‘Come out here and do it now, you…’
Others in the crowd had heard enough. Two men exchanged a glance, and then went to Joce’s side. Under the, terms of the Frankpledge, every man had a responsibility to keep the peace, both by their own behaviour, but also in preventing others from breaking the peace. If they didn’t, the whole community could be fined.
‘Come on, Master Blakemoor. Put up your club and return to your house.’
‘Keep your hands off me! I want that bastard out here, and I’ll beat his head in.’
‘I’m not coming out. I’m not!’
Joce gave a harsh snarl of rage. Exhausted, his eyes felt raw, his head light and dizzy, his belly queasy, and it was all because of this bastard. Leaping forward, brandishing his blackthorn, he swung it with all his strength at the door, and the wood cracked with an ominous splintering. Before he could swing a second time, the club was grabbed and wrenched from his fist, and he turned to find himself confronted by five men, all of whom watched him with stern expressions.
‘Leave him alone, Blakemoor. You may not like him, but he’s not doing any harm. What’s got into you?’
‘Hark at that racket! Could you sleep through that?’ Joce snarled.
‘It didn’t wake me,’ said Andrew, who lived opposite Joce. ‘You did, by all this shouting.’
‘Oh, well, I am sorry!’ the receiver sneered.
‘If Geoffrey moves all this stuff today, will you be content?’ asked Andrew.
‘I want him out here now!’
‘You’ll only fight him and break the peace. We won’t have that, Joce.’
‘Get him out here!’
Andrew studied him. He was a big man, the sort who’ looked as though he would move only slowly, but although his mind tended not to race too speedily, his body was capable of surprising bursts of energy. His dark eyes were calm, rather than stupid, and now he nodded towards a man at Joce’s side. ‘We can ask him out, and you and he can make it up. I won’t have you fighting.’
‘I’ll do as I want,’ Joce said.
‘You’ll do as you’re told, unless you want to appear in the abbot’s court, you fool,’ Andrew said firmly.
After promises of his safety, Geoffrey’s nervous features appeared around the side of the door. He was profusely apologetic, insisting that he’d had no idea that the mess outside the building would upset his neighbour, swearing that he would have it all moved later than day, and with all the folks about him, Joce allowed his hand to be taken while both agreed, Joce grudgingly, to keep the peace.
That done, Joce spat at the ground and jerked his arms free of the neighbours who had held him back, biting his thumb at Geoffrey’s door, and stomping back to his own house. His servant, Art, stood in the doorway, watching nervously. When Joce walked through to his hall and sat in his chair, Art scurried in and shed tinder and twigs on the fire, then began to blow, teasing a spark into flame.
Joce knew it wasn’t like him to fly off the handle like that. Usually he could keep his temper under control, at least while he was in public, but today he felt as though there was a band about his forehead, tightening. The pressure was building in him, and it demanded release.
He tapped his foot on the floor. There was the trouble with Sara to begin with. That useless blubbering bitch couldn’t accept that their thing was over. She’d believed his declaration of love.
The poor slut had thought she’d be able to talk him into marrying her in exchange for sex – well, she’d learned her mistake there, aye. What did she take him for – some starry-eyed youth with his brain in his tarse? Well, he wasn’t. He was Joce Blakemoor, and he took what he wanted when he wanted. She’d tried to blackmail him, saying that she was pregnant, that she’d tell the whole town he was the father, and he had laughed. That was at the coining. The stupid wench. As if her threats could harm him!
And then that cretin Wally had tried to scare him off as well, the fool, on the morning after the coining. Joce had seen him first thing, in the street near Joce’s house, and had nodded to him as he would any other fellow. Wally had looked away, as though ashamed to be acknowledged by him, but then he looked like he took his courage in both hands, and beckoned Joce into an alley. Joce had thought he had some more pewter or something, but no, the son of a donkey just wanted to persuade Joce to leave Sara alone. Wally said he was playing with her affections.
It took that long for Joce’s anger to rise. He took Wally by the throat and pounded him. Ah, but it had felt good! He slammed Wally’s head against the stones of the wall, then thumped him about the face and breast.
‘Don’t tell me whom I may see, you bastard! I was your master once, and if you are disloyal to me, I’ll kill you. Remember that!’
There were other matters to concern him now, though. The whole town was buzzing with stories about Wally’s death. He was gone, and no bad thing. Joce had noticed his glances at the coining. He suspected. Fine, but that meant Joce must find a new courier from the abbey. He daren’t stop his trade with Augerus, because he had a large shortfall in the burgh’s accounts to make up. The money he had taken, he had also spent, and now he must acquire more in order to refill the burgh’s coffers. Somehow he would have to contact Augerus. Perhaps he could go and collect the stuff himself, rather than employing someone else again.
Art had persuaded the fire to catch, and the pieces of wood crackled merrily. Over them he set one or two charred logs from the previous night and hurried off to
