A shiver of fear upset his resolve. It was one thing to want to protect his father, to rescue him from prison, but to speak to a knight? When he was a lowly serf? It had been a shock for their family, to become slaves once more, but Jordan had speedily adapted to his new position. If anything, it had made his friendship with Alan even stronger – for now he was on the same footing as the older boy.
Jordan’s spirit quailed within him at the thought of speaking to a knight – and a Keeper of the King’s Peace at that. This Sir Baldwin was the most powerful person the boy had ever heard of, even superior to his old master, Squire Roger. Would he listen to a boy with a story such as his?
Baldwin and Jeanne joined the bailiff and his wife. They took their stand at some distance from the fire, nearer the trestles which were now being cleared of food.
Jeanne was struck by the change which had come over her husband. The quiet, introspective man she had married had gone, and in his place was this implacable stranger who had but one aim – to avenge the death of the young Master of Throwleigh. She had seen Baldwin at his work several times already, at Tavistock and in Crediton, but never before had he appeared to be so fired with grim determination.
He drank his pot off now, and held it out to Edgar to refill. ‘This wine is good.’
‘I am glad you like it, Sir Baldwin. It is from my last shipment from Bordeaux.’ Thomas had appeared as if from nowhere, and stood now at Baldwin’s elbow.
The knight nodded. ‘From Bordeaux? That is where the Fleming says he came from.’
‘Him?’ Thomas snorted. He was feeling more himself now, and he gave van Relenghes a cold stare. ‘I’d be surprised. He has more the look of a wandering mercenary than a soldier.’
A manservant dropped a bowl, which shattered, and Thomas gave a roar of anger, striding over to the man and slapping him on the face.
Baldwin and his wife exchanged a glance. ‘He is not quite so calm as he would like us to think,’ said Baldwin, and before Jeanne could respond, she saw his eyes light on the Fleming and his guard once more. ‘Simon, we haven’t managed to get that fellow Godfrey alone, and yet he is a prime witness as well,’ he went on.
‘Who, the weapons master? He’s said all he’s likely to, surely?’
‘I wonder. What if we could get him away from his employer?’
‘You’d need a polearm to separate the two of them,’ Simon joked.
‘Why, though?’ Jeanne asked suddenly. ‘I mean, why should the Fleming need to have a guard with him all the time even while he’s here, safe in a hall? On a journey any man of sense will have a guard, particularly now with so many outlaws on all the highways, but why in here? Even Thomas has left all his men out in the stables.’
Baldwin looked down at her proudly. He loved his wife for her beauty and abilities, but never had he felt such an attraction purely for the value of her common-sense. ‘My love, you have hit the nail perfectly.’
‘But what is the answer?’
Simon drained his own pot. ‘That’s simple. A man only has such a guard when he’s in danger, and the fact that he has Godfrey with him all the time is certain proof that he does not feel safe here in the hall.’
‘No friend of the squire’s would come to harm here,’ Jeanne protested.
‘No,’ her husband agreed, ‘and there is another explanation which Simon has missed, but…’ Before he could say more, his attention was drawn to the little huddled figure near the fireplace, Lady Katharine.
She slowly rose to her feet, and Baldwin saw her close her eyes as if in prayer. Her veil had been raised so she could drink, and now she dropped it back over her face. With a cautious precision that proved her consumption of wine had been considerably higher than usual, she stepped away from the roaring fire towards a cooler seat.
At her side moved her faithful retainers: Daniel and the maidservant Anney. Then Lady Katharine stumbled, and Baldwin saw two things that intrigued him.
The first was that Daniel instantly reached out and took her arm, gripping it carefully above the elbow. She rested her other hand on his for a moment, looking up into his face with gratitude, before gently extricating herself and sitting.
The second and equally interesting part of the tableau was Anney’s reaction to her mistress’s near-fall. The woman made absolutely no move to save her lady from falling. It was as if she had no interest in whether her mistress hurt herself or not.
Anney watched the people in the room dully. There was no pleasure in being here. It was hard enough to be away from her son, and the Lord God Himself only knew what Alan would get up to tonight without her there to keep him under control. She didn’t need the extra responsibility of looking after her lady while she received these men. Especially at this, the occasion of Herbert’s funeral.
Anney glanced at her mistress and was unnerved to see that Lady Katharine was watching her.
Are you thinking of Tom, Anney?‘
Anney nodded shortly. What else would she be thinking of, she wondered angrily, with all these fine, noble people here to celebrate the little life of Master Herbert? And yet what was Herbert but a useless fool, a boy who had let her own child die?
Perhaps a little of her bitterness of spirit transmitted itself to Lady Katharine, because she blinked again, quickly, as though about to break into tears, and looked away.
That day was all too clear in Anney’s memory: she supposed it always would be. The morning had been bright and fresh, without a hint of the wet weather that was to follow, and she had set off for her work with a light heart. Because of her bigamous husband, Anney had lived away from the manor, preferring to remain in the cottage in the village, even after his deceit was proven and her journey homewards became so difficult, if not dangerous. It was partly from the hope that he might return to her, and partly that she felt secluded from the pointing fingers and laughter of other servants if she had her home as a hiding-place.
The morning had begun like any other. She had risen before dawn, kicking Tom and Alan from her bed. Both boys knew their duties, and Alan had fetched the bucket and started his walk down to the stream, while Tom had collected two large faggots of sticks to make up the fire. While she was in their garden picking vegetables for their food, he had taken his flint and knife and begun to strike a spark to his tinder.
He had been sleepy, and his aim was poor, and when Anney came back inside, her skirts holding a small cabbage and onions, to find no fire burning in the grate, she angrily clipped Tom about the ear and shouted that he was pathetic. Then, dropping the vegetables on the floor, she had taken the snivelling child’s knife and struck a strong spark, from which she soon had a small fire lighted. The two bundles of wood would be enough for the day, and provided Alan and Tom kept an eye on the fire, the house should be warm enough at evening for them to have a hot drink before retiring to their bed.
Except her son, her Tom, would never sleep in bed with her again. That was the day he’d died in the black gloom, drowning in the slimy, weed-encrusted base of the well-shaft, and all because her master’s boy hadn’t the gumption to call for help.
On that last day she’d eaten a dry crust or two of bread, and so had her boys, and she had allowed them to eat an egg between them, a spare one which she had kept back from Daniel’s beadle, before sending them off on their jobs. Alan then, as now, was a bird-scarer, and with his sling would keep crows and rooks from the crops, while Tom had been granted the position of playmate to Lady Katharine’s child.