much of a lady to come into a lowly hovel like our little inn!”
“Yet you must have heard something of her,” Baldwin pressed. “Has she any admirers? Are there rumors about her with men in the town?”
“Not that I know of. From what I’ve heard she’s a quiet girl, keeps herself to herself. She’s known to be kind, though. I caught sight of her in the street only ten days ago, or thereabouts; she saw a leper, and opened her purse to give him money. When he said something, she thought again, and emptied the whole purse into his bowl.”
“Exceptionally generous,” Simon murmured.
“That’s what I thought too, sir. She looked quite pale afterward, and I thought she might have breathed in some of his smell, so I offered her wine, but she refused and went off home.”
“What do other people say of her?” Baldwin asked.
The girl set her head to one side as if listening to the echoes of voices which might have spoken of Godfrey’s daughter.
It was hard to recall all the things she had heard of the girl. Cristine had to listen and make polite conversation with all the people of the town, and usually her contribution was no more than apparent interest while her mind whirled on over other matters. It was nothing to her what a farmer might think of the neighbor’s pig- breeding techniques, nor what a tanner felt about a butcher’s ability to flay a calf efficiently. But some things did come to her.
Who was it? she wondered. It was two or three weeks ago she had heard someone talking…
“The leper master!”
Baldwin blinked. “What of him?”
“I heard him talking to another monk last week. It was on that really warm day, you remember?” she appealed to Edgar, who grinned in acknowledgment. “The leper master and the almoner were here, and the two of them shared a drink out in the garden. I had to serve them, and I did hear them talking about her.”
“What could they have wanted to discuss her for?” asked Baldwin with frank astonishment.
“I think she had spoken to the leper master to ask him about his charges and offer to help him-with money, I believe. Not like some.”
“Who do you mean?”
“There is a girl there already. There are all sorts of rumors about her.”
“Oh, you mean Mary Cordwainer?”
“Yes, poor girl. She’s lost her man, young Edmund Quivil. Lost her husband-to-be; lost her whole future, if you know what I mean. And some people here are putting a horrible slant on her motives. No, I think Cecily wanted to help with money. The master was asking the almoner about her, trying to find out what he could, but I doubt whether the almoner could have told him much.”
There was no need for her to explain her words. They all knew as well as she that he went about the town to distribute alms and often entered shops to purchase items needed by the poor, but the houses he entered were those of the poverty-struck, never the wealthy. In the same way, he could hardly meet Cecily while shopping. The places from which he would buy cloth, shoes or food weren’t the sort that a young lady of Cecily’s class would willingly go into. The almoner lived in a different sphere of the town to her.
But as Cristine considered this, another thought struck her, and she shot a glance at Edgar, wondering whether to tell him so he could bring it to his master’s attention. Even as he caught a glimpse of her expression, Baldwin rumbled, “Yes? Out with it, Cristine.”
She smiled again, her head lowering as she met his gaze full on. “I am sorry, Sir Baldwin, but I was thinking: if you wanted to find out what you could about Cecily, surely you’d be better off talking to the Dean, to Peter Clifford. He’s the priest for the town, and he’d be more likely to know her, wouldn’t he?”
William entered the hall with the careless mien of a man who knows his own position is safe enough. Whatever the reason for his urgent summons, William’s conscience was easy.
He glanced about him as he walked in. Two men were playing merrils near the door, and they nodded to him as he passed. Apart from them there was only one other person in the room-Matthew Coffyn.
William ran through his dispositions: there was the man at the front door, one at Mrs. Coffyn’s private room, and the last two in the stableyard. He had looked to them all a few moments before he was called, and was sure there was nothing for him to be concerned about with them, so he was curious as to why his presence had been demanded. “Sir?”
“Come with me, William.”
William allowed his eyebrows to rise as he followed his master through the door behind the dais. This was the first time he had been permitted to have a view of the special strong room where Coffyn kept his money and plate.
It was a small rectangular cell. A tiny, slit-like window set high in the wall allowed in a gloomy light, and by it William could see that the place was filled. Two large chests sat on the floor, both solid and metal-bound. At each wall were shelves, and on these lay a selection of some of the best cloths William had seen. But that wasn’t all. There was also some silver and pewter, although not as much as William would have expected. His fingers itched to fondle it, but now he was here, he was sure this was a test, and he forced his hands to his thick leather belt, hooking his thumbs over. He daren’t appear too interested. It was more difficult to control his eyes, which sauntered over the plates, goblets and bowls with an almost salacious desire.
“You see all this?”
Coffyn’s voice brought him back to the present with a snap. Fortunately, the merchant had his back to him, and hadn’t noticed his expression. Carefully, William ventured the word, “Yes?”
“Used to have more. Had to hawk it like a peasant to pay a debt. It’s usually Jews who fleece us, isn’t it? But now it’s Florentines, Genoese or other Englishmen as well! There’s always someone prepared to make a profit from somebody else’s misfortune.”
He spun round on his heel, scowling. William maintained his disinterested stance, but he was intrigued despite himself. He wanted to know what was behind this interview.
“I was talking to one of your men today, William. He told me you’re only a short while back from France. Is that right?”
The guard walked to a chest and sat upon it before giving the question his attention. Reviewing in his mind the fights he had been involved in, he couldn’t see how any of his past offenses or victims could have come to haunt him here in England. He hadn’t done anything wrong here, he was convinced of that. “Yes?” he said again, questioningly.
“Is it true about the peasants? Have they revolted?”
“Oh, yes!” William shrugged. He couldn’t believe that Coffyn had asked him into this room simply to ask about affairs in far-off France.
“Tell me about it.”
“I know little about it, sir. It’s been going on for a couple of years. This time it was a group of peasants marching from the north, heading southward. They claimed that the nobles were thieves and worse, taxing the peasants too highly, that sort of thing. Said what a peasant produced in a year would be consumed in an hour by a knight. Normal rubbish you hear from the poor.” William had a simplistic attitude to the pastoral folk of France. They had useful food and wine, but rarely any means of defense, and could be looked upon as a handy source of free meals.
“And what when they reached the south?”
There was a note to Coffyn’s voice that made William pick his words carefully. “They stormed castles, released prisoners from jails, killed bailiffs and soldiers, burned town halls and record offices-all the things you expect of a rabble.”
“And the Jews?”
“Oh, them! Well, they set upon them, of course. Massacred them whenever they could. That wasn’t a surprise. Jews hold all the money, don’t they?” It wasn’t something to trouble William. After all, even the English King had eventually thrown all the Jews out of his country. The French had expelled them in 1306, and many people had applauded the action, thinking that all their debts would be wiped out, but then the French King’s son, Louis X, had let them back, with terms that meant he was a two-thirds partner in all their efforts to recover their debts.
So the peasants were repaying theirs the only way they knew how: at the points of pitchforks and
