A fine Arras tapestry hung on the opposite wall. His brother had brought it back from France as loot. It once graced the walls of a guildhall in Rouen and had been seized when the English retook the city. Harald wanted it moved to a place of safety. Guy wouldn't hear of it. For him the tapestry was not a work of art. It was a war trophy and belonged in the family hall. Harald hoped that, one day, he would be able to return it to its rightful owners.
He hated the war. His own ancestors came to England from Gascony in the reign of Edward I. In those far off days, the people of that region didn't think of themselves as French any more than the Welsh and Cornish thought of themselves as English. Their allegiance was to their province and their lord. They were proud that their lord was King of England. That didn't make them feel subservient to the English ... quite the contrary.
Now things were different. The people of England had adopted a haughty attitude towards the people of France. And the people of France had started to think of themselves as French. Joan of Arc had shown the way. The French king couldn't unite them but the peasant girl did. Men flocked to her banner. Seven years ago, they inflicted a crushing defeat on the English at Orleans.
His mother disturbed his thoughts.
'Why did you tell that girl to go away?'
'What girl?'
'The one you told to leave.'
'I don't approve of debauchery, Mother.'
'Harald, I've just hired that wench.' She gave him the disapproving look that had never failed to intimidate him as a child. 'I told her to go into the hall and collect the clothes for washing. The next thing I know is you've dismissed her.'
'I'm sorry.' Harald's face flushed. 'I didn't realise …'
'You had the poor girl in tears.'
'I shall explain to her …'
'No. Harald. You stay away from my servants. I'm in charge of this house. You're responsible for the estate.'
She reached inside a small bag that hung from her girdle and removed a folded sheet of paper. 'This came from your father while you were away. He wants to know what you're doing about William's inheritance.'
'The matter is before the courts, Mother.'
'The courts!' Margery Gascoigne looked as if she was about to explode. 'You're playing into their hands. Your father wouldn't tolerate such nonsense ... nor would your brother.'
'It is a matter of law, Mother. Everything depends on the marriage contract.'