The Knight of Spurs and Spirits Read online

  Chapter Five

  Heaven and Hell

  Mary missed Roger. She went to the stables to see if he’d come home. She looked at the bay mare. All its shoes were nailed on tight. As she turned to go, a glint of silver caught the setting sun. Sir Robert’s whip lay in the hay. She picked it up. The silver head was wet and red with blood.

  “Ohhhh, Roger!” Mary moaned. “What has he done with you?”

  She searched the stable and barns and found nothing.

  But two weeks later, Geoffrey the groom walked into the kitchen and sat at the table, shaking.

  “What’s wrong?” Mary asked.

  “I was out walking Sir Robert’s hounds today when I saw something floating in the horse pond. Some of the farm workers pulled it out. It was … it was Roger’s body.”

  Mary sobbed softly. “So that’s what he did with him.”

  “Who?”

  “Sir Robert,” Mary said.

  Geoffrey shook his head. “Lord Durham is here for dinner. Lord Durham is a judge for the county. There’s going to be a trial in the Great Hall … he says we can’t have people thinking Sir Robert is to blame!”

  “But he is to blame!” Mary cried. “The killer must be found and punished or Roger’s spirit can never rest! Is the trial on now?”

  Geoffrey nodded, and Mary raced along to the Great Hall. Sir Robert was sitting next to his friend, Lord Durham, and they ate slices of beef and bread from large plates in front of them.

  Lord Durham munched and muttered, “How do you plead, Hylton?”

  “Not guilty, my old fruit,” Sir Robert replied.

  “You didn’t kill him, Bob?”

  “Of course not, old bean.”

  Mary cried out in a clear voice, forgetting her fear. “He did! He said ‘I’ll kill Skeleton the skiver’, and his lordship’s whip handle was covered in blood.”

  Lord Durham glared at her angrily. “Silence in court!” He turned back to Sir Robert. “How did the blood get on the whip handle?”

  The knight laughed and washed down his beef with a cup of ale. “Glad you asked me that. The lad, what’s his name...”

  “Skeleton?” Lord Durham said, looking at a scrap of paper.

  “Skeleton,” Sir Robert Hylton agreed. “He was asleep, so I gave him a little tap on the old noddle to wake him up. Must have had a thin skull, poor little chap. Died. Never felt a thing.”

  “They heard the screams down in the kitchens,” Mary argued.

  “Shut up,” Lord Durham snapped.

  “But...”

  “Silence in court,” the judge ordered.

  “So how did Roger’s body end up in the horse pond?” Mary said, bolder than she’d ever been.

  Lord Durham turned to the knight. “I’m sure you can tell us that, Hylton, my friend?”

  Sir Robert nodded his head sadly. “I tried to carry him to a doctor. But I slipped and dropped him … just as I was passing the pond.”

  “Oh dear!” Lord Durham sighed. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

  “No, but I got my boots a bit muddy trying to fish him out. In the end, I gave up. I mean … he was only a servant, after all.”

  The judge spread some mustard on a piece of beef before cramming it into his mouth. “Yes, only a servant. But your story sounds good enough to me. I think … pass me the ale, Rob, my old mate … thanks … I think I have to find you not guilty of killing him.”

  “Marvellous!” Sir Robert laughed.

  Mary stormed to the table and slammed her fist down so hard that the silver plates and cups rattled. “You call that fair?”

  Lord Durham and Sir Robert Hylton look at one another.

  “Yes,” they answered together.

  Hot tears were pouring down Mary the maid’s grubby cheeks. “Poor Roger will never rest in his grave. He’ll haunt you, mark my words!”

  Lord Durham pushed a plate of pork to one side so he could lean across the table and breathe his stinking breath in her face.

  “Haunt us, will he?” he sneered, and spat crumbs on to the tabletop. “Push off, girl, or your master will haunt you with his whip.”

  That afternoon, Mary placed spring flowers on Roger Skelton’s grave. “I hope you’re warm now … in Heaven!” she whispered.

  But Roger wasn’t warm and Roger wasn’t resting in peace. His spirit, they say, returned to haunt the castle.

  And, at night, when Sir Robert Hylton tried to sleep – some spirit seemed to haunt him. It was the shadow of a boy in a green jacket, hugging himself and moaning, “I’m cold … so cold!”

  Long after Sir Robert Hylton had gone to his own grey grave, the spirit still wandered Hylton Castle. And maybe it still does…

  Epilogue

  Hylton Castle is now in the city of Sunderland, north-east England. It was built around 1405, by William de Hylton, to guard the crossing point on the River Wear, about half a mile to the south.

  Two hundred years later, the castle was owned by Sir Robert Hylton, a man with a fierce temper and a cruel streak.

  Roger Skelton was Sir Robert’s stable lad at Hylton Castle. His job was to look after the horses and keep the stables clean. But Roger, they say, could be a little lazy. He really annoyed Sir Robert.

  On 3 July, 1609, Sir Robert lost his temper with Roger Skelton one last time. He was furious when young Roger was too slow in bringing his horse. What happened next? There are a few stories:

  • one says he speared the boy with a hayfork;

  • another says he drew his sword and sliced off his head;

  • another says he cut Roger’s leg with a hay scythe and the boy bled to death;

  • another says he beat Roger with his riding stick and cracked his skull.

  But all the stories agree that Sir Robert threw the body into the castle pond. The body was found and it was clearly a case of murder.

  Roger Skelton may have fallen on the pitchfork and may have cut himself with the scythe … though he would not have cut off his own head (probably). It is pretty certain that he didn’t throw himself into the pond.

  Sir Robert Hylton was charged with the boy’s murder. But he said it was an accident and, in September 1609, he was set free.

  That much of the story is probably true. But then a legend grew up that said Roger Skelton came back and haunted Hylton Castle. He wandered around crying, “I’m cauld!” (Now “cauld” is a northern word that can mean “headless” or “hooded” or simply “cold”.)

  One story says Roger Skelton was buried and his ghostly spirit rested. He was never heard of again. Another story says the Cauld Lad of Hylton never rested – his killer was not punished, so Roger is doomed to walk the Earth for ever more. Some people say they’ve seen him in the ruins of Hylton Castle to this day. Others say they’ve seen strange lights high up in the castle, even though the top floors have now crumbled and gone.

  What do you think?