead for three years. Yet still he could not help but feel that the new Earl of Pembroke had some way to go before he could step out of his father’s shadow.
“I don’t see why we’re coming to this place anyway.” Hugh rolled his eyes at his friend’s bad tempered gripe. They had been over this several times since they had left, so his reply was well rehearsed.
“You cannot get one of the women in the Earl’s household with child and not expect some repercussions. He likes you well, that’s why you weren’t tossed out on your ear and why you’re not married to the girl.” Richard’s jaw tightened at the memory of the confrontation. What Hugh said was true, he and William were close due to the time spent training and drinking together, but he knew that he was also indebted to his friend. Hugh’s quiet words of reason and offer to remove Richard from the household for a few months had saved him his place in the Earl’s retinue. A pilgrimage had seemed a reasonable punishment for a man who tolerated religion as another man might tolerate an arrow through the hand.
“But that doesn’t explain why you were heading here in the first place. Why on earth would you want to come to Canterbury
At the age of thirty-four Hugh was older than the Earl and most of his retinue, and though whilst certainly not in his dotage, his concerns were no longer of the amount he could drink before his head swam or the variety of female company he could tempt to his bed. Witnessing the death of the Marshal had stirred within him a restless spirituality and faint memories of his childhood education in the company of monks. Hugh swept an agitated hand across his brow, dislodging the blonde hair that had been plastered wetly to his forehead. His vague desire to go on a pilgrimage had become imperative by the death of his father at the beginning of the year. John Mansel had been a huge man, vigorous, loud and energetic in all that he did. It seemed impossible that he now lay decaying under the ground somewhere. Hugh was dragged sharply out of his reflections by Richard stopping suddenly before him. They had finally reached their destination.
