“Brother, wouldn’t it be best for us all to leave?” he suggested.
“Leave here? This is our home! It’s where we belong. How can we go? And where to?”
Rodde met his look resolutely. He was not suggesting a coward’s route, but a sensible retreat in the face of overwhelming odds. “In that case, let me suggest that you should send for the constable, and also for the Precentor or Dean of the church. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
Baldwin washed his hands and settled back in his chair. He had a delightful sense of warmth sitting here before his fire. The presence of guests had persuaded him to partake of some strong wine, and it flowed through his veins like fire. He had not drunk enough yet to feel the soporific effect, but it had certainly heightened other senses. To his mind, Jeanne appeared to be devastatingly beautiful.
She glanced in his direction every now and again. Seeing him sitting there so calm and contented made her feel curiously relaxed. It was an odd sensation, this feeling of well-being-she refused to put it stronger than that- that she felt while near him. He exuded an air of stability and honor. It felt as if, when he walked into a room, that room suddenly took on a fresh splendor, and it was down to his self-effacing, gentle personality.
Jeanne still had no idea of his past in the service of the Knights Templar. She had no idea of his involvement with the Order, but she was aware of the latent anger that lurked within him, constantly searching for injustice and oppression. This harder side to his character lent a subtle charm to his generally calm demeanor.
Studying him now, as he stared at the fire, the contours of his face softened by the glow of the flames, she was taken by a sudden desire. She could see his confusion, that he was still mulling over the killing in the town, and it made her want to fold him into a strong embrace and shield him from the world outside. He was vulnerable. She knew his air of cold rationality was a mask to conceal his defenselessness against a world he only partly understood and mostly disliked. He was a man composed of opposites: he was the Keeper of the King’s Peace, yet he doubted any man’s absolute guilt; he was a knight, yet he felt sympathy for villeins; he was a landowner, yet he shared the profit of the land with the people who farmed it for him. All in all, he was a curious mixture.
She felt the attraction to the man of action, which he undoubtedly was, as well as to the cautious, but generous and kind man who looked after his peasants. There was no denying the fact that he was good-looking. To Jeanne’s eye he was almost perfect. Even the scar, the wound of some old battle that marred his cheek, was attractive, a reminder that this was not some picture but a real flesh-and-blood man. She smiled, and found herself once more considering how well she would fit into this hall, with these servants, with this man. Baldwin would probably find it harder than her, she guessed. She had been married, had lived with a man; Baldwin had never married. He was a bachelor, and at over forty, must be set in his ways. But the thought didn’t frighten Jeanne. It wasn’t her wish to change him-if she changed him, he wouldn’t be the man she desired. No, she wanted him just as he was, and if living with him entailed her having to alter her lifestyle a little, then so be it.
Yes, she thought. Her decision was already made for her. She would become a married woman again.
Simon grunted and stretched out his legs. The fire was blazing merrily, and the cloak at his back prevented the draft from troubling him. He had already put events in Crediton from his mind, and was now only looking forward to a good meal and his bed. Casting a glance at his wife, he tried to catch her eye, tempted to suggest that they might go to their room early for some horizontal exercise to build up an appetite, but she was looking away, watching Baldwin.
Suddenly she turned to Simon, and held out her hand. Silently, she led him from the room. Surprised, but by no means unwilling, he followed her.
Jeanne felt her heart pound as she realized they were alone. It was obvious why Margaret had taken her husband out, and Jeanne realized that now, at any moment, Baldwin must ask her again for her hand. To her delight, not unmixed with fear, she saw the knight take in the empty seats, and face her. He smiled, she returned it; he rose to his feet, and she did likewise; he held out his hands to her, and she raised her own before moving to him.
And there was a furious barking, a scream, a shout, and Edgar ran in.
“God’s Teeth! What the hell’s the matter this time!” Baldwin roared.
Jack stood a short distance in front, a torch burning in one hand, a long-bladed knife in the other. He was elated. It had taken no time to win Arthur’s support, and once they’d spoken to a few others at the inn, they’d soon gathered a following. The men they’d recruited were all horrified to hear that a second woman had been perverted by the lepers. How long would it be before all the young women were ensnared? Jack had asked rhetorically.
“Out of the way, Brother. They’re none of them welcome here anymore, we want them all to go. You can’t stop us!”
Ralph set his feet firmly and glared at the men. “How many of you are there? Such a lot of brave folk you are! All of you here to eject five or six ill people. And where would you have them go? Would you throw them out to die on the moors? How do you think God would react to that?”
“God?” Jack sneered. “God has pointed them out with this disease-it’s our duty as God-fearing men to support Him in His punishment. They don’t deserve alms, they deserve death!”
“That is blasphemy! You believe Christ would support victimizing these poor souls? Didn’t He save Lazarus? Didn’t He wash the feet of lepers? How dare you suggest you have God’s sanction!”
“Enough of this! You twist my words, Brother. Stand aside, or we’ll move you ourselves.”
“I will not move. Here I stand, to defend my poor inmates. They suffer to remind you of the purgatory to come, and you dare to threaten them, and me? I will not move.”
“Then we’ll shift you ourselves, monk.”
Jack thrust the knife in his belt and nodded to another man.
Ralph was aware of the murmuring of the lepers behind him. One man was sobbing, and from the sound he was sure it was Quivil: he shouldn’t be up, the monk thought distractedly, but he had other things to concern him. The others were talking in a hushed, anxious tone that showed their terror. All had heard of the murders in France. Their worry lent strength to the monk. His fingers tightened on the stave, and he raised it like a pike. “Don’t try to come in. I will not let you pass!”
“You, little priest?” cried Jack, laughing. “And how do you propose to stop us? Eh?”
Suddenly Ralph was joined by two men. One, snivelling, he recognized as Quivil. The other was Rodde. Both carried their strong staffs, and both stood determinedly.
Rodde pointed with his staff. “You, smith, are breaking the law. You have incited the people to mutiny, and you will be punished. Any man who passes the gate when the leper master has refused permission will be arrested and punished. If any one of you tries to kill or injure a leper, you will have to answer to the Keeper.”
“You can’t accuse someone of killing a dead man.”
“I breathe; I eat; I drink; I piss; I shit-just the same as you do. If any of you doubt I am alive, you can argue the matter with the Keeper of the King’s Peace and the Dean of the church. You’ll need to be very convincing to persuade them, though, I reckon!”
His words and his easy manner made a few in the crowd laugh, and Jack was enraged to be thus thwarted. “You’re a leper,” he shouted. “You have no rights. If you think you have, go somewhere where they’ll support you. You’ll not stay here.”
“I’m ill, you fool. I am dying-but so are you. With you, your death may come tomorrow, while mine will be in four or five years, if God spares me, but we’ll both end up in the ground. And what then? I wonder where God would send a man who rouses the town to murder.”
“You’re not even a local man! Why should we starve ourselves to feed your useless belly, eh? Go on! Leave our town. You’re not welcome here.”
“No one will cross this gate,” stated Ralph firmly. “These men are here under my protection, and under the protection of the Church. You have no rights here, smith. Go home.”
“Yes, go home.”
Jack turned to find himself face to face with the Dean and Bishop Stapledon.
Peter Clifford was bristling with anger. “How dare you march out here to the Church’s land and threaten a brother in his holy work? How dare you rouse the mob to violence? This is outrageous behavior even for a fool like you. You are arrested, smith. Put down the knife!”
Over the priest’s shoulder the smith could see that his small army was dwindling as people realized the consequences of being discovered could be dire-and expensive. “We have the right to see God’s will done,” he declared.
“Not here, my son,” said Stapledon calmly. “I am your Bishop. You have no rights here. This is a hospital for
