‘Sir, we didn’t mean to kill him!’ Jordan said plaintively.
‘Was that what happened?’ Jeanne asked him.
Jordan let his head hang again. ‘He kept saying he’d see we got thrashed as well, and that we’d regret treating him so badly when he grew because he’d make us suffer then.’
Alan continued, ‘We didn’t mean to kill him, we only wanted to stop him threatening us, but then we saw we’d hurt him badly, and we got sort of panicked, because we knew we’d be in trouble if anyone saw what we’d done, so we thought we’d better make him quiet, so we hit him again, and then he stopped moving, and we didn’t know what to do.’
‘So you threw him in front of the first cart that came by?’
Jordan scowled angrily. ‘It wasn’t fair! We were just too late to throw him in front of the fishmonger’s wagon. I’d not have shoved him in front of Dad if I’d known he was coming, but we left Herbert there once we’d chucked him down. We didn’t want to be seen, not on the road with his dead body.’
‘So what did you do? Wait to see what would happen?’ Simon demanded.
Alan glanced at Jordan. ‘No, sir, we went back along the road to see if anyone was coming, and then we saw Jordan’s dad. And he saw us, too. The Fleming and his man had already ridden away, and Edmund turned back to the road ahead and saw Jordan. Bellowed what the hell was he doing up on the moor so late, and jumped down and grabbed him, catching him a right ding over the ear, so we both ran off before he could do anything else. That was why he rode over Herbert, I suppose, because he was still looking for us and not at the road.’
‘It makes sense,’ Baldwin said. ‘But didn’t you realise you shouldn’t kill another boy?’
‘Of course we did, but we didn’t mean to!’ Jordan protested. ‘We never wanted to hurt him, we only wanted to make him stop threatening us, but when we hit him he kept crying that he’d tell his mother, and then we’d suffer. All we wanted to do was shut him up.’
***
At home in Exeter once more, Thomas of Throwleigh dropped from his horse and threw the reins at the groom, then stood glowering at the men unloading the packhorses, shouting occasionally at the ones who seemed least careful about their cargo.
Not that there was much, he reflected gloomily. Since that mad bitch had burned his inheritance to the ground, there was little enough to bring home to Exeter. He shook his head, a small gesture of dissatisfied acceptance, and made his way inside.
The shutters were all wide, and the din from the street outside was deafening. Thomas filled a pint tankard with wine and wandered to the window, staring out with a bemused eye. Why did the noise irritate him so? It hadn’t bothered him before. Perhaps it was the contrast between the countryside about Throwleigh compared to Exeter, he thought, and kicked the nearest shutter closed.
‘Nick! I…’ He stopped. There was no point calling for him. Thomas found his resentment increasing. No hall, no money, and now no Nicholas; his whole life had been turned upside-down, on the promise of a manor with its huge hall and vast lands. Instead, here he was with his old place, mortgaged to the hilt and beyond, and without his best servant.
He fell backwards into his chair and drummed his fingers on the arm while he glared about the room with the embittered conviction that he had lost everything. There was nothing to be retrieved; no way to make an income.
‘Bring me my secretary!’
Unless, of course, he could make Throwleigh pay for itself…
His clerk entered.
‘Sit down, man. I want you to write a letter for me, to Sir Reginald of Hatherleigh. Something along the lines of, “Sir, you will know that my brother’s house has sadly been destroyed in a great fire. It is impossible for me to be able to pay the usual tallage because all the taxes I impose on my villeins must be used to rebuild the house. However, I think it may be possible to pay the normal dues if you would consider permitting me to hold a small fair at my village of Throwleigh…” ’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Godfrey winced at the sight of the fellow’s stance. ‘No, you hold the swordpoint up like this, for the outside guard. When it is held directly before you, the weapon is in the medium guard, like this. Have you never been in a fight?’
It was always the same, he sighed. Modern folk had no interest in learning real and effective methods of self-defence; they were too keen on chasing women and drinking all night. Especially those who fancied themselves as ladies’ men.
That was the problem with James van Relenghes, he thought. The man was a fool, with his brain in his hose. He believed he could pull the wool over a man’s eyes and could cuckold any husband, just because he sometimes had a certain charm, and there was nothing anyone could do to persuade him that he was wrong. Since the foolish attempt on the squire’s wife, he had tried to win the affection of another woman, this time one who was still unfortunately in possession of a husband. As far as Godfrey’s informants went, she had not refused his advances, not by any means! However, the husband had heard of secret assignations, and even now was searching for van Relenghes.
Godfrey stepped back, held his sword out once more, and allowed his opponent to swing at his head; ducking, Godfrey moved under his arm, gripped his wrist, and yanked backwards, pulling the arm up until the other had to drop his sword.
It was quite funny, really, he mused. Even those who disliked him intensely were sometimes forced to make use of his services.
‘Now do you believe me?’ he asked politely. ‘If you want to learn how to use your sword properly, you have to learn the basic positions; if you get the stance wrong, anyone can get in underneath and get straight to you.’
‘Very well,’ said Sir James van Relenghes. ‘I believe you. Er, could you release my arm now?’
As she walked into her house, Anney stood a moment and stared. The packed earth of the floor had been swept clean, and where the dismal remains of the previous night’s ashes had been there was now a cheerful fire, which lighted the whole room with red-gold flickering warmth.
‘Where are you?’ she called, and hearing a voice behind the cottage, walked through to the yard. There she found Nicholas resting happily on his axe contemplating a stack of logs under the eaves.
‘That elm was about to fall anyway,’ he said defensively. ‘I just helped it. And then I thought I might as well tidy up a bit; and then I thought the tree looked a mess, so I cut it up.’
She stood looking at him, then at the garden. He was right, the elm had menaced the cottage with the threat of collapse, but she’d never been able to get the help to bring it down safely and didn’t dare attempt it on her own. There would be enough logs to keep them warm all though the winter with that lot.
‘I thought you might like some help about the place,’ he said off-handedly. ‘You know, just for a while. Especially now you’re alone.’
‘Maybe. I don’t know how I’ll be able to feed the pair of us, though.’
‘I spoke to the innkeeper. He’s all alone there, and could do with some help. Usually he’d look to a girl, but he’s getting old, and he fears being robbed. He reckoned I could help him, being able to protect him as well as serve.’
‘What of your wife?’ she demanded caustically.
He grinned. ‘Ah. One is gone, but there’s this other I know who gave me her vows.’
She stared at him without speaking while the thoughts whirled in her head. He was untrustworthy, dishonest, a bigamist, liar and bully. But he had always liked her, could keep a house clean, and already had a job to bring in money, which was more than she had now.
‘Come here,’ she said.
Later, in bed, when she had drawn their cloaks and some skins over them for warmth, she found herself weeping, but this time, and for the first time since Tom had died, it was from pleasure.
Less than a quarter of a mile away, Edmund sat before his fire and stared at the small flames while he moodily drank from his large pot. Standing, he stumbled to the barrel, lifted it a
nd poured the contents into his mug. Only a small dribble remained, and he looked down in disbelief: he had only just bought this barrel from the alewife in the village, it couldn’t be empty yet.
Filled with a sudden wrath, he hefted the barrel and hurled it across the room. It bounced against the wall, then fell back, smashing an earthenware pot.
It was one of Christiana’s favourites, but that hardly mattered any more. She had gone, almost as soon as the news of their son’s crime had become common knowledge, simply disappearing one day while he was out trying to sell his services to a farmer at Week. When Edmund had got home, there was no food, no fire, no daughter Molly, and no wife. All were gone. He’d run from the place, shouting for her, and hared off up the road to the north, desperately seeking her. She didn’t have a horse, so she must be easy to find, but he’d seen no sign of her.
A passing tranter had found him asleep in the ditch at the side of the road the next day, and although it was several miles out of his way, the man had kindly taken him home, lighting his fire and warming him in front of it, wrapping him in an old cloak before leaving.
He had seen no one from the village since she had gone. Folks here seemed to want to avoid him, ever since the tales of his lad’s horrible act had circulated.
But Edmund was happy; he didn’t need anyone. There was nobody he could really trust, not even his own boy. He’d tried to raise the lad properly, but he’d gone to the bad; his wife was probably the reason, she would mollycoddle the sod.
At least the estate had agreed that his certificate of manumission was valid. That evil witch, Lady Katharine, had gone and Thomas had no need of Edmund’s services. That was what the bailiff had said, wasn’t it? That Edmund was free now, to seek his own employment and find a new life.
New life? Edmund’s thoughts fractured like the smashed jug as he gazed about the empty, noisome room with dull, miserable eyes.
This was his life.
Baldwin walked from his front door and sat on the bench he had installed overlooking the view. From this point he could see the sweep of the south of Devonshire, and in the clear, bright sunshine of a late spring morning, the low sun lent an almost golden glow to the verdant lands. Small clouds floated past, their shadows giving texture to the scenery.
‘Are you all right, my husband?’
Baldwin smiled. Jeanne came to sit at his side. She called and Edgar brought a tray on which were two pots and a jug. When she nodded, he left them, and Jeanne herself poured.
‘It’s a beautiful morning,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ She glanced up at the sound of a hound baying.
‘She’ll live,’ Baldwin said. His mastiff was still wounded that Baldwin should have deserted him for so long while he was at Throwleigh, and was still more anxious to see him for every minute of every day as a result.
Jeanne passed him his wine, and he gratefully drank half of it at a single gulp. ‘That’s good!’
‘What do you think will happen to her?’
Baldwin sadly shook his head. ‘I wish I knew, Jeanne. The Lady Katharine always looked so strong and independent, but I fear that the shock of losing her family, and then hearing her most favoured maid, the one in whom she had always placed her trust, assert that she herself had murdered the lady’s son, toppled her reason. She will be well looked after in the nuns’ convent, but whether she will ever truly recover, or will remain there, bound up for the rest of her days like a wild beast, is hard to tell. All I can say is, after so many horrors, perhaps it would be better if she never regained her faculties, for all that would mean is that she could once more appreciate her misery.’
It was an appalling state for the young woman to have fallen into. Baldwin and Jeanne had seen Lady Katharine before they returned to Furnshill, and the sight was awful. She had lain on her palliasse, dribbling and moaning, gazing about her with unseeing eyes and for all the world dead. It was a hideous scene.
‘Ah well,’ Jeanne said with a sigh. ‘At least there will soon be the pattering of little feet to help us forget all about the incident.’
‘Wonderful!’ Baldwin agreed sarcastically. ‘We’ll have another drunken brat about the place, just like Wat. Another puling, mewling sod determined to eat up everything in sight and then bringing it all back.’
‘Don’t be so scathing, Baldwin. Wasn’t it always you who said you wanted a baby?’
Baldwin gave her a long look. ‘You know perfectly well that I meant one of my own. I didn’t mean another man’s.’
‘At least he was a priest.’
‘I don’t honestly feel that is any compensation, Jeanne.’
‘We couldn’t have left her there all on her own, my love.’
‘I suppose not, but I must confess that when you demanded your own maid, I didn’t realise you meant you wanted a page as well. We could have bought one – there was no need to hire a maid with her own brood ready to pod!’
‘Keep your voice down, Baldwin! I don’t want Petronilla to overhear you saying things like that; she might get upset, and that’s not good for a mother.’
‘Oh, very well, but all I can say is, I hope she will find time to look after you between feeds.’
Glancing around, Baldwin saw that there was no one watching them. He grabbed Jeanne, picked her up, squeaking, and set her on his lap before kissing her thoroughly. The priest Stephen had not managed to settle his mind about his vow to chastity, but in a strange way, the death of Herbert himself had. Somehow Baldwin felt sure that it was right that he should love this woman, almost as if he had a duty to replace the lad.
He was content.
It was warm in the hall, and the boy had to pause before he could enter, it was so hot compared with the relative cool of the air outside. Also the sight of his master’s guest made him hesitate.
‘Hah! Jordan! Bring the wine here.’
Sir Reginald wasn’t unkind, as Jordan had been led to expect, but he did require his servants to obey him speedily. The first thrashing Jordan had received after arriving here at Hatherleigh was caused purely by his being a little too slow in bringing the jug of wine when called. It had been a painful experience, and now he was prone to leap forward with alacrity when summoned, and as a result Sir Reginald appeared to have taken to him with a degree of fondness.
The work wasn’t too arduous either. Jordan was expected to help about the hall, assisting the steward with whatever he thought needed doing, tidying the buttery, restocking the storerooms, fetching and carrying trays and jugs and pots.
He brought the wine to his master and set it on the table silently.
Simon watched him with a curious smile twisting the edge of his mouth. ‘How do you find your new home, Jordan?’
‘It’s fine, sir. I’m very happy here.’
‘You wouldn’t want to go home to your father?’
‘To him, sir?’ Jordan asked, his face blank.
‘Your mother has left him, lad. I thought if you were to go home again, you might be able to help him keep his land going.’
Jordan sniffed and wiped his eye. ‘I don’t think so, sir. I don’t think I could help him. He never listens to anyone – not Mum, not me, not anyone. If I went back, he’d beat me for no reason, just like he always used to.’
Simon smiled understandingly, and Sir Reginald waved the boy away.
When he had left the hall, the knight glanced at the bailiff. ‘Well? He gave you a good enough answer, didn’t he?’
‘Oh yes, Sir Reginald. I never doubted he would. He’s filling out nicely, too. You’re feeding him too much.’
‘Not me, bailiff, it’s the damned women of the place. They all insist on giving him candy and extra portions of ale. Daft buggers! When I was a boy, servants were lucky if they were allowed maslin. Rye and wheat was good enough for the animals, my old father used to say, so it was damned well good enough for the slaves as well!’
Simon smiled thinly. ‘Yes, I have no doubt. The main thing is, he appears happy enough, and I am s
ure he will flourish under your benevolent eye. What of the other one?’
‘Alan? He appears to have an excellent aim with a sling and bullet, so I’ve sent him off to help watch the flocks north of here. I’m sure he’ll “flourish” too! Hah!’ The knight began to laugh rustily, like an old man who was dry of throat.
Jordan heard the men moving on to talk about the knight’s lands nearer the moors, and this held no interest for him, so he silently walked out to the buttery, putting the tray down and setting a jug to fill under the wine butt.
The place was easy enough; certainly the work here was less arduous than it had been at home. There he’d always been up before dawn to do his chores in the house before setting off for the fields. Now he need rise only when he heard others already about their duties, and when he did go to the hall, there was food for him. He messed with the second shift of workers in this busy manor. There were so many staff that there wasn’t space for all to eat at the same time, and even if there had been, someone must fetch the food and drink and serve the servants. So they ate in shifts, the knight with the first, and Jordan helped wait upon him before eating with the second.
No, Jordan was pleased with his new position. It was quite a stroke of luck. He hadn’t expected to be able to live as well as this, not after he had confessed to killing Master Herbert.
But he was no fool, and knew that if he were to put a foot wrong, he might find life much more difficult. That was why he was so cautious. He kept his mouth shut, just as he always had. He was taking no risks. A word out of place could lead to severe punishment, and he had no wish for that.
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