She smiled lazily up at him. ‘If I were to wait for you, I’d wait for ever, John!’
She held out a hand for him to pull her up and began re-lacing the bodice of her green silk gown, which thankfully — or perhaps by design — would not show any stains from the lush grass.
‘Don’t fret, Sir Crowner, I’ll not petition the Pope to seek an annulment and then insist that you marry me!’ she said archly. ‘We’ve had a pleasant diversion, that’s all — and there’s no reason that we should not have several more, before I’m dragged back to a dull existence as a dutiful wife in Freteval.’
John had his own ideas about that, but he thought that this was not the time or place to fall out with her. He had enjoyed their ‘diversion’ immensely, but he had no intention of making it a habit, there were too many potential complications for that.
‘How did you come to find me here?’ he asked, after they were both dressed decently again.
‘I always have my eye set upon you, John,’ she said earnestly. ‘I saw you slip away without that hulking great fellow that guards you like a wet nurse, so I followed.’
‘What about your husband and your maid?’
‘Renaud is safely drinking with his fellow lords in the guest chamber. I feigned a headache and then got rid of Adele for an hour with a two-penny bribe.’
John stood up and lifted her to her feet with a strong hand.
‘You had best go back alone, but I’ll watch you from the edge of the trees to see you safely to the postern gate,’ he said gallantly. Hawise reached up and as a farewell put her arms around his neck again and kissed him on the lips. Not so passionately this time, but it was a warm and comforting embrace. As she walked off, with a girlish wave of her fingers, he thought that in different circumstances, free from all the other baggage that his life had accumulated, he could love that woman — and certainly enjoy his nights with her.
When he had seen her safely across the open field to the castle, he returned to his fallen log and looked down at the crumpled grass behind it. Another memory for his old age, if he ever lived to see it!
He sat and delved into his feelings, to see what remorse and shame were welling up there. He ticked off the positive factors first — the husband did not know about this and Hawise seemed quite relaxed about the adultery. She was not going to scream ‘rape’ or make him marry her. Then Gwyn knew nothing of this escapade, so would not be making reproachful hints about his master’s infidelity. On the down side, his own conscience was the main problem. He had no scruples where Matilda was concerned, as she had made it abundantly clear that her marriage to him was a penance and she wished she had stayed a spinster. Thank God they had had no children, though this would have been a physical impossibility during the past dozen years, unless she managed another virgin birth. Nesta was no longer a factor, as she had taken herself off to be married. It was Hilda who was the problem, and she was the reason for the devilish imp that sat on his shoulder and hissed the mantra of his conscience into his ear.
Yet even she had not had him exclusively, as when her husband, Thorgils the Boatman, was alive, John had only sporadic access to Hilda when the shipmaster was away on voyages, so he had to vent his amorous energy elsewhere. Even when he was with Nesta, he had occasional flings with Hilda — and the blonde woman knew that he was not faithful to her either, for there had been a sprightly widow in Sidmouth who gave him favours, until she went off to marry a butcher.
As he sat on his log, he chided himself for his wanton behaviour and vowed that in future he would be faithful to Hilda. He convinced himself that this episode tonight was an aberration, verging on a rape of himself by Hawise. He felt he was hardly to blame, as it was more than any man could have stood, to be wrestled on the ground by such an ardent beauty. He dismissed the devil of conscience with a promise that henceforth he would be a model of fidelity and chasteness except where Hilda was concerned. He had one mental eye on his excursion to Devon in a few days’ time and wanted to appear in Dawlish as pure as the driven snow — so Hawise would henceforth be strictly out of bounds!
Inadvertently, the Chief Justiciar helped de Wolfe to maintain his celibacy, as John was able to leave the procession early and so remove himself from the temptation offered by Hawise d’Ayncourt. He had originally intended waiting until they reached Bristol before seeking Hubert Walter’s consent to leave for Devon, but on the night after his escapade with Hawise, they stopped at Chippenham, the last stage before Bristol. By chance, the Justiciar turned his horse as soon as they arrived at one of the royal manors and rode back down the line, greeting many he knew and enquiring if all was well after a day on the march. When he came to de Wolfe, the coroner took the opportunity to broach the matter of going to Devon to settle his family affairs, since so far there had not been a single incident that required the attention of the Coroner of the Verge. After some thought, Hubert agreed and suggested that he may as well leave in the morning, rather than go on to Bristol.
John made sure that he remained invisible to Hawise for the rest of the night and at dawn he set off across country with Gwyn and Thomas de Peyne. The route that led through Shepton Mallet and Ilminster to Honiton and thence to Exeter took them two nights and three long days of hard riding, which taxed Thomas and his rounsey to the utmost. During the journey, John had plenty of time to reflect on many aspects of his present situation and also to revisit the unsolved mysteries in London. They seemed a world away, here in the rural fastnesses of western England, but he knew this was only a respite from the problems that would still confront him when he returned to Westminster. Was there some French subversive seeking to ferret out secrets of Kent’s defences? And had he murdered Basil, a potential threat to his identity, as Robin Byard had claimed?
And where was this damned treasure hidden away? Was Simon Basset involved and if not, why should anyone wish to poison him?
As they rode the last miles towards Exeter, de Wolfe sighed and consigned these problems to the future, knowing that he had other more immediate problems to deal with when he reached the city. Soon the tops of the great twin towers of the cathedral were visible as they trotted along Magdalene Street, the country road to the south of Exeter where the gallows tree stood. They reached the South Gate just before it closed at curfew and turned up through the Serge Market and the Shambles, where in the mornings beasts were slaughtered in the road. At the top was Carfoix, the crossing of the main streets from the four gates which had been there since Roman times. Here they parted, as Gwyn and the clerk were going down to the Bush Inn, where his wife was now landlady, and where Thomas would lodge during their short stay.
John turned right into High Street and a tired Odin plodded up past the Guildhall, his nostrils twitching as he picked up the old familiar odours of the livery stables where he used to live. This was in Martin’s Lane, a narrow alley that led down into the cathedral precinct and was virtually opposite John’s house.
Andrew the farrier was happy to see both Sir John and his stallion and when John had seen Odin fed and watered, he crossed the lane to the front door of his tall, narrow house, one of only two in the lane. As always, the door was unbarred and he pushed inside to the vestibule, where boots and cloaks were kept. The door to the hall, the main room of the house, was on his right and to the left a covered way went around the corner of the building to the backyard. The front door had barely slammed behind him when a large brown hound loped around that corner, as fast as his old legs could carry him. With a yelp of pleasure and a great wagging of his tail, Brutus rushed upon John, slobbering a welcome into his hand.
Close behind him came a handsome, dark-haired woman who gave a less demonstrative, but equally warm welcome. John hugged Mary to him and gave her a long kiss, not passionate, but full of warmth. They had had furtive tumbles in her cook-shed or laundry in the past, but when his wife had taken on a nosey French maid several years earlier, Mary had decided that her job was worth more than tumbles with her master. Now that Matilda was no longer there, matters could have been different, but John’s new state of virtue put that out of his mind.