The man gave a short bow. ‘You are quick to recognise an accent, Sir Baldwin. Yes, I am called James van Relenghes, but I have lived here in England for some years now.’
‘You speak our tongue very well,’ said Simon.
‘It is kind of you to say so. I was lucky enough to serve your last King as a mercenary during his wars in France, and picked up much of your language.’
‘Ah, of course. And that was where you became a friend of Squire Roger?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Yes, sir. He and I served in the same battles, and often shared in the rewards.’ Van Relenghes sighed dramatically, shaking his head in sorrow. ‘I was so sad to hear of my friend’s death, and now this: his only son struck down.’
While Baldwin spoke with the man, Hugh went past carrying a jug of wine. Simon waved to his servant, who came over and filled his pot, then went to offer wine to Baldwin. To reach the knight he had to pass behind van Relenghes, but before Hugh could come close to the Fleming, Godfrey quickly stepped forward from the shadow of a pillar and halted between them, making as if to take the jug. Scowling fiercely, Hugh snatched it away. In his turn, Godfrey set his jaw and flexed his legs, rising onto the balls of his feet, ready to spring. It was his duty to protect van Relenghes from any strange or dangerous men, and he included in that category men who walked up behind his master.
‘Is there a problem?’ Baldwin enquired.
Van Relenghes heard the surprise in his voice and turned to see what had caught his interest. ‘Oh, Godfrey, I think the servant is safe enough,’ he said in a condescending tone that turned Hugh’s scowl to a malignant glare that could have melted iron.
‘Very well, sir,’ said Godfrey, mockingly waving Hugh forward, and the fuming servant poured for Baldwin, his eyes fixed all the while on the weapons master.
‘My apologies, sir,’ van Relenghes said as his own pot was refilled. ‘My guard doesn’t always know when it is safe to relax.’
Baldwin nodded understandingly, but did not speak to the Fleming again, and watched him warily when he walked away, Godfrey a few feet behind him. Simon almost smiled at Baldwin’s face, but then he caught sight of Daniel, whose eyes were fixed on van Relenghes. The steward’s expression made Simon’s grin fade.
It was one of utter loathing and hatred.
Chapter Eleven
Baldwin and his wife were honoured by having their own room in the solar. When Jeanne pleaded exhaustion after her long journey, Daniel called the young maid Petronilla to show them the way to their quarters. Baldwin recognised the girl from his first visit to the manor: she was pretty, he thought, and eager enough to please, if a little vacuous. She took them up to a room next to the solar block, beside the chapel, that had its own large bed. Edgar had already been there and had set out the room as Baldwin expected: there was a jug of weakened wine by the bed, and a bowl of water and towel had been set out on a large chest so that he and Jeanne could rinse away some of the dirt and grime from their journey.
When Petronilla had gone, Jeanne sat on the bed and hesitantly held out her hand to Baldwin. Even as she saw him smile, she felt his reluctance to come to her.
It wasn’t that he was a man like the King, who preferred men to women, and she knew full well that he was not one of those misogynistical knights who disliked women purely because of their sex, considering them devious and untrustworthy; no, she was certain that it was simply that he had spent so many years alone and without the comfort of a woman’s company that made him shy in her presence, a shyness made all the more poignant for him when they were alone. That he should feel this way, and that he should revere her and respect her and her body, made her want to embrace him all the more strongly.
There was another reason for his slowness in going to her, but Baldwin was not sure he could confess it even to her: he had been a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, a Knight Templar, and while a Brother he had taken the three-fold vows of poverty, obedience – and chastity. Although he adored Jeanne, although he longed for her and thought that the sight of her seated on their bed was a picture designed to tempt an angel, he was nonetheless aware of a reticence to touch her, as if by so doing he was repeating the denial of an oath already sworn.
But his honour was not tainted, he had to remind himself. He had sworn obedience to the Pope as God’s own vicar on earth, but the Pope had resiled; he had not protected those who had sworn loyalty to him, and had instead thrown them to their enemies in return for money. And that meant that all his vows could be thought of as retracted, as Baldwin knew. And yet he also knew that his vows had been made to God, not the Pope, and he wasn’t certain that even the Pope’s lack of honour could pardon his own lack of constancy.
Jeanne smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling more than in the brightest sunshine. She lifted her hands to him, and he forgot his torment for another evening. With a groan, he crossed the room and took her in his arms.
Next morning, Edmund threw the last of the bundles of wood onto the growing pile under the eaves of his shed and stood straight, hunching his shoulders to ease the strain, before leaning down to pick up the next log. Hefting the axe, he was about to swing when he heard the horses. The sound was not unusual. This road was not very busy, but travellers were not uncommon, and yet today Edmund paused, axe ready, while he waited to see who might be riding towards him. He hadn’t forgotten the last encounter with the squire.
His wife, Christiana, was in the yard collecting eggs, and she saw him waiting there expectantly. The attitude of attention was sufficient to make her stop her work and walk to the fence to see what had caught his interest.
The road curved and twisted beneath the trees this far from the vill itself and, although she too could hear the noise of many hooves, she could not see the riders. She set the eggs down by the gate and walked out to her husband’s side.
Seeing that she had left her work, his face fell into a frown.
‘What are you doing here?’ he grumbled.
‘I wanted to see who it-’
‘Shut up, woman! Hell’s fires! Haven’t you enough things to do?’ He lifted his fist threateningly.
Christiana quailed, and retreated towards the house. It was hard enough being married to a feckless man like him without having to endure his beatings whenever he was confused or disturbed.
She risked a glance over her shoulder and, seeing he was looking away again, she spat in his direction. Theirs had been a marriage of love at first. She and he had made their vows, without the knowledge or consent of her parents and she had joined his family immediately the priest had confirmed their right to remain together. They had needed to see him because her parents refused to believe that Edmund and she had made valid wedding vows; so, standing before the priest, they had repeated their oaths. On hearing what they said, he had declared that these had been spoken ‘in words of present consent’ and, although it was wrong for the two not to have had a nuptial Mass, their marriage was valid.
But they had both been young, not yet sixteen, and now she regretted her reckless decision. Edmund was weak, vacillating over any decision, and whenever he was upset about something he took it out on her. Touching the tender spots at her jaw and cheek, she mumbled a curse at her husband. That was where he had clouted her on the day he had taken the cart over to Oakhampton. The pottage she had cooked wasn’t ready yet, that was his excuse – yet why should it have been? He hadn’t told her when to expect him home, and their son wasn’t back yet, either. How could she be expected to know when he would return?
It was so unfair! She had welcomed him when he walked through the door, but when she had asked him why he was back so early, purely to make conversation, her words seemed to send him into a rage. He shouted at her for being a stupid, interfering bitch, and punched her, saying he didn’t know why he had ever agreed to take her off her father’s hands. Leaving her sobbing on the floor, he had stalked from the room, saying he would eat at the alehouse.
It wasn’t the first time he had hit her, and it wouldn’t be the last, she knew. Blinking tears away, she caught a glimpse of movement and shortly afterwards saw five men on horseback trotting round the bend in the road.
