‘The Duke of Gloucester’s men as I understand it, raising men and money for the coming war with Scotland.’ I raised my eyebrows in query and she went on, ‘Oh yes! Hadn’t you heard? It seems King James has broken the truce yet again. He and his army are over the border and harrying the northern shires. Prince Richard is going north this summer, as soon as the weather is warmer, at the head of an English force.’
‘King Edward doesn’t go himself?’
Juliette Gerrish frowned. ‘Rumour has it that he’s too sick to undertake the task and relies entirely on his brother. But there!’ She shrugged. ‘How much you can rely on gossip is always a vexed question. All the same, I wonder you haven’t heard of this in a place as big as Bristol.’
No doubt the news had reached some quarters of the city, but my old friend, Timothy Plummer, always maintained that Bristolians were too wrapped up in their own affairs, and in those of their southern Welsh and Irish neighbours, to pay much attention to what was going on in the rest of the country, especially in the north of England and Scotland; two territories that seemed as alien to them as the lands of the Great Cham of Tartary or the realms of Prester John.
‘I’ve been out of the city for a day or two,’ I said by way of extenuation, ‘on my way here.’ I refused a second slice of venison, patting my already bloated belly. ‘I shan’t have room for those apple and cinnamon coffins you promised me.’
These turned out to be as good as the rest of the meal, and the wine was undoubtedly as excellent as Mistress Gerrish claimed, but its savour was lost on me. I had been brought up on ale and small beer, and had no palate for anything better. I didn’t own as much, however, permitting my fine glass goblet to be refilled more than once. A mistake; my head was beginning to spin.
‘Do you have no one to help you in the house?’ I asked. One of her hands lay close to mine on the tabletop. I succumbed to temptation and patted it lightly. It felt soft to the touch, unlike Adela’s work-roughened skin.
‘No, it’s just my uncle and myself. I do all the cooking and the work. I buy a special ointment, made up for me by the local apothecary to keep my skin soft.’ Her hand quivered slightly under mine. She turned her head and regarded me frankly. ‘Are you betrothed Roger?’
‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘Not betrothed.’ I was beginning to sweat.
Juliette laughed softly. ‘Married, perhaps?’
I hesitated, appalled to find how close I was to lying; how much I wanted to disclaim my family shackles. But I had been brought up to be honest (well, fairly honest; we all lie on occasions). I nodded reluctantly.
But my admission did me no harm. My companion seemed in no hurry to withdraw her hand from under mine, merely remarking sagely, ‘I thought you were.’
I was nettled. Too many people in the past few years had told me that I had the look of a married man. I was now the one who lifted my hand from hers.
‘Why do you say that?’ I demanded.
She gave that soft, sweet laugh that made the hairs rise on the nape of my neck.
‘Don’t be offended,’ she chided gently. ‘It was meant as a compliment. Anyone as handsome as you are is almost certainly bound to be married. Are you faithful to your wife?’
‘Of course.’
She rose from her seat and began to stack the dishes. ‘There’s no of course, Roger. Lust may be one of the seven deadly sins, but it’s a sin practised in the very highest places. The King, I’ve heard, has many mistresses and when he tires of them, he passes them on to his friend, Lord Hastings. Is that true, do you think?’
I knew it was true, but refrained from saying so and turned the conversation into less dangerous byways. The day wore on and my hostess and I, by tacit consent, sat well apart from one another, on opposite sides of the parlour, making general small talk and watching the shadows lengthen. Twice, I took Hercules for a walk around the nearby streets and alleyways and on each occasion considered the advisability of returning to the New Inn and not going back to Cloister Yard. But neither time could I bring myself to be so discourteous to Mistress Gerrish. (Or, at least, that was what I told myself.)
Four o’clock came and with the hour suppertime, a meal every bit as appetizing as dinner had been. Curfew was called, candles were lit and still Robert Moresby had not returned.
‘Uncle must be staying the night with Master Harvey,’ Juliette said at last. ‘But don’t go, Roger. You can have his bedchamber. It’s foolish to pay good money when there’s room to spare here.’ She added with a mischievous twinkle in her beautiful brown eyes, ‘There’s a bolt on the inside of the bedchamber door. You can lock yourself in if you wish.’
I knew very well that I shouldn’t stay, that I should insist on leaving, but somehow or another, I didn’t have the will to do so. I even concurred with her suggestion that a bed of some straw and an old blanket should be made for Hercules in the kitchen. It was, under duress, where he slept at home, and although he gave me a reproachful look and a protesting bark, he nevertheless settled down and let me retire without further ado.
At the top of the stairs, Juliette wished me a prim goodnight before entering her own room and firmly closing the door. I did likewise in Master Moresby’s chamber, but after contemplating the bolt for several seconds, turned away and stripped off my clothes, shaking them thoroughly to get rid of the dust and fleas and dirt they had gathered along the road. A ewer of water and a basin had been placed on the chest alongside the big four-poster bed, with its crimson velvet hangings, together with an ‘all-night’ of bread and cheese and ale. I washed and fell into bed, sleep beginning to claim me almost as soon as I was engulfed by the goose feather mattress.
But not for long. I was drawn back from the borderland of sleep by the sound of the door latch being lifted. A soft voice spoke out of the darkness.
‘Roger?’
I rolled on to my back and stretched out a hand. Juliette slid into the bed beside me.
Eleven
Daylight brought guilt, rolling over me in great waves, as well as a feeling of satiety and pleasure. It was the first time in nearly four years of marriage that I had been unfaithful to Adela. I turned my head on the pillow and found Juliette already awake and staring at me with those large velvety brown eyes, brimful of penitent laughter.
‘Oh dear!’ she said, raising herself on one elbow and kissing me gently between the eyes. ‘I can see by your expression that you’re already regretting last night. And it was all my fault. I’ll be perfectly honest and admit that I was determined to seduce you the moment I saw you, but I really didn’t think it would cause you such grief.’
‘Not grief,’ I protested gallantly. ‘And I wouldn’t like you to think that it was anything but the happiest of experiences. Moreover, it wouldn’t have happened if your uncle had returned, as you expected …’
She laid a finger lightly on my lips.
‘I knew he was absent for the night,’ she admitted. ‘He never intended coming home until this morning. I lied to you, Roger, I’m afraid.’ She gave a rueful, lopsided grimace. ‘Are you very angry with me?’
The trouble was that I couldn’t find it in my heart to be even mildly annoyed. I felt guiltier than ever. Later on, I would have to come to terms with these feelings and decide whether or not I was going to tell Adela the truth, but for the moment all I was aware of was Juliette’s soft body close to mine and the desire to make love to her again. She knew even before I did what I wanted and was in my arms almost as soon as the thought had formed in my mind. The rest was inevitable.
It was well past dawn and the lifting of curfew when we finally got out of bed and Juliette returned to her own chamber. She brought me hot water to shave with and directed me to the pump in the walled enclosure behind the house, and by the time I had finished dressing, a tempting smell of bacon and fried wheaten cakes was coming from the kitchen. Following my nose, I found Juliette with a skillet in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, standing over the open fire, her cheeks delicately flushed, while Hercules sat up and begged in what he knew to be his most engaging fashion.