Only two years ago his features had reflected the anguish which he had endured after the destruction of his Order and the slaughter of his companions, but recently his face had lost much of the torment, although there were still deep tracks scored at either side of his mouth, creases at his forehead, and a lowering wariness in his dark eyes that sometimes alarmed people when he stared intently at them. It had been said that he could see beyond a man’s lies, through to a man’s soul. He only wished that were true.
Since marrying he had found a new delight in life and had gladly thrown off the melancholy which had cloaked him for so long. As he must soon throw away this tunic, he told himself as he gazed down at his growing paunch. His wife had seen to it that his diet had subtly altered, and his frame was filling out. The proof of this was the way that his tunics fitted: tightly. It was partly due, too, to lack of exercise. Whenever he took his ease he found his weight increased alarmingly and he felt lethargic.
That was certainly the case after last year’s Christmas celebrations in Exeter, and now, since recuperating for a week or two after the tournament at Oakhampton, he could feel his belly becoming uncomfortable once more. He needed a ride, a series of fast gallops and hunts to work off some of this weight. That would make him feel better. Not that there was much chance of that. Lady Jeanne would never let him take exercise until she was convinced that he was entirely cured.
He glanced at his dog, Aylmer, who stood, his tail sweeping slowly from side to side.
‘So you want to go out too,’ Baldwin muttered. He put out a hand to stroke Aylmer’s head again, but the dog ducked away, springing back, ready to head for the stables, staring at Baldwin enquiringly.
‘It is tempting,’ Baldwin said, just as Jeanne, his wife, came through the doorway. Not hearing her, he had sat up and was about to throw off the thick woollen cloak that lay over his legs, when he caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye.
‘Bugger! Too late,’ he muttered ungraciously.
Aylmer saw her too, and slunk away.
‘Coward!’ Baldwin hissed, and then turned to meet Jeanne’s steely gaze with an innocent smile.
‘Baldwin, where were you going?’
He felt unaccountably like a mischievous urchin caught scrumping apples, and the sensation put him in a bad humour. ‘I was only going to fetch some wine,’ he grunted.
‘There is no need – I have brought drinks.’
Baldwin looked up into the impassive features of his servant, Edgar. The steward gazed back without allowing his face to reflect his true feelings. ‘What are you staring at?’ Baldwin snapped.
‘Don’t be troublesome, my love,’ Jeanne said soothingly. ‘You know it is for your own good. Please sit back and rest.’
He obeyed, but with a bad grace, scowling at the view. ‘A fine day like this, hounds bursting to be out, a destrier that needs exercise, and you have me hobbled like an old man. I can’t sleep properly…’
‘Have you had that dream again?’
‘I need exercise to be able to rest,’ he said quickly, recalling that Jeanne took dreams seriously, thinking them to be omens. ‘I just woke up with a start, that’s all.’
‘Have you had another nightmare?’
‘Superstitious maundering!’
‘Don’t mumble,’ Jeanne said imperturbably. ‘If you hadn’t submitted to trial by combat, you wouldn’t have hurt yourself so badly and I wouldn’t have to nurse you, so lie back like a good wounded knight and drink this.’
‘This’ was a warming strong wine sweetened with honey and flavoured with spices. She motioned to Edgar. He held the cup to Baldwin, who irritably took it and sipped.
‘There must be some magic in this,’ he growled reluctantly after a few moments.
Jeanne sent Edgar away and smiled at her husband, her features pleasantly shaded and softened by the trees above. The gentle light emphasised the softness of her skin, making her blue eyes seem more sparkling and alive with humour. ‘Magic?’
‘What else can it be, my Lady? I was prepared to be angry, chafing at the silken fetters with which you have me bound here, yet one sip and I feel as though it is better to lie here for ever than get on with the thousands of little tasks which ought to occupy me.’
Jeanne laughed aloud. She was a tall, slender woman of some thirty years, but her red-gold hair was as soft and bright as that of a young woman, and her mischievous expression gave her an impish charm. Her face was regular, if a little round; her nose short, perhaps too small; her mouth over-wide with a full upper lip that gave her a stubborn appearance; her forehead was maybe too broad – but to Baldwin she was perfection.
‘Well, my Lord, I am glad if my wine is so effective,’ she joked, then grew serious. ‘But I would rather you had not been so battered and had not needed my medicine.’
‘I have my duties, my Lady,’ he said sharply.
‘And right now your duty is to yourself, Baldwin. God’s blood! Will it help anyone if you work yourself into the grave? You must give yourself time to heal.’
‘Very well, and I will try to avoid battles in future,’ he said, only half mockingly. He had no intention of getting into any more fights, not at his age – although he was concerned about the current political situation, which could lead to an armed struggle.
‘Are you troubled, my love?’
He smiled. ‘You recognise my moods too well.’
‘It is easy when you sigh like that. You are thinking of the King?’
‘Not him particularly, but his advisers: the Despensers.’
News had filtered down to them gradually after the disaster of Boroughbridge. Earl Thomas of Lancaster had been caught there and executed by his nephew the King, and almost instantly King Edward II had reneged on the agreements won after so much strife. He had called a parliament in May and revoked the exile imposed on his friends the Despensers, but that was not all. Edward was still bitter about the way his powers had been curtailed. He had repealed the Ordinances which had been created to protect his realm from incompetent or corrupt advisers, and now, for the first time in his reign, he held supreme power.
This absolute control meant that he could reward those whom he considered his friends, and he lavished lands, wealth and titles on the Despensers. Hugh the Elder was created Earl of Winchester, while his son received many of the estates of the Marcher Lords, the nobles from the Welsh borders who had dared to stand against Edward II and his friends in the brief Despenser Wars.
‘It will lead to disaster,’ Baldwin said grimly.
‘Perhaps we can look forward to a period of stability,’ Jeanne said. ‘The King’s enemies are dead or imprisoned, and he will surely wish for peace himself.’
‘I expect he will,’ Baldwin said, but added heavily, ‘It is not him whom I fear, though. The Despensers are dangerous, avaricious men. With the consent of the King they have acquired almost the whole of Wales over the claims of those who have remained loyal to Edward. And then there is the Queen. How must she feel, now that the King has his closest friend back with him?’ Baldwin did not need to spell it out. The whole kingdom knew about the allegations that Hugh Despenser the Younger was the King’s lover.
Jeanne was aware of her husband’s tolerance for homosexuals. When he fought in the hell-hole of Acre, the last of the Crusader cities, until it fell, he had seen men who preferred other men to women. That he felt no disgust for such behaviour seemed peculiar in the extreme to her. Sodomy was sinful, and she agreed privately with Baldwin’s friend Simon Puttock, who had made his own opposition to such practices perfectly clear. Simon never minced his words.