dagger as she walked, and that afforded her some little protection; once she wounded a man trying to molest her.
And then, when her little boy Tom, Alan’s younger brother, died in that futile, stupid manner, the light had blown out from her life, like a rushlight caught in a gusting breeze. Once more she had been brought in here to this damned hall, to receive the terrible news, and when the Coroner arrived two days later, it was in here that he came, to undress the little body of her Tom.
At first she had felt quite calm as they removed his clothes, which were still damp from when he drowned, but when the Coroner had pulled his arms and legs apart before the greedy gaze of the audience, all of the jury staring with rapacious eyes, she had felt her control slipping. Was it just that they were hungry to see another’s death because that made their own somehow less fearsome to contemplate? She didn’t care; she had loathed them all from that moment.
That was why she had carried on working at the manor. She couldn’t face labouring in the fields with the other villagers after seeing their hideous excitement as the Coroner turned her boy’s body over, showing them in turn the back, the head, the neck, the arms, the legs, his belly, and his strangely sad little shrivelled penis. She could never work alongside those who had enjoyed her son’s humiliation, even after his death.
This room would always be loathsome to her. Hateful. The officers were different, but the hall’s atmosphere was unchanged. She despised it and everyone in it.
Especially the hypocrite – the priest who was supposed to be above worldly things, and who was no better than any of the other men in the village: he was a degenerate.
Hadn’t she seen the proof?
Chapter Eight
Lady Jeanne de Liddinstone smiled at the bailiff and gave him a low curtsey. She was dressed in the gown of bright red velvet that Baldwin had bought for her at Tavistock Fair, but now it was trimmed with grey fur, and she wore a narrow girdle of red with a harness of silver. A linen wimple covered her red-gold hair, and the white of the head-gear made her cornflower-blue eyes stand out still more brightly in comparison.
Simon opened the gate for her, and she and his wife entered, Jeanne walking at his side, his wife Margaret following a couple of steps behind, leaving the place of honour to the bride.
‘How is he?’ Jeanne whispered.
‘As twitchy as a deer at bay!’ Simon whispered back, and was rewarded by her throaty chuckle. He continued, ‘I doubt he’ll be able to remember the words. He won’t be happy until he’s out of here and back at his manor.’
As he spoke, the enthusiastic chatter all around them died away, to be replaced by a contemplative quietness. Baldwin’s workers eyed the bride-to-be speculatively, wondering how far they might dare to try the patience of their new lady without causing her to lose her temper. The wealthier women in the crowd compared her cloth with their own, assessing the value of her tunic, rings and necklace, while their menfolk watched her movements lasciviously, gauging the line of her figure and nudging each other as they exchanged lecherous comments on her ability to tire her new husband during the coming night.
‘My Lady?’ Simon asked, holding out his arm. Lady Jeanne had asked him to act as her nuptial father, giving her away at the wedding, for she was orphaned, and her only living relatives dwelt in the English possessions in Bordeaux. She slipped her hand through his elbow, and together they walked slowly to the waiting knight.
Peter Clifford smiled broadly, straightening his back as the two came near. Baldwin, he saw, had gone quite pale, but the priest wasn’t worried: he knew most grooms looked close to fainting. And that was only right, because they were about to take part in one of the most important ceremonies of their lives.
When Jeanne reached Baldwin’s side, her hand still through Simon’s arm, the priest made the sign of the cross, scowled at one merchant who chose that moment to give a loud guffaw, and called out in a carrying voice: ‘We are here to witness the marriage of Sir Baldwin de Furnshill to Lady Jeanne de Liddinstone. Is there anybody here who knows any reason why these two might not be legitimately wedded in the eyes of God?’ He paused, his gaze sternly flitting over the people gathered all about before resting on Baldwin. ‘Sir Baldwin, please make your oath.’
Baldwin swallowed. On a sudden his mouth felt dry, and there was a flickering in his belly which, matched with his lightheadedness, made him feel disorientated, nearly sick. Licking his lips, he faced Jeanne. Touching the cross of the hilt of his sheathed sword with his left hand, and taking Jeanne’s hand in his right, he repeated the words he had heard so often before. ‘My Lady, let all those present witness that I here take you as my wife, for better or worse, in health and sickness, to have and to hold from now until the end of my life, and there I give you my oath.’
She smiled as he spoke, and he saw the sunlight dance in her eyes as she made her own vow to him.
There was a stillness as Jeanne confirmed her dower, her whole estate of Liddinstone. The silence continued while Baldwin handed Peter Clifford a purse of coins for the poor. Peter took the ring from Simon and blessed it, before passing it to Baldwin. The knight lifted Jeanne’s right hand and slipped the ring over her index, middle and third fingers, while Peter solemnly intoned, ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,’ before he finally set it on the third finger of her left hand.
And then suddenly all was bustle. While the ceremony at the church’s door would always remain crystal clear in Baldwin’s mind, the rest of the day went by in a whirl. While he stood, smiling proudly at his wife, a garland of fresh flowers was thrust between them, and Baldwin was prompted by the priest to kiss his wife through it, seeing her through the mixed yellow and red flowers as if for the first time. A moment before his lips met hers, he saw her eyes close.
He marvelled at his good fortune; it took an effort of will not to laugh with sheer joy.
Thomas could hear the sobbing in the hall even as he left the stables, and he screwed up his face in disgust. Rather than enter the scene of such melancholy, he took a seat near the gate on a lump of moorstone and surveyed the view with satisfaction. At last his financial embarrassments were coming to an end.
It was the famine which had started his decline, but knowing that was no comfort. So many had left the city then, back in 1315 and during the following two years, and Thomas had speculated happily, sure that his fortunes would build nicely once the food began to flow again, but all at once he discovered that he had accumulated too much property, and couldn’t cover his debts with ready cash.
There hadn’t been any great concern at first, because Thomas had loads of friends in the city, and knew he could rely on them to help him. He’d met some at a tavern one night, and had confessed to a slight difficulty, nothing more. Thomas knew he wasn’t stupid, and could remember most of that night quite distinctly – even though one of his mates had insisted on mixing him several drinks, which must have been strong, for Thomas’s head the next day was God-awful – but still, Thomas knew he was far too shrewd and cautious to have made any stupid comments in a place like an inn near the docks.
And yet the curious thing was, that was the last time he had been able to discuss his troubles with those friends. Someone else must have been listening while he spoke, Thomas thought. That was why his credit with suppliers had been frozen.
But now all was well; and all because his brother had fallen dead from his horse and his nephew had died.
When you looked at it, life was quite a joke really, he thought, and now, while he was facing away from the hall and was quite alone, he allowed himself to smile broadly at last.
There was no need to conceal his very real joy.
Peter bellowed for quiet as the guests cheered, rowdier elements calling out crude suggestions to help Baldwin and his wife during the coming night. The priest offered up prayers for them, giving them blessings in God’s name. He led them into the church and, while they knelt in the nave, he gave more prayers in their favour, and then handed them each a small, lighted candle before celebrating Mass with them.
Unseen as the knight and his lady had entered the church, two men at the back of the crowd had glanced at each other meaningfully. While the press outside thinned, all joining the bride and groom in the church, these two strolled unhurriedly to the wagons.
