Baldwin swallowed. On a sudden his mouth felt dry, and there was a flickering in his belly which, matched with his lightheadedness, made him feel disorientated, nearly sick. Licking his lips, he faced Jeanne. Touching the cross of the hilt of his sheathed sword with his left hand, and taking Jeanne’s hand in his right, he repeated the words he had heard so often before. ‘My Lady, let all those present witness that I here take you as my wife, for better or worse, in health and sickness, to have and to hold from now until the end of my life, and there I give you my oath.’
She smiled as he spoke, and he saw the sunlight dance in her eyes as she made her own vow to him.
There was a stillness as Jeanne confirmed her dower, her whole estate of Liddinstone. The silence continued while Baldwin handed Peter Clifford a purse of coins for the poor. Peter took the ring from Simon and blessed it, before passing it to Baldwin. The knight lifted Jeanne’s right hand and slipped the ring over her index, middle and third fingers, while Peter solemnly intoned, ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,’ before he finally set it on the third finger of her left hand.
And then suddenly all was bustle. While the ceremony at the church’s door would always remain crystal clear in Baldwin’s mind, the rest of the day went by in a whirl. While he stood, smiling proudly at his wife, a garland of fresh flowers was thrust between them, and Baldwin was prompted by the priest to kiss his wife through it, seeing her through the mixed yellow and red flowers as if for the first time. A moment before his lips met hers, he saw her eyes close.
He marvelled at his good fortune; it took an effort of will not to laugh with sheer joy.
Thomas could hear the sobbing in the hall even as he left the stables, and he screwed up his face in disgust. Rather than enter the scene of such melancholy, he took a seat near the gate on a lump of moorstone and surveyed the view with satisfaction. At last his financial embarrassments were coming to an end.
It was the famine which had started his decline, but knowing that was no comfort. So many had left the city then, back in 1315 and during the following two years, and Thomas had speculated happily, sure that his fortunes would build nicely once the food began to flow again, but all at once he discovered that he had accumulated too much property, and couldn’t cover his debts with ready cash.
There hadn’t been any great concern at first, because Thomas had loads of friends in the city, and knew he could rely on them to help him. He’d met some at a tavern one night, and had confessed to a slight difficulty, nothing more. Thomas knew he wasn’t stupid, and could remember most of that night quite distinctly – even though one of his mates had insisted on mixing him several drinks, which must have been strong, for Thomas’s head the next day was God-awful – but still, Thomas knew he was far too shrewd and cautious to have made any stupid comments in a place like an inn near the docks.
And yet the curious thing was, that was the last time he had been able to discuss his troubles with those friends. Someone else must have been listening while he spoke, Thomas thought. That was why his credit with suppliers had been frozen.
But now all was well; and all because his brother had fallen dead from his horse and his nephew had died.
When you looked at it, life was quite a joke really, he thought, and now, while he was facing away from the hall and was quite alone, he allowed himself to smile broadly at last.
There was no need to conceal his very real joy.
Peter bellowed for quiet as the guests cheered, rowdier elements calling out crude suggestions to help Baldwin and his wife during the coming night. The priest offered up prayers for them, giving them blessings in God’s name. He led them into the church and, while they knelt in the nave, he gave more prayers in their favour, and then handed them each a small, lighted candle before celebrating Mass with them.
Unseen as the knight and his lady had entered the church, two men at the back of the crowd had glanced at each other meaningfully. While the press outside thinned, all joining the bride and groom in the church, these two strolled unhurriedly to the wagons.
Edgar, man-at-arms to Sir Baldwin, and more recently the knight’s bottler and steward, a tall, straight man, serious by nature and assured of his own importance, went straight to the largest wagon, on which two great casks were set. He rummaged under its seat until he found a small sack which he opened. Inside were two drinking pots, which he passed to his accomplice, Simon’s servant Hugh.
Hugh, a taciturn, narrow-featured man with the slim build of a moorman, took them and filled both, holding one to Baldwin’s man. ‘To your master.’
‘To Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and his lady, Jeanne,’ Edgar nodded, and they drained their pots.
‘What now, then?’ Hugh asked after their second drink.
Edgar shrugged while Hugh bent to fill them again. There had been a time when he hadn’t wished to talk to Hugh, when he had thought the bailiff’s servant was too common for a man like him, who had, while a sergeant in the Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon – the Knights Templar – dined with princes and lords. More recently, having been thrown together with Hugh over the last four years whenever their masters had met, he had grown to enjoy the moorman’s company.
‘Everyone is to go to Furnshill for the banquet. You know the way of these things. It’s lucky the kitchen was designed on generous proportions,’ Edgar said, eyeing the waiting horses and carts. ‘There’ll be no work finished today on Sir Baldwin’s estate.’
It was a subject he felt strongly about. He was the knight’s steward, and was responsible for the profits from the lands around Cadbury. To be steward was an honour, but it was a heavy responsibility as well. All looked to him when anything went wrong: if there wasn’t sufficient grain stored through the winter to sow in the fields, if there wasn’t enough food for guests at a feast, if the harvest failed and provisions must be acquired, it was the steward who was to blame.
As steward, he was always on the lookout for the next potential problem, and today he found it while Hugh was passing up his fourth large cup of ale. Edgar took it, but his eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that noise?’
Hugh listened, an expression of vague perplexity on his face. Sure enough, there was a quiet buzzing sound. He cocked his head, staring all around at the churchyard, but could see nothing. Then Edgar gave a muttered, ‘Oh, Hell’s teeth!’ and sprang down from the wagon. He peered beneath the cart parked alongside and groaned: ‘God’s blood, but you can’t keep him off it’
Underneath was young Wat, the Furnshill cattleman’s son, all of thirteen years old, and as drunk as a blacksmith on St Clem’s Day. He didn’t waken when they grabbed his booted feet and hauled him out onto the grass, nor when they called to him, or pinched him; he only grunted and rolled over. Hugh experimentally tipped half a cup of ale over his head, but the lad merely smiled happily and licked his lips in his sleep.
‘Come on, Hugh,’ Edgar said resignedly. ‘We can’t leave him here.’
The two servants each took an arm and hoisted the youngster to his feet. His legs wouldn’t support him, unfortunately, and it was hard work to keep him upright. In the end, Edgar clambered onto the wagon, and was just taking hold of Wat’s arms to lift him into it when he realised that the guests had begun to leave the church. He swiftly dropped to the ground again as Baldwin appeared in the church’s doorway.
‘Quick, prop him,’ Hugh hissed, and the two supported the slumping figure between them as the knight and his lady walked out.
Baldwin felt curiously lightheaded as he paused in the porch. His whole life had undergone a transformation, he knew, and yet he himself hadn’t changed. The sky looked wonderful, with a few tiny, fluffy clouds hanging motionless in the azure blue, and from here he could see the verdant countryside stretching away for miles. The scent of flowers came to him, and their strong, sweet odour made him feel quite drunk.