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The Adventures
of Alianore Audley
by
Brian Wainwright
My father put down his cup of wine and belched. It was the Feast of Corpus Christi, and he was feeling expansive.
'What do you think, my dear?' he asked my mother.
'Mmmm...' grunted Lady Audley, petting one of her one hundred and thirty-two assorted dogs. My mother had but one claim to fame. She was the only woman in the history of England to be kicked out of a convent because of the nuisance caused by her pets. We had no such easy remedy, but after a time you got used to taking care where you put your feet.
'It would be useful to have a poisoner in the family,' my brother Edmund declared. 'For emergency use only, of course.'
Edmund always was the scholarly one among us. He spent years at University, honing his keen sense of morality. I always knew that he would end up as a Bishop. The obnoxious Tudor Slimebag, known to his friends as Our Sovereign Lord King Henry the Seventh, has recently promoted him to the See of Hereford. I'm sure they're very happy with each other.
'I can teach her much more than that,' Tegolin snorted.
'I'm sure you can,' said my father, 'but what is it that interests you in Alianore? Why did you never ask for one of her sisters?'
'She is a Special Child. I have seen her destiny'
'Oh, yes? And how long for her to learn your skills?'
'Seven years for the full course - '
'Seven years? Are you stark, staring mad, woman?'
'But I can probably get her through the Preliminary Certificate in just one year. Eighteen months at the most.'
'Hmmm,' said my father, 'and at what cost?'
'The cancellation of my arrears of feudal dues. That's all.'
My father got his abacus out and flicked the beads about as he considered the bargain.
'I've heard about you people,' he said, frowning, 'and some of the things you get up to at night. If I agree to this, I want my child back in good, marketable condition. Virgo Intacta and all that. Understood? If one hair of her head is harmed, Lady Tegolin, I shall see to it that little bits of you are stuck up on every gallows from here to Newcastle. And I don't mean Newcastle Emlyn, or the Newcastle near Clun in the Marches, or even Newcastle-under-Lyme. I mean Newcastle-on-Tyne. We have a short way with witches hereabouts.'
It sounded a rather long way to me.
'My Lord Audley,' Tegolin answered, 'I am, above all, a Welsh gentlewoman. Your daughter will be entirely safe in my care. However, I should like to observe that witchcraft is an offence punishable in the ecclesiastical courts, not under temporal jurisdiction. The Bishop of St. David's and his Chancellor happen to be among my closest friends, and would be unlikely to proceed against me on the basis of idle rumour. Moreover, contrary to the common perception, witchcraft is not, in itself, a capital crime. I have to say, therefore, that on balance your threats tend to leave me somewhat unmoved.'
©
Brian Wainwright, 2006.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
The rights of Brian Wainwright to be identified as the author has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and patents act 1988
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
The rights of Brian Wainwright to be identified as the author has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and patents act 1988
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