was almost a year ago now, though. Two pairs of boots, one rug and an expensive cloak ago. “She was trying to bring me a present.”
Edgar nodded, then bent to pick up shards of broken pottery. “What was it this time?” Shaking his head, the knight motioned to the floor beside the table. When he glanced down, Edgar saw the short hunting spear, heavily chewed at the middle, which lay beside the table. “She was carrying that?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
It was only a few moments later that they heard the sound of an approaching rider. Lionors heard it first, her head snapping round as she stared at the door. Wiping his hands on his shirt, Edgar went out. After a few minutes he was back, and to Baldwin’s surprise, he wore a broad smile.
“Sir Baldwin, a visitor! John, Bourc de Beaumont, son of the Captal de Beaumont.”
“Of course, I knew your father well. We first met in Acre. That would be some six and twenty years ago now, of course.”
Baldwin had been surprised at the demeanour of his guest. He remembered the Captal as being a cheerful, enthusiastic man, and yet the son was withdrawn, almost depressed.
The Bourc had passed on messages from his father and some small gifts, and they were sitting before the fire, which had been stoked and now roared vigorously, lighting the room with a flickering orange glow.
“He rarely talks about those times, sir.”
“I’m not surprised. It was miserable. The end of Outremer. The end of the kingdom of Jerusalem. The finish of many brave and gallant men. Not, luckily, your father, though.”
“He told me a little about it, but never what really happened. Could you?”
Baldwin sipped at his wine as he stared into the flames, his eyes glinting. Then they narrowed – the memory was hard. “I met your father there in the early summer, before I met Edgar. Our enemy had managed to lay siege from the land – though we still got supplies in from the sea – and were bombarding the place with catapults. I met your father early on in the siege. There were so few of us there – especially in the service of the English king – that we all knew each other. Even then he was a powerful man, or so I remember him. I was young at the time, of course. We fought together several times, and I was with him when the towers in the city wall were mined and began to crumble. We fell back together through the city as the enemy rushed in, trying to escape. It was awful.”
“He told me it was vicious work in the narrow streets.”
“Yes, because they were all connected, and there were so many men against us that even if we held them back for a minute, others could get round behind us. They kept leapfrogging us all the way back, all the way to the harbour. It was mayhem, hand-to-hand all the way. The harbour was to the south and we headed straight for it when we saw that the battle was lost. On the way we found Edgar here. He was wounded, and we helped him along with us. But when we got close enough to see the sea, we found our route was blocked. The enemy was before us, cutting us off. We had no choice: north, south and east were forbidden to us. We went west, to the Temple.”
“You were both there during the siege of the Knights of the Temple?”
“Oh, yes!” Baldwin gave a short laugh. “Not that we were much help to them. Edgar was too ill. I myself fell on rubble on the second day and broke my ankle. Your father saved me then.” He looked over at the young knight beside him. “We were at the main gate of the Temple when we were suddenly attacked by a strong force. They had a ram, and the bar that held the door gave way, snapping in the middle. Half of it landed near me, and that’s what made me fall. A stone turned under my foot and broke the joint. Your father stood by me, holding off the enemy until I was dragged away and the gates fastened again. He managed to keep the men rallied.
“In the end, your father was hit by an arrow, and the wound soon festered in the heat. We were lucky. The Templars allowed all three of us to leave on one of the Templar ships. They took us away to Cyprus, where they tended our wounds and nursed us back to health.” Back to Cyprus, he mused. The words hardly covered the panicked rush to the ships and the feelings of relief and elation at being removed from the immediate dangers of the ruined city.
“I have been in similar positions,” said the Bourc meditatively. Drawing his dagger, he thrust it deep into the fire. When he had poured himself a fresh mug of wine, he warmed it by stirring it with the knife. “It’s hard when you’re surrounded and know you cannot escape.”
“Aye. It’s worse when your enemy has sworn to destroy you utterly and leave no survivors,” said Baldwin shortly. Then he glanced up and smiled. “Anyway, that’s the truth of it, for what it’s worth.” He threw a shrewd glance at his guest. “So did you come all the way here to hear that? The message and gifts hardly merit a knight as a messenger!”
“No,” said the Bourc shortly. “No, I did not come just for that. I wanted a bed for the night as well. I will be gone early tomorrow, I came for other business, a debt which I owe from that same siege.”
“How so? You can only have been a child back then.”
“I was, yes. I was less than a year old. My mother, Anne of Tyre, had me by my father, but she could not escape from the city when it was taken. She gave me to my nurse, and this woman took me away.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, she took me from Acre and brought me home. You see this ring?” When he lifted his left hand, Baldwin saw a gold ring which held a large red stone. The Bourc stared at it for a moment, then let his arm fall and stared into the flames. “This was given to my mother by my father. She gave it to my nurse, who gave it to my people as a token that I was my father’s son. She saved my life and made sure I was safe. Now she lives near here. That’s why I’ve come. To see her and thank her. For my life. I saw her briefly today on my way here, and will return to her tomorrow, then go home.”
“Who was she? Maybe I know her.”
“A lowly nurse? Maybe. She was named Agatha Kyteler.”
Baldwin shook his head. “No. I don’t know her. The name is unfamiliar.”
It was late in the afternoon of the next day, Tuesday, when Simon Puttock and his wife arrived. By then Baldwin was sitting in his hall. John, Bourc de Beaumont had left at noon, and the knight was beginning to wonder if the bailiff and his wife had been forced to change their plans. Looking up at the sound of horses, he walked to the door and, seeing his friends, bellowed for servants.
Though it was getting dark, the day’s weak sun had not managed to clear the white spatterings of frost from the dirt and grass, and Baldwin could see that behind his guests a thin grey mist was already lying in the valley. On a clear day he could see for miles from here in front of his house, and today he could make out the moors lying under their blanket of pure white snow in the far distance, looking somehow less threatening than in the summer when they loomed dark and menacing.
Baldwin’s manor house was not a modern castellated property. Built in easier times, it was thatched like a farmhouse, the only concessions to safety being in the tiny windows and its position. Standing high on the side of the hill facing south, it lay in a clearing, surrounded at a safe distance by the old woods. In front there was a shallow gully in which the rainwater drained away, and it was here that the track lay, rising gradually to the flat area before his door.
The knight watched as the small party approached. In the lead was the tall, slim figure of his friend Simon Puttock, a ruddy-faced, brown-haired man in his thirtieth year. Just behind him was his wife, Margaret, slim and elegant in her fur-lined grey cloak, hood down to show pale features glowing with the cold and exercise under thick tresses of blond hair trapped by her net. Bringing up the rear was their servant, Hugh, his dark face, Baldwin saw with a widening grin, pulled into his customary morose glower.
Spreading his arms wide, Baldwin walked forward to meet them. “Simon, Margaret, welcome!” he shouted as they came close, his face breaking into a broad smile.
After the ride from Exeter, Margaret was frozen, her fingers feeling like icicles under her gloves, but she felt a smile tugging at her mouth on seeing his pleasure. Before her husband could drop to the ground and help her down, Baldwin was beside her, bowing low, then offering her his hand with a smile, his teeth almost startling in contrast with his black moustache. Giving him a quick nod of gratitude, she accepted his hand and dropped to the ground, then stood looking at the view while she waited for the others.
