stayed where she was, lying on her side and rubbing her arm, looking up at her mother with eyes filled with scorn.
“What of the identities of your own lovers, mother? You are not so free with their names as you wish me to be with mine, are you? Even when my father was alive you had others to warm your bed. I saw you, and more than once.” The girl threw up her head and glared at Melisande. “Like mother, like daughter. I have my secrets, too. And I will keep them.”
Melisande drew back her hand and slapped her daughter across the face, just once, but hard. The mark of her fingers stood out on the girl’s flushed cheek like a stain of blood. Then the goldsmith’s widow shook her head and moved away from the girl, walking across the room to take a seat in one of the padded chairs near the fire. She leaned her head back on the softness at her neck and heaved a sigh.
“You do not know your own foolishness, girl,” she said heavily. “Yes, I gave my favours to men other than my husband, but not before I was married, and never recklessly even then. I want you to marry well, and no decent man will take a bride who has tossed her skirts for all and sundry, not even if I dower you with all the gold I possess.”
“I have not lain with ‘all and sundry’ as you put it!” Joanna expostulated. “I am not a harlot!”
Melisande shook her head sadly, rose from her chair and went over to her daughter. Gently she placed her hand under Joanna’s chin and lifted it, and then looked straight into her eyes. “Not a harlot, perhaps, but not a newly plundered virgin, either.”
When Joanna would have protested, Melisande continued, “I can see it in your eyes, girl. In the way you walk, the manner in which you lace your gown. You have lain with a man and more than once or twice.” She shook her head again. “I would not deny you your pleasure, Joanna; I only wish you had possessed the sense to wait until you had a husband to shield your good name before you indulged your fancy. There will come a day when you will regret what you have done, and regret it dearly.”
Her mother’s words, so softly spoken, took the anger from Joanna’s face, and her defiance as well. Sullenly she hung her head and looked at the floor.
Melisande turned and walked to the chamber door. There she stopped and turned. “I hope you have not been foolish enough to fall for the glib persuasions of a man who is already married or, God forbid, one of those prancing young lords up at the castle. But, whatever the case, you can tell your paramour that if there is a bastard child I will not acknowledge him, or her, as my grandchild,” she said. “If you do not give up your lover, I will send you to a nunnery. The choice is yours.”
Gerard and Nicolaa were waiting for Bascot when he entered the hall. They had been engaged in a conference with Tostig and a couple of other Camville foresters when Ernulf had come to tell them what had transpired. Immediately they had broken off their discussion and given their attention to the plight of Gianni and the involvement of the sheriff’s prisoner, Fulcher.
The sheriff was pacing back and forth when Bascot joined them, his face drawn into a scowl as Nicolaa greeted the Templar and offered her commiserations for the abduction of his servant.
“It must be outlaws that have the boy, for the drawn likeness of a wolf’s head can mean nothing else. Ernulf tells me Gianni was seen alone, going into my husband’s chase. It must have been while he was on that journey he was captured. But what was his purpose for such a venture?”
“I do not know the answer to that, lady,” Bascot replied. “I only know that I must get him back. To do that I must ask that you release Fulcher and let me take him to the place they have designated.”
“Never!” Camville growled. “Even if you give them what they want, they will kill the boy anyway, and you as well, if they can. It is a risk that cannot be taken.”
“Sir Gerard,” Bascot said, “I ask this as a boon from you. The boy is very important to me, more than a servant. He is like my own son.” The admission cost him dear, for although he had come to realise the depth of his feelings for Gianni, he had never before admitted it out loud, even to himself. “If you will grant me this favour, I pledge that I will leave the Templar Order and become your liegeman. It is all I have to offer; if you would have my life I would surrender that as well.” To reinforce his sincerity, Bascot dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
Nicolaa, knowing how much the words had cost this reticent and solitary man, stepped forward and laid her hand on Bascot’s shoulder. “There is no need to humble yourself, de Marins. You have already given my husband and myself more service than was required for your pallet and sustenance. While we would relish your joining our retinue permanently, neither Gerard nor I would wish you to do so under duress.”
She turned to her husband, who had stopped his restless pacing and was standing motionless beside her, a cup of wine forgotten in his hand. “Do you agree, husband?”
Slowly, Camville nodded. “I shall give you your boon, Templar, without restraints,” he said. “You shall have Fulcher as bait for this carrion, but you will not go alone. Ernulf and I will follow, with some of the castle guard.”
As Bascot made to protest, the sheriff held up his hand. “We will keep out of sight and wait to see what they do. If they have the boy and truly intend to exchange him for the outlaw…” Camville shrugged and did not finish the sentence. “Once your servant is safe we will take the brigand back and perhaps catch a few more of these wolf’s heads in the doing of it.” He looked up from under his heavy brows at Bascot. “If they do not have the boy, they will already have killed him, de Marins, and will attempt to kill you also, once they have their confederate. We will be there to see that does not happen.”
There was a resolution in the sheriff’s face that told Bascot he would brook no argument and the Templar had to admit that Camville’s reasoning was probably correct. He knew he would not get the imprisoned brigand to use as a ransom unless he agreed to the sheriff’s plan, and if Gianni was dead-he felt his breath squeeze in his chest at the thought-he would wish to kill as many of the outlaws as his sword could reach, Fulcher amongst them. He nodded in acquiescence to Gerard Camville.
It was not even the half part of an hour later when Bascot set out. The rain was now falling heavily, being driven in gusty sheets by a fitful wind that blew from the northeast. Fulcher, hands bound and a rope around his neck, was mounted on a sumpter pony, with Bascot astride the grey he was accustomed to use, and holding the end of the rope that secured the brigand. Beside the Templar, Tostig rode, bow slung across his shoulder and arrows in his waist quiver, to guide Bascot to the spot by the river that was to be the place of the meeting.
Behind, in the bailey, Gerard Camville was mounting the big black stallion that was his destrier. The sheriff was in full armour, as was his brother William, who was waiting for one of the grooms to lead out his own deep- chested roan. Another knot of riders was also gathering-Richard Camville, Ernulf, Roget, a handful of men-at-arms, and the squires Alain and Renault. Bascot gave Fulcher a prod in the back with the point of his unsheathed sword and the outlaw, still weak from the beating he had received from Roget’s men, kicked the pony into a shambling trot, preceding the Templar out of the west gate. The sheriff watched them go, waited until he heard the cathedral bells ring out the hour of Sext, then spurred his horse to follow.
Twenty-one
It had been almost dusk before the outlaws gathered around the man in the chair ceased talking. Gianni had watched them intently. He could not hear what they were saying but the days he had spent begging in Palermo had made him practiced in recognising people’s attitudes from the way they stood or gestured with their hands. From the manner in which a person walked, or held their head, it was possible to judge if they would be generous or not, if they would be angry at being importuned or merely ignore the outstretched hand with blank eyes, if they would look guilty for being without alms to give, or self-satisfied because they had more than the beggar. The same had been true of the other rag-wrapped urchins with whom he had shared the small piece of wharf where he had slept and taken shelter. Some had been fearless in their harassing of the merchants, ship owners and sailors that worked or came to trade at the wharf, knowing which ones would be pricked by shame and throw a coin and which ones would respond with a curse or the kick of a boot. But others, Gianni among them, had been too small and frightened to try such tactics, resorting to a helpless whine or cringing tears to wring the price of a piece of stale bread for their efforts. Even amongst themselves it had taken stealth and guile to hide any successful result of their begging.
