He scowled at her. It was impossible to be angry with her. Jeanne was perfection in his eyes, her round face framed by thick, red-gold tresses, blue eyes like cornflowers on a summer’s afternoon, a small, almost tip-tilted nose, a wide mouth with an over-full upper lip which gave her a stubborn look — all in all, he had never seen any woman more beautiful. He growled, ‘It is hardly comely for a wife to be so forthright.’
‘It is hardly sensible for a wounded man to be testing his scars in the cold like this, especially after sleeping so badly.’
He looked away guiltily. ‘It was nothing. I was thirsty.’
‘In the middle of the night, and you were forced to leave our bed and fetch water? And couldn’t return?’
‘I was not tired once I rose, Jeanne,’ he said, and then sighed. He picked up the scabbard again, thrust the sword home, and faced her. ‘You are right, though. It is this shoulder of mine. The thing hurts whenever I lie still with it, and there seems to be nothing I can do to alleviate it.’
‘You should rest it then, husband. Stop this foolish sword-waving in the early morning. Take things more easily; rest more.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘Perhaps you are right.’
‘Do not patronise me, Baldwin,’ she said tartly. ‘I won’t have it.’
‘I am sorry, then.’
‘You are still convinced that there will be war?’
Baldwin shot her a look. They had set off on the way back to the house, and her tone was light, but there was an edge to it. ‘Yes.’
‘I am happy here now,’ she said quietly. ‘I was not when Ralph was alive. He was so different when he realised that we wouldn’t have children. It made him bitter … bitter and cruel. You have changed my life for me. There are two men who have been consistently kind to me since I married Ralph: the Abbot of Tavistock, and you. I couldn’t bear to lose you, Baldwin. You do realise that, don’t you?’
‘What brought this on?’ he asked with some confusion. ‘You will not lose me.’
‘If there is a war, I may have to. You may be forced to ride to battle and leave me behind,’ she said quietly. ‘And when you ride away, you will go to find excitement. I don’t begrudge you that, but you won’t be thinking of me, will you? Nor of Richalda. You will be thinking of warfare and how to win renown by your prowess. Yet all the time I shall be here ready to mourn my loss … well, in truth, I will already be in mourning, because although I shall hope and pray that you will come home, it is possible that I shall never see you again, and that is a very hard thought to accept.’
‘Jeanne, I swear to you that Richalda and you will never be far from my mind if it comes to war.’ Seeing the doubt in her eyes, he took up his sword, and kissed the cross. ‘I swear it, Jeanne! I practise here because I want to ensure that even if there is a war, I am fit enough and experienced enough to return to my home. I do not wish to die because of a moment’s thoughtlessness. My training is perhaps all that can save me in a battle.’ He looked behind them, back at the moors. When he spoke again, it was in a reflective tone, more gentle. ‘You say that I ride for honour and excitement … well, it is possible that I could find myself honoured, but it is more likely that I would find myself dead. I have seen war. More men always die through starvation and pestilence than wounds won honourably on the field of battle. I fear that more than anything: a slow, lingering death at the roadside after the host has moved on, alone, without the opportunity to say farewell to you. If I go to war, Jeanne, my thoughts will be with you always …’
Jeanne was about to speak when there came an enraged bellow from the house. Jeanne closed her eyes and sighed, and Baldwin cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘Is there no possibility of sending her home, Jeanne? Or anywhere else?’
Friar John set his jaw as he made his way rather laboriously up the lane towards the church. He had found a temporary place of refuge last night, a charcoal burner’s hut in a coppice west of Iddesleigh, but after the foul discovery at the small holding he thought it might be better to move farther away as soon as he could. Friars were not usually so detested by the populace that they would be attacked, but a prudent man knew when to conceal himself, and a fellow who walked about after nightfall when there were plainly dangerous rogues abroad could soon become a target no matter how innocent.
There were two places on which John had counted in his life: churches and inns. In neither establishment was there anything for him to fear. Today, simply because the church was the nearer of the two, he entered that first, listening with a smile of gratitude to the creaking of the door hinges. To him, unoiled hinges had a sound all their own: the sound of comfort, holding the promise of warmth and dryness. There was a stoup of holy water by the door, and he dipped his fingers in it, closing his eyes and crossing himself fervently.
At times he’d been accused of play-acting. People said that a man who seemed so committed must by nature be more of a charlatan than a genuine man of God, but to that he answered that all must explain themselves before God when the time came. For his part, his conscience was clear. He had devoted his life to God and the spreading of His Gospel, and if men wished to mock, that was for them.
He turned to face the altar and stood a few moments studying the paintings on the walls. All were vivid — if lacking some artistic skill on occasion — and ideally suited to stirring the spirits of a peasant from an out of the way place like this.
That was half the battle. A man must always bear in mind the status and abilities of the folk to whom he was preaching. There was no earthly good in putting forward arguments that had been disputed in Oxford if the audience was a group of shepherds, carters, ploughmen and charcoal-burners. They wouldn’t understand the niceties. Now, if John spoke to them, he’d pitch the story at a lower level, curse a bit, give them more of what they heard each day in the tavern. And from that perspective, this little church was ideal. It made the uneducated look at the walls. They couldn’t retreat from them.
He knelt and bent his head, praying now for aid. Since finding the man last night, he had much to think through. There was his own mission, which must necessarily be suspended for a little while, and then there was much to learn. Such as, why should a man have been attacked like that in a quiet vill like this? What could have justified such a ferocious assault and murder?
This was a good place. It smelled right, not damp or musty, but earthy, with the tang of incense. A soft, mellow odour that reminded him always of his very first memories of a church.
‘Master? May I help you? My name is Father Matthew.’
There was a tall, spare priest behind him, and John turned and smiled, grunting as he levered himself upwards. ‘Father, I am glad to see you. I am Brother John, and while wandering these lands I wondered whether you would object to my preaching a little?’
The man’s expression hardened. At John’s words it looked as though his face was transformed into firm, unyielding cuir bouilli — leather boiled until it became almost as hard as metal. Then, just as John was expecting a firm rebuff, the man’s features relaxed.
‘I am sorry, Brother. The last preacher who came here listened to a man’s confession and gave him such a light penance that the fellow went off and committed another crime. Since then, I have been wary of allowing friars to become involved with my flock. But it is silly to think that all friars are the same, just as it would be to say that all flowers are the same colour. Of course you may preach here, and if you wish to make use of my pulpit, you may. I do beg, though, that before offering to hear any confessions from my people you tell me first. There are some here who would be keen to speak to you rather than me. After all, if they talk to me, they will have to face me every day for the rest of their lives. Surely that is a part of their penance, just as much as a series of Pater Nosters.’