Chapter Twenty-Seven
As the stave struck Nicholas’s nose and the man jerked backwards to lie unconscious on the ground, Simon gave a loud guffaw and applauded vigorously. He strode to his servant’s side, clapping him on the back as he stood glowering breathlessly at his victims. ‘Well done, Hugh!’
The bailiff and Baldwin had been among the first to rush from the hall to see what Hugh meant by his seizure of the staff, and they had witnessed almost the whole fight. When Baldwin had put his hand to his own sword, Simon had shaken his head; he had seen Hugh fighting against larger numbers before now, and the sight of his man knocking over all the fellows from Thomas’s entourage was no surprise to him. An English farmer’s son soon learned to protect himself from all predators.
Baldwin glanced about him at the men lying all around, one or two groaning, Nicholas snuffling and shaking his head, still stupefied by his broken nose. ‘Yes, you fought well – but what was it all about?’
Hugh leaned on his borrowed staff, trying to catch his breath. ‘They were holding the Fleming so he couldn’t fight back, and that’s not right, sir. When I tried to get them to free him, they threatened me, and shoved me away, so I got angry.’ He gazed about him, his spirits sinking a little as he realised how many witnesses there had been to his fight. At Sir Baldwin’s side was his wife, and Hugh saw Jeanne was staring at him with open-eyed astonishment. ‘Well, they shouldn’t have pushed me,’ he said grumpily.
‘The steward said his master had ordered him to attack van Relenghes, didn’t he?’ said Simon.
Thomas stood listening at the step to the hall, his features strained and pale. His face told the story only too welclass="underline" he had never conceived that the Fleming could have survived. Of course, van Relenghes had his guard, but Godfrey was a mercenary, not someone who’d risk his neck against overwhelming odds like this. Thomas had assumed the Fleming would lose.
‘It was nothing to do with me. The man was lying.’
‘Your servant, Thomas?’ Simon said disbelievingly. ‘He’d tell such a lie against you?’
‘Of course he did! Probably wanted to rob the Fleming,’ said Thomas.
‘What did you tell your man to do?’ Simon asked him. He had walked nearer, and now stood staring down at the Fleming. Van Relenghes’s face was covered in gore, and Simon glanced at Petronilla, who gave a shiver, but nodded, and went to the trough to fill a bucket. She began cleaning his wound, a long gash from ear to nostril.
Thomas felt a stab of satisfaction. Nicholas had done his job well, no matter that he had given the game away afterwards. Thomas had insisted that his man should ruin the Fleming’s good looks, and that scar alone would succeed. Many women like their men to have marks on their faces, but this one would permanently damage his handsome features. Thomas heard the bailiff speak again, and glanced up.
‘I said, what did you order your man to do?’ Simon demanded. ‘Look at him! Why did you order him to wound a guest in this house?’
‘I can answer that, I think, Bailiff.’ Lady Katharine descended the steps, her finger pointed accusingly at her brother-in-law.
‘This was how Thomas, my dear brother, tried to honour the memory of my husband and my son. He ordered the punishment of this man on the day of my son’s funeral just so he could have his revenge on the one who betrayed his secret to me.’
Thomas made a feeble little gesture, which vaguely indicated the people about him. ‘My lady, surely – um – we should talk about this in private. There’s no need to discuss family affairs in the open with servants and villeins to witness it all.’
‘Why should we not discuss it here? This is my home, Thomas!’ she snapped.
‘No, Lady. It is mine! And I choose not to speak of such matters in the court like a serf begging alms. If you wish to talk to me, I shall be inside.’
So saying, Thomas gathered his pride to him like a man trying to wrap himself up in a tattered and shredded cloak. He gave Simon a cold glance, up and down, and strode up the stairs, past the lady and into the hall. A second or two later Godfrey appeared, blinking and rubbing an ugly bruise on his temple.
As if in general agreement that the entertainment was over, the crowd began to disperse, some laughing, many winking and grinning at Hugh, who suddenly realised he was still gripping Daniel’s staff of office. He shamefacedly lowered his head, walked to the steward and passed it to him with a mumbled word of regret for taking it so rudely.
‘Don’t dare to apologise,’ Daniel said, struggling not to laugh. ‘After what I’ve seen today, you’re welcome to it whenever you need it. What a fight! I swear I haven’t seen such a staff-fight since the Welsh wars!’ He clapped Hugh on the back. ‘And for protecting the manor’s guest, whatever the greasy little bugger may be like, you deserve the thanks of all of us here. Come inside and drink wine with me, friend. I’d hate to think you were my enemy, after all!’
But before returning to the hall, Hugh went to Petronilla, still squatting at the side of the Fleming. Godfrey was assisting her, holding a damp cloth to the bloody cut, while the girl gently wiped at the clots on the man’s face. He lay quite still, his face a perfect mask of pain.
‘Thanks,’ Godfrey said simply. ‘I’m only sorry I missed seeing your defence of him.’
Hugh shrugged. ‘He’ll need that wound stitched.’
‘Yes, well, someone can do it later. It’s not a hard job,’ said Godfrey easily.
Hugh turned away. Baldwin and Simon were already on the steps which led back to the hall, and Hugh was about to follow them when Godfrey touched his arm.
‘I threatened you, when you were trying to serve drinks in the hall. I’m sorry about that. After you protected my master I can’t help feeling we owe you something in return.’
Hugh stared at his feet. He wasn’t used to accepting gratitude from others, and didn’t know how to respond.
Godfrey grinned crookedly. ‘Don’t worry, I can’t promise you money…’ Hugh’s morose expression deteriorated,‘… it’s only this: I know your master and the knight have been trying to find out what happened that day…’
‘If you know something, you should tell them. I’ll only get it all mucked up.’
‘Very well.’ Godfrey glanced down at his master. ‘How is he, Miss?’
‘He’ll live.’
‘Let’s see your master now, then.’
Hugh nodded, and shouted to two stablemen at the other side of the yard. They ran over and, under Hugh’s supervision, dragged or assisted his assailants to the barn before taking a door off its hinges and lifting the Fleming onto it. Godfrey stopped them carrying him into the hall. ‘I doubt whether the Lady wants to see him like that. Take him to the kitchen, it’s warm enough, and he can’t come to any harm.’
Hugh walked slowly back to the hall. Strangely, although he was aware of a sense of pleasure at having beaten so many men, a satisfaction which was made more intense by the fact that he had done so to protect a man who would loathe owing him a favour, Hugh felt something else as he walked over the threshold.
It was a feeling of profound sadness, as if some doom was about to be laid upon the house and all who dwelt within it, and as he passed into the hall, Hugh shuddered with the premonition of evil.
Margaret crossed the floor with Simon, and stood a little to the side of Lady Katharine. The bailiff’s wife couldn’t help noticing that the latter was strangely animated, and although the red-rimmed eyes and bright nose gave her a feverish look, her posture was regal, especially in her disdainful treatment of Thomas, who sat near the fire with another cup of wine in his hands.
When Hugh came back in, Margaret took a jug and filled a pot, handing it to him, smiling. ‘Well done!’ she said warmly. Hugh shrugged ungraciously, but with real pleasure, while Simon filled more pots and passed them around to all those assembled.