It was with an inner feeling of relief that she noticed the Guildhall ahead. She had no wish to contemplate how much her life was about to be altered with a baby in her house, nor how truly maternal she would turn out to be when a squalling child was placed in her arms by the midwife.
The wagon stopped and Baldwin nodded to Edgar. ‘Go and tell Sir Vincent that we are here,’ he said, but before his servant could obey, the door opened and the man himself appeared.
‘Sir Baldwin – and Lady Jeanne, too! God’s blessings upon you both!’
The lookout dropped from his tree and picked up his axe which rested against the tree’s trunk. ‘He’s coming,’ he said.
All at once there was a general movement. Two men at Hob’s side hurried back past him and went out to their positions nearer the entrance to the clearing, while another lifted a leather bucket to douse the fire, but Sir Thomas of Exmouth shook his head and barked, ‘Stop that! There’s no point. We don’t want to freeze when he’s gone. Leave it.’
They didn’t have to wait for long. The dark figure, cloaked and hooded, appeared in the shadows among the trees, walking slowly, muttering as the dragging cloak snagged on brambles and twigs.
To him the clearing was a scene of fearsome danger, and not only from the outlaws themselves; if he was found here, he could easily be accused of conspiring with felons. Conversely, if the outlaws decided he posed a threat they might execute him no matter what their leader told them.
He stepped out boldly enough. If they had wanted to kill him, they could have done so – perhaps still would do so – and there was no point in his waiting and skulking anxiously. An arrow to the throat, a knife to the heart – there were many ways of killing a man, and these vicious bastards knew most of them.
The clearing was a rough oval carved out of the old woods. It did not appear to be a regularly used base, for there were no huts or tents, only a single log fire burning with a clean, smokeless flame. Above it dangled a large metal cauldron, in which bubbled a thick pottage. One man knelt at the side, stirring. He wore the innocent expression of the idiotic. His slack mouth dribbled and one corner twitched upwards into a smile, but without conviction. There was a nervousness in his features, as if he was used to being beaten and half-expected to be treated like a cur.
Behind him stood Sir Thomas of Exmouth, a more dangerous man by far. His face was swarthy and narrow, his eyes glittering under a low forehead. He wore russets and greens, a thick woollen cloak and hose, a leather jack and a dangling hood – nothing to betray his true background as a knight: no gilt spurs, no mail, no insignia of chivalry. He had rejected his past and was now a mere outlaw. The only incongruous feature was the knightly riding sword which dangled from a richly enamelled belt at his side.
‘Come on over here, please. Take a seat. Wine?’ he said, and his visitor gave him a humourless grin as he approached the fire.
‘I received your message. There’s no need to pretend that we are on friendly terms.’
‘But at least we do not need to be enemies.’ The outlaw beckoned. A young woman appeared between the trees and poured out wine for them, and when she was done he continued, ‘I thank you for your prompt appearance. It is better, I always think, to get these things resolved as quickly as possible.’
‘I don’t know what you want from me.’
‘I think you do. First, I want information. My friend Hamond, is he…?’
‘Hamond was hanged yesterday morning. If you want his body, the hangman will cut it loose tomorrow. Send someone for it.’
‘That is a shame, a great shame.’ The outlaw held his gaze for a moment, then turned his bitter, shining eyes to the fire. He was silent a while and then drained his goblet and held it out to the girl. She refilled it silently and held the jug up for the other, who shook his head.
‘He was captured after ambushing a merchant,’ the newcomer said heavily. ‘Not only did he not run from his offence, he had the foolishness to go ahead of the merchant into the city and drink a pot of ale at the Nobles Inn when the merchant passed.’
‘He was a good friend. Headstrong, but good,’ Sir Thomas growled. ‘Still, he will be with God now. That’s that.’ He motioned to the girl. ‘Enough, Jen. Leave us.’
As she walked back to the shade under the trees, he watched her go. Indeed, he was so intent upon her slender figure that he appeared to have forgotten his guest, who stirred and cleared his throat. Sir Thomas bowed apologetically. ‘Ah, yes. My apologies. I was forgetting. Now, Master, I think you can help me – and I may be able to help you as well.’
‘You help me?’
The outlaw stood more straight and his left hand rested upon the hilt of his sword as he raised an eyebrow. ‘You may live a privileged life in the city but any man at need would be grateful of the assistance of a knight.’
‘You think so?’ came the sneering reply. ‘What sort of assistance could an outlaw knight like you provide?’
‘Your sarcasm does you a disservice.’
‘How can I not be sarcastic when you have only ever sought favours from me?’ came the sharp rejoinder.
Sir Thomas looked away. After a moment, he said, ‘I agree that I have misused you, but perhaps I could offer money to…’
‘Money stolen from another church? Do you mean to insult me?’ the other snapped.
‘All I want is justice! Hamond has been hanged – but was he guilty of the crime?’
The other said impatiently, ‘He was with your gang, wasn’t he?’
‘Listen to me, you fool! Hamond had nothing to do with it – he was with me in the city when the ambush was supposed to have happened. I sent him to the tavern myself to fetch some wine, and it was while he was there that he was pointed out and captured. So tell me – how did he commit this ambush, how did he get recognised by a merchant as an outlaw who had robbed him, when all the time he was with me?’
To which his brother, Canon Stephen Soth of Exeter Cathedral, had no answer.
Chapter Five
‘Come in and be seated, Lady Jeanne. Sir Baldwin, a cup of wine with you, sir?’ Vincent le Berwe was effusive as he waved Lady Jeanne inside and directed her to a large chair near a hearth of roaring logs while Baldwin sent Edgar off to the Talbot’s Inn in Paul Street where le Berwe had arranged a room for them.
It was a good-sized property, Jeanne thought, looking around. Situated on the High Street itself, with a shop at the front where Vincent sold his furs, it had a large undercroft, a basement area, in which Vincent stored his wines and cloths ready for selling. Here in the hall there was as much space as Baldwin had in his entire house. The hall was open all the way to the ceiling, where a thin haze of woodsmoke drifted from the fresh logs which had been thrown on the fire. Above the shop was a small chamber reached by a staircase in which Vincent and his wife slept. All was highly decorated, with ivy and holly dangling in readiness for Christmas. Red berries glistened and twinkled in the light of the guttering candles set about the room.