attacked: his screams would have been heard. Not that he’d managed to make much noise last night, he reminded himself glumly.
No, nobody was going to come up here. It wasn’t on the beaten track, and if it was, nobody would be likely to spot him in his yard so far from the path.
John had been a soldier. He knew a little about fixing broken bones, and he eyed his ruined leg sourly for a while. The only way he was going to get help was if he could get himself down to the church to demand it. He took out his knife, doffed his jacket, and began to hack the cloth into strips.
When Baldwin entered his hall, he felt more than a little self-conscious. His new tunic was of a bright red hue, more colorful than anything he had possessed before, and he could see that Simon was startled to see him so resplendent.
The knight ignored his friend, instead walking to the quiet woman near the fire. She was clothed in a new tunic of bright red velvet, and as he surveyed it, he recognized the cloth. It was that which he had bought for her in Tavistock.
“My lady, I am flattered and honored by your gift.”
If he sounded a littly stiffly formal, his face belied it. Jeanne smiled back at him, delighted to see how the color suited him. It was twelve months ago that she and Margaret had bought the cloth, and Jeanne had quickly made up the tunic when she returned home after that first meeting, but it had not seemed right, somehow, to merely send it to him with her compliments. She had wanted to see him wear it for the first time, and now, to be able to see how his face was softened by the color, and by his pleasure, she felt her heart swell with pride that she had achieved this on her own, with only her skill at needlework. “It is my pleasure, Sir Baldwin. I am delighted to see that it fits as well as I had hoped.”
Margaret smiled, and as she felt her husband prepare to offer a humorous sally, shoved a warning arm through his.
“Do you recognize this cloth?” Jeanne asked.
“It is the material I bought you in Tavistock,” he smiled.
She heard Emma cluck her tongue at her side, but ignored it. “Yes. I have not worn it until now. I wanted to put it on for the first time when you had your gift from me.”
“Perhaps when you have finished admiring each other’s attire, we can get down to Crediton and find this thief and murderer?” Simon suggested drily.
Baldwin threw him an irritated look, but Jeanne laughed out loud and pushed him toward the bailiff. “I think your other guest is keen to be off.”
“What about some food first?”
Simon indicated a small satchel and wineskin. “It’s ready! We can eat on our journey.”
With a bad grace, Baldwin submitted, and soon the two men, with Edgar in their train, were on their way, the knight taking the leading position.
As they began the long, shallow descent from Cadbury toward the town, Simon took a deep gulp of wine. “Where to first?”
“The leper house. I want to speak to Ralph.” 18
W hen they arrived at the chapel’s little gate, they found the monk already waiting, a stout cudgel in his hand.
“Sir Baldwin, I am so glad you could come, sir.”
“Why? Has something happened?”
“Hadn’t you heard? I assumed you must have. We had two men stoned last night-a recent inmate, and a travelling man. Both had rocks hurled at them; they could have been killed!”
Baldwin dropped from his horse and tied it to a branch. “Show me!” he instructed.
Behind him, Edgar sprang down easily enough, but Simon was less keen. He swung his leg over his rounsey’s rump, and knotted the reins over another branch, but he entered the compound unwillingly. He had never before been into a leper colony.
There were many laws to protect the public from lepers, and they all had one aim, to acknowledge God’s punishment. Lepers were defiled, and it was the duty of society to exclude them. Now, walking into the chapel’s grounds, Simon felt as if he was entering the very heart of pollution and decay. He could almost sense the vapor given off by the foul, diseased people as if it was reaching out to him, trying to grasp him in its chilly grip. It was perverse to go into a place of such hideous danger.
At his side he felt Edgar’s presence, and was grateful for it. The servant, still more than his master, seemed to exude confidence and strength, and Simon kept close to him, as though a little of it could rub off on him-and as if there might be some prophylactic merit in numbers. For his part, he was fearful to the point of feeling sick-not merely queasy, but genuinely close to vomiting.
Ralph led them at a smart pace past the church, along a patch of lawn, which was rimed with hoar-frost, and into one of the little buildings.
Baldwin glanced in, and almost drew back at the smell. It was not only the stench of disease, but of unwashed bodies, dirty clothes, and filth. He had to swallow hard before he could steel himself to cross the threshold.
The brother moved confidently to a shadowed corner, but the knight had to pause again, this time to accustom his eyes to the darkness. It was as if the disgusting fumes were clogging all his senses, even his eyes, and blinding him. It was impossible to see anything at first. Then, thankfully, the monk struck a flame from flint and steel, and Baldwin could look about him.
It was merely a hovel. There was a hearth in the middle, and two straw-filled palliasses lay at either side. Ralph stood between the two, candle held high to illuminate his patients.
“Quivil!” Baldwin exclaimed.
“Sir Baldwin?”
The voice was strained, but it was not merely the hoarseness of the leprosy that made the voice feeble. Baldwin motioned, and Ralph held the light nearer. By it the knight saw the bruises, the clotted blood over the bridge of the nose, the long, ragged slash down one cheek where the flesh had been torn like cloth.
“Who dared do this?” Baldwin hissed.
“It was the good gentlefolk of this pleasant town,” said another voice, and Baldwin turned and peered at the man on the other bed.
Thomas Rodde grimaced as the candle came closer, shutting his eyes against the glare.
“Why should they do this to you?”
“They fear us. That makes them hate us. And it only takes a couple of stupid comments about how a leper might have seduced a girl, for drunks to decide to take revenge.”
“This was done by drunks, you say?”
“Oh yes. At least, I assume they were. They had an interesting vocabulary; not the sort of thing I’d expect sober men to use.”
“Did you recognize them?”
Quivil spoke again. “Arthur, and Jack the smith…” The names were all familiar to Baldwin. None was a great troublemaker, but all were known to take their own action when the fancy took them, rather than troubling the officers of the law.
“Jack,” he mused, then shot a glance at the other bed again. “You’re not from this town, are you? Your accent is strange.”
“No, sir. I hail from London originally, although I have been travelling in the north of the country in recent years. I only came to this place a few weeks ago. Now I begin to regret it.”
“I cannot blame you,” Baldwin smiled sympathetically. “It is not the kind of welcome I would appreciate either, if I was a newcomer. Have you caused insult to any man since you arrived?”
“Me?” Thomas Rodde was driven to laugh at such an innocent question. When he spoke again, his voice had lost all trace of humor, and his eyes were cold. “What do you think, Sir Knight? Look on me! I used to be a comely enough man: hale, powerful and wealthy. Now? Yes-look on me! I am a shell, something for men and women of all conditions to avoid, pityingly perhaps, but with revulsion. Look on me, Sir Knight! I insult all by existing!”
“I make no apology, friend, for all I am trying to do is discover who could have had reason to wound you,” Baldwin said soothingly. “You must know that I need to ask questions to find out why this happened.”
