Partager toyed with a piece of manchet bread on the table in front of him, bile rising in his throat as he forced himself not to allow his anger to show on his face. He had been in Legerton’s employ for a few years now and happily so until he had married Iseult on a bright day in the middle of last summer. He had met his future bride at Eastertide of that same year, just as the congregation attending the service was leaving the cathedral. Iseult’s beauty had immediately captivated him. She had dropped her glove as she and her sister walked past him and, when he picked it up and returned it to her, he thought he would drown in the blueness of her eyes. She, with a tinkling laugh, had thanked him prettily for his courtesy and told him she was from Nottingham and was visiting a married sister, who lived in Lincoln. For days afterwards he had dreamed of Iseult’s beautiful hair, like twin ropes of corn silk, and the lush fullness of her mouth. He had pursued her avidly until, a few weeks later, she consented to be his wife.
The joyous day of their wedding celebration was the last happy time that Simon remembered. As he recalled how eagerly he had brought his new wife to Legerton’s house and installed her in the comfortable chamber he was allotted as part payment of his salary, bitterness engulfed him. That first night, as he led Iseult out to sit by his side at the evening meal, he thought his heart would burst with pride as he saw the admiring glances sent in her direction by all of the household, servants and Legerton’s family alike. How foolish he had been, he reflected. Within just a few short weeks, the beautiful girl he had married was sharing his employer’s bed at the manor house while he, her husband, was sent by Legerton to the exchange office in Lincoln for days-and nights-at a time.
The moment of revelation was struck into his memory just as surely as the image of the king was hammered into the surface of a new silver penny. One morning he returned to the manor house earlier than expected, prompted to do so by the sudden appearance of a gold bracelet on Iseult’s wrist a couple of days before. She said it had been a gift from her mother on the occasion of their marriage but Simon did not believe her. Iseult would surely have shown him such a costly present as soon as she received it and she had not done so. Alone in the exchange office in Lincoln, his suspicions grew so large he could not concentrate on his work. Legerton’s insistence that he remain overnight in the exchange when there was not enough work to require the extra hours fuelled his mistrust. Deciding to make an attempt to lay his disquietude to rest, he returned to Canwick well before dawn, tying his horse up outside the manor door so as not to disturb the stable servants. Stealing quietly into the house, he hoped to find his wife sleeping chastely alone in their marriage bed. As he made his way down the dark passageway to their chamber, Iseult was coming from the direction of Legerton’s room. In her hand was a candle, and its light revealed that she wore only a thin summer cloak over her naked body. Her features were flushed with the aftermath of lovemaking. Partager had not revealed his presence, nor spoken of what he knew, either to her or to Legerton. Despite his wife’s betrayal, the assayer was still desperately in love with her. The knowledge that his beloved young bride was nothing more than a wanton burned in his gut like a canker, but he knew that if he accused her, the pretense of harmony between them would be destroyed. However little was the happiness they shared, he did not want to lose even the smallest jot.
He glanced at Iseult as she gave the draper’s son a suggestive glance from her entrancing blue eyes. Looking around, he saw the knowing looks the household servants were casting in her direction. Not only he, her husband, but all those in the hall were aware of Iseult’s proclivities, knew that now that Legerton’s interest in her had waned she would look for a new lover. Simon had to get her away from Canwick, and Lincoln town, somewhere where her reputation was unknown and they could start afresh. Once he had accomplished that, he would tackle her licentiousness, warn her that if she strayed again, he would disown her and leave her to whatever fate awaited a woman scorned by her husband for unfaithfulness. Iseult, for all her lechery, was not a stupid woman. He was sure she would obey him if he threatened to cast her aside. Although he had made plans that would enable him to realise this goal, the completion of a few minor details still remained before he could bring them to fruition.
In Lincoln town, Helias de Stow and his wife were walking back to their home after attending Mass at the cathedral. Even though the temperature had risen, there were still treacherous puddles of slush scattered on the cobbles, and the moneyer’s wife had a secure grip on her husband’s arm to aid her unsteady steps. Behind them trailed their two daughters, girls of ten and eleven, in the company of the young maidservant de Stow employed to tend to the needs of the females in his household. The family was looking forward to getting back to their house and a warm fire-side, but although they tried to step along Mikelgate with a quick pace, the ground was too slippery to do more than trudge slowly.
As her foot slid once again in the miry mess, Blanche looked up at her husband. “We should have gone to the service at St. Mary Crackpole, as you suggested, Helias. I am sorry for my insistence on going to the cathedral.”
Helias patted his wife’s arm. “Do not be concerned about it, Wife,” he said. “The service was uplifting and most welcome, especially as a consolation for the sadness brought on us by Peter’s death.”
“Do you know if the sheriff has any suspects for the crime yet?” Blanche asked.
“I do not believe so,” Helias replied. “The Templar knight came back again to ask if we knew the lodging place of the two men who guard the exchange, but he said nothing to indicate he knew who was responsible for Peter’s murder.”
Blanche did not attempt any more conversation until her husband had manoeuvred her around a particularly dirty patch of melting snow. “You will have to engage a new clerk, Helias. Have you thought of anyone suitable?”
The moneyer shook his head. “I think I will have to carry on alone for a bit, even though it makes a lot of extra work. Once the feast of Epiphany is over, I will call on the head of the silversmith’s guild and see if he can recommend someone.”
As he said this, they were not far from the door of Warner Tasser’s manufactory and, as their steps drew level with the entrance, the silversmith emerged, carrying a bundle in his hands. When he saw Helias and his family, his plump jowls creased into a smile and he made a low bow.
“Good morrow, Master de Stow,” he said in a congenial manner, bestowing a friendly look on Blanche as well as the moneyer. “I hope this day finds you and your family in good spirits.”
Helias nodded to the silversmith and made a civil reply but did not pause for further conversation. He could feel his wife’s shocked gaze on him as they continued their trek down Mikelgate but she constrained herself from speaking until they were out of Tasser’s earshot.
“How dare that man address you?” she demanded in outrage. “He is a thief and an embarrassment to his guild.” When her husband made no response, Blanche’s voice hardened. “I hope he has not forced his acquaintance on you, Helias. If he has, it will do your reputation no good, no good at all.”