She was sitting on the stool by the window, gazing out at the hills to the west, filled with longing for the broad open moors and freedom. Anything would be so much better than sitting here in the chamber with nothing to do but brood on her misery, filled with dread for her future. With a start of guilt, she had just realised that she had hardly thought about Peter at all for the last day, and now she was half sobbing at the thought of him languishing in the foul gaol at Exeter. She had been there before, and she knew how disgusting such a cell would be to her fastidious husband. She only hoped that Wattere could help her somehow.
Jerked to the present by the sudden eruption of noise, she almost fell from her stool. Then, seeing Basil enter, she sprang to her feet, stepping behind the stool, reaching for the dagger. But before she could grip it, Basil had slammed the door shut, and now he advanced to her, a smile fitted to his face as he set his head to one side, surveying her as a knight might study a newly won town. ‘Oh, but you’re a pretty one. Will you give me a kiss?’
‘I will do nothing.’
‘Oho, you will, lady. You’ll bed me tonight, I think. Hold! You think that your husband will come to rescue you?’
Her expression was so bleak at that sally that he laughed again. ‘You know about him, then, do you? Ah, it is a shame that he’s so busy just now. Answering questions, no doubt. They say the new sheriff has some inventive ways of getting the answers he needs, you know. Probably aided by men of Sir Hugh le Despenser, I’d imagine. He was always creative, so they say. Still, you’ll probably be able to recognise your old man when you see him again. So long as they don’t treat him like a traitor, anyway. You wouldn’t want to see him hanged, eh?’
She could hardly keep the vomit at bay. There had not been any capital trials for traitors since she had moved to Exeter, but she knew what they entailed as well as any. She had been told that the sound of the headsman’s axe striking the body into quarters was the same as that of the butcher’s cleaver as it divided a hog’s carcass.
‘Of course, if you were to be nice to me, I could get you released. I might even help you to get to the sheriff and persuade him to release your husband.’
‘You would-’ She realised her error and closed her mouth sharply.
‘If you were to be nice to me, yes. I might just do that. Would you like a pact? You swear to comfort me, and I’ll swear to see you released and ride with you to Exeter. How would that be?’
Edith stared at him. ‘I cannot. I am married. How can you ask me to betray him with you?’
‘Oh, it’s easy, lady. You see, if you do, then you will go to see him — but if you don’t, I may have to take you anyway. Because there’s not much you can do to stop me, is there? If I want to, I can take you. I just prefer to have you willing. And I think a little strumpet like you will enjoy it anyway. So that’s an end to it. Will you submit?’
‘I won’t.’
‘You’ll have to give yourself unwillingly, then,’ he declared lazily. He began to step into the room towards her, but as he did, there was a clamour from the yard area, with loud shouting from the gates. He stopped, hesitated a moment, and then muttered a curse and hurried out, bolting the door after him.
Edith slowly and shakily made her way to the stool. Feeling around for it, she felt as sickly and ancient as an old crone. Soon she had her rump on it, but she could only sit and stare at the door as though he might spring in through it again at any moment.
The torture of not knowing what to do for the best made her mind feel as though it must shred into tiny fragments of hope and despair.
It took them little time to mount their horses and make their way to the castle. Simon rode in front, with Baldwin and Sir Richard a short way behind him. Edgar had for once forgone his accustomed post a little behind Baldwin and rode to one side to protect his flank, and Mark trailed behind them, demanding to know what made them think that the girl was in the castle anyway.
‘Tell that man to be silent,’ Sir Richard muttered to Edgar as they rode, but before long Mark had realised that his comments were not going to win him any friends and was content to mutter to himself.
The road was well used, Simon saw, and as he came around the bend and could see the castle again from this direction, he was struck by the careful positioning of the place.
With trees cut down in all directions, it would be very hard to assault. That was certain. It was not a true fortress, in that there were no towers at each corner of the wall, but the place was strong nonetheless, and the battlements would mean that any attacking force would have its work cut out. Simon had not been in a siege, but he had heard Baldwin talk about such affairs, and the idea that he could bring a force here to hold the castle and make it surrender filled him with horror. For Edith would be inside, and at the least she would suffer with the garrison. It was even possible — if not likely — that they would make a show of her. Perhaps raping her to shame her and Simon, threatening to kill her, or torture her … The possibilities were appalling.
He found his speed slowing as the thoughts whirled through his mind. ‘Sweet Jesus, Baldwin, what can we do to get her out if she is in there? It is a fortress. And they must have plenty of men inside, too. What could we few do?’
‘Let us first find out whether she is truly inside,’ Baldwin said reassuringly. ‘Then we can decide what to do.’
‘Yes.’
They rode up to the gates, and waited for a challenge. ‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace. Open the gates in the name of the king!’ Baldwin bellowed when a face appeared over the parapet.
There was some while before another man arrived to peer down at them. This was a swarthy-looking man with the face of a surly felon, Simon reckoned. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, churl, and I am Keeper of the King’s Peace. I demand that you open the gates immediately.’
‘Well, I am son to the knight who owns this manor. You have no right to demand anything of us, sir. We have business to which we attend. If you wish, you may return tomorrow and we shall consider your request.’
‘We believe you are holding a woman hostage here. We would speak with the castle’s owner.’
At this there was a loud step on a wooden walkway, and soon another man was staring down at them. ‘I am Sir Robert de Traci. You say you are Sir Baldwin de Furnshill?’
‘Aye. And this is the King’s Coroner, Sir Richard de Welles. We are here-’
‘I heard,’ Sir Robert said drily. ‘You think to come here to my home and accuse me of such behaviour? I am surprised.’
‘If the woman is not here, could you not let us inside so that we can verify the fact? We can then continue in our search for her. She was brought this way. She was seen along this very road, in the company of a wandering felon by the name of William atte Wattere,’ Baldwin lied. ‘Do you know of him?’
‘Wattere? You say he is a convicted felon? How would I know him?’
‘Where else would this road lead?’ Baldwin asked, pointedly staring at the track that continued after the road had petered out just behind the castle.
‘It leads nowhere. But since the woman is not here, surely your witness was mistaken,’ Sir Robert said. ‘In any case, I do not have time to investigate the matter further.’
‘Wait! Sir Robert!’ Baldwin cried, but the other knight had already left the walkway beneath the battlements.
Only his son remained, and now he laughed at the men before his gates. ‘What, would you storm our walls, masters? Eh? We have a force in here that is plentiful enough to defend them, I assure you. But feel free to try, if you must!’
‘Your name, fellow?’ Baldwin said. It was hard to keep his horse under control. The beast was spirited, and he could tell that his rider was trying to control a rising anger.
‘I am Basil of Traci, fellow,’ Basil sneered.