At the fair once more they barged their way in among the crowd. With unfettered access to his purse, Simon was convinced that his wife would gravitate naturally back to the stalls selling cloth, so he headed in that direction.
The array of cloth on sale was a surprise to Baldwin; he had not expected such a choice. Expensive scarlets, woollen cloth that gained its particular softness from being dyed in grains, camlet made from scraps of wool, and coarse-woven russets were displayed hanging seductively to show off their colors. Dark blue, blue-black, green, red, violet-all colors were available, and trade was good, it appeared, from the number of people staggering away under the weight of bolts.
Baldwin acknowledged to himself that he had not seen such variety since his time in Paris. Linens, muslins, canvas, worsteds, fustians, even cloth of England, the hard blanket used under saddles, were hanging and limply fluttering in the light breeze. Peasant women and ladies huddled with bored husbands or excited, chattering maids to handle the offerings. A few even bought some.
In the lane, the daylight was excluded by awnings and the draped goods. It made the pathway somber, although the gay colors attempted to give it a festive air, and the knight found himself responding with a gloominess of spirit. Above and outside the fair, the sun shone brightly in a clear sky with only pale wisps of clouds that could not dim the heat of the sun, yet down here, with the chilly breeze from the south and the shade provided by the tradesmen’s stalls, all was different. It was as if the fair itself existed outside the reality of the world, was a distinct creature in its own right, one which could alter the brains of men and women alike. There was a hushed thrill in the crowd, a tension, which put Baldwin’s teeth on edge. He disliked crowds at the best of times, but this one, whose sole reason for assembling here was to buy fashionable gear, felt febrile and manic.
Two women clung to the same bolt of cloth and berated the seller, hurling imprecations as each tried to pull the bolt away from the other. At another stall Baldwin saw a lady shove a poor woman aside to buy the cloth she had been fingering. The woman stumbled and fell against a pole, and sat rubbing her flank, staring with huge scared eyes at the people pushing and shouting. The sight made his blood suddenly chill.
It was the fair. People had an urge to purchase things no matter what the cost. The atmosphere made women who usually would welcome each other with a polite greeting, see their neighbors as competitors in a struggle to the death.
Baldwin walked over to the fallen woman and helped her to her feet, then escorted her through the throng, back to the stall; he stationed her by the cheaper cloths which she would be more likely to be able to afford. She ducked her head in gratitude, but he did not notice, he was already on his way. He had an urgency about him; he wanted to find Jeanne and Margaret and leave this frenetic buying spree.
Further along the lane, things improved. Here the cloths were of a uniformly better quality, and although some peasants wandered by to investigate, clucking and shaking their heads in disgust at the prices like so many hens, most of the customers were more opulently attired women looking for material for new clothes for themselves, their husbands or children.
It was here that they found Margaret and Jeanne. At the entrance to a small stall, with a great trestle table laden with velvets and scarlets, they almost passed a quivering mound of cloths.
“Sir? Sir, don’t go!”
Simon halted and slowly turned to face the quaking pile. Round it peered the anxious face of his servant. “Hugh, what are you doing under all that lot?” he asked with disbelief.
“Your lady, sir. She told me to carry all these things back to the Abbey, for her and for Lady Jeanne.”
“Say nothing,” Simon told Baldwin.
“Me? I wasn’t going to!” the knight protested innocently.
“Where are they now, Hugh?’
The bailiff walked in behind the table. Here he found Hankin, and gave him instructions to help his servant as the cloth had been bought from his master. The boy scampered up, nothing loath, for the morning was proving very dull. When he had taken two of the smaller bundles from Hugh and lightened his burden, the pair wandered off to the Abbey.
Meanwhile Simon followed the sounds of excited chattering, and pushed through the materials hanging like curtains at the back of the stall, Baldwin and Edgar in his wake.
Today Jordan was more cautious. At the first sound of voices, he moved to the corner, and when he saw booted feet approaching under the draped cloth, he grabbed his cudgel. When Simon came through and saw his wife, he stopped dead at the sight of the armed stallholder.
“Who are you?” Jordan demanded.
“I am bailiff to the Warden of the Stannaries, who is the Abbot. Who are you?” Simon demanded gruffly, eyeing the cudgel suspiciously.
As Baldwin entered behind Simon he saw Jeanne give him a smile, and he returned it warmly. Her apparent pleasure made his sullen mood evaporate, and he could turn to the merchant with a new lightheartedness.
Jordan stood stock-still, his cudgel now negligently dangling, but he was in a turmoil. He recognized the bailiff’s tone of authority, and for a short moment, as the knight and his servant appeared behind him, he thought he was about to be arrested: a vision rose in his mind’s eye of the gibbet on the hill at Forches Field. Then he made himself relax as he saw the bailiff’s wife move to her husband, and Jeanne began to show Baldwin her latest purchases. Jordan took a short step back, increasing the space between him and them.
As he did so, Baldwin noticed his movement and glanced up. For an instant he saw naked fear in the stallholder’s face, and the sight made him wonder.
“Baldwin, this is the brave man who had to defend himself from those three bullies last night,” Jeanne said.
“You were fortunate, from what we heard,” Baldwin said. Ah, so that explained the man’s fear. It was caused by having three men, all strangers, appear in his stall only the morning after the last attack.
Jordan shrugged. “It’s one of those things.”
“Did you recognize who the men were?”
“Oh yes. They were all watchmen. I’ve seen them around here since. They want black rent-money to protect goods. If someone doesn’t pay, they’ll damage the stuff themselves-they’ve fleeced most of the other merchants here already.”
“Well, I think you’ve demonstrated that you don’t need help to protect your things, anyway,” Baldwin laughed, but he noted what the stallholder said. It bore out his thoughts on the men in the tavern.
Meanwhile Jeanne held up a heavy cloth. “Look at this. Don’t you think it would make a wonderful tunic?”
“Hmm?” He studied the bright red velvet. “It would suit you perfectly, my lady. The color would set off your complexion.”
“Then if my knight thinks so, I should buy it, shouldn’t I?” she said, dropping him a mocking curtsey.
Baldwin considered. “No, my lady. If I think so, I should buy it for you.”
“You can’t, Sir Baldwin. It’s far too expensive-I couldn’t allow it.”
“Then refuse it when I give it to you,” he said lightly, and pulled coins from his purse as he approached Jordan.
The stallholder took it from him. “The whole bolt?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes,” said Baldwin with reckless generosity.
“No,” said Jeanne with the determination of a woman who was used to counting her money. She instructed Jordan to cut off six yards, and watched as he began to unravel the material and measure it against his stick. When he had enough, he marked the cloth with a little piece of white chalk and called out to his boy.