The service done, William avoided his father’s company. Sir John was too serious and besides, William needed a drink to soothe the bruises and strains from his fall. William left Sir John at the church door and went to join his friends. Nick had already drunk a fair amount, but he’d made himself sick and now he was ready for more. William was a little wary, thinking that he’d do well to keep his head and avoid too much wine or ale, but he was thirsty and the prospect of a quart of Lord Hugh’s ale proved too tempting.
They walked to the buttery and stood at the bar. It was hellishly hot in there, with the heat from candles and oil-lamps adding to the fug and odour of sweat from the servants who had worked all day in the sun on Lord Hugh’s lands. The warmth made the faces of the serving-boys glisten and run with moisture, and it wasn’t long before William felt the same.
At the bar, the group of young men ordered their drinks from a sweating pot-boy and took them outside to sit at a bench. Girls walked past and were leered at or respectfully acknowledged, depending upon their status. Serving wenches suffered if they approached too close to Nick, for his tunic stank of vomit, and he grabbed any who passed by.
‘You should bathe and change your clothes,’ William said as another girl screwed up her face in disgust and ran from Nick.
‘What’s the point? I’m going to drink a lot more before I collapse tonight. Sir Nick I become today. A knight! Hah! Give me two years and I’ll be a banneret, just you see,’ he said, trying to focus seriously on his friend.
William laughed. The ale made him glad to be alive. ‘And I’ll be Sir William. Here’s to the knights of Oakhampton, eh?’
They all raised their jugs and pots, and soon after Nick stared into his jug and grumbled that he needed a refill. His face was pale and gleamed in the light of the torches in the court, and William was unpleasantly persuaded that he was about to be sick.
Nick glanced about him. ‘Hey, you! Come here.’
Simon’s servant Hugh heard the summons but chose to ignore the beckoning finger.
‘I said come here, churl! Don’t disobey a knight unless you want to feel my boot up your backside,’ Nick growled, but even as Hugh hesitated, Nick bent over and spewed.
‘That’s better,’ he gasped, wiping his mouth.
‘You are revolting,’ William said with disdain. ‘Look at you. It’s no wonder you’ve no prospect of marriage.’
‘You think so? I could take any woman I wanted,’ Nick belched. ‘You! Fetch us more wine.’
‘I’m fetching wine for my master,’ Hugh mumbled, scowling at the ground.
William grinned. ‘Which woman could you take, then?’
‘Me? Well, none will be available tonight, but tomorrow… well, how about I take that little wriggle-arse from you? The one we saw in the crowds – with the angry father.’ He sniggered at the memory of Simon’s furious face.
‘Little Edith? Ah, I don’t know. I fear she prefers the subtle charms of a clean-living fellow like me.’
‘Bollocks! She’d rattle me happily enough.’
‘I’d wager a shilling you’d not take her with her permission,’ William said.
‘A shilling? It’ll make it all the more worthwhile.’
‘Only after I’ve had her, though. And then I’ll have to become chaste for my wife.’
‘Poor Alice,’ Nick laughed. ‘She doesn’t realise what she’ll miss in marrying you.’ He reached for his jug, recalled that it was empty and glowered around. ‘Where’s that poxy servant gone?’
William stood. ‘I’ll fetch more ale.’
It was still crowded in there. Servants who were finished with their day’s service in Lord Hugh’s fields or members of his household seeking their daily ration, all stood more or less patiently waiting to be served.
Hugh was leaving with three jugs of wine on a tray as William entered. The squire grinned. Right – ‘I’ll take those.’
‘You can’t. They’re for my master.’
‘Too bad. Go and get more for him. These will do for me.’
‘No.’
William drew himself up. ‘You do realise who you’re talking to, don’t you? I am a knight. So let go of that tray! If you want more wine, get it from the bar.’
‘Why don’t you fetch your own drinks?’
‘What is your name, fellow?’
‘Hugh.’
‘Well, Hugh. You go and get more wine from the bar. Because if you try to keep these, I’ll see you regret it.’
‘Something wrong, Will?’
Nick had thrust his face in through the door and was staring aggressively at Hugh.
‘No, it’s all fine,’ William said, taking the tray from Hugh’s reluctant hands.
Lady Helen Basset was late and she could already hear her husband’s remonstration, feel the harsh slap of his hand on her face, on her rump. He would be furious.
This time, for the first time, he would be justified. He must never know what she had been doing. Day-dreaming about the man she had once promised to marry, long before she had met Walter, wondering what Sir Edmund would have been like as a husband. A part of her quickened to see him, but as soon as he spoke, she realised he was too soft for her. Not a real, vibrant man like Sir Walter. No, she had made a better choice. All she felt for Edmund was a tolerant sympathy, like a sister might feel for a brother.
It was last night that she had gone to meet him – the first time they had been together since that terrible day when he had been captured and ransomed by Sir John. Helen had been close to refusing to go, she was so petrified that her husband might find out – but then she told herself that since she was only going to ease the spirit of a man who had once been her lover, it was a matter of simple duty.
Squire Andrew had spoken to her so respectfully, so persuasively, on his master’s behalf. Later, she had sneaked away with him, the squire cautiously scouting ahead, making sure that the coast was clear so her reputation couldn’t suffer, and checking all the time that they were not being followed. At the river he went ahead and sought a quiet place and then left, soon after sending Sir Edmund to her. He remained on guard just out of earshot, to prevent anyone approaching.
Sir Edmund had changed so much since that fateful afternoon six years ago at Crukerne, when his future was devastated in the tournament. After Sir John had captured him, he was ruined, completely. He couldn’t even afford a jug of wine. Sir John had taken everything – even the horse, which Sir Edmund had borrowed from a friend.
Helen was thrilled by his history: his escape to foreign lands, his apparent salvation when he found himself vassal to Earl Thomas, and finally his return to the West Country in search of a new master.
‘I thought you would wait for me,’ he told her.
‘How could I?’ she protested. ‘I had no idea where you had gone, nor for how long.’
‘So you wed the man who ruined me?’
His bitter tone had stung. ‘What would you have had me do? Wait for a man who might have been dead?’
‘No, my Lady, of course not.’
They had walked in silence then, she trying to think of something that would placate without patronising, while he scowled up at the castle.
‘I must return,’ she had said nervously at last. ‘My husband… ’
‘Oh, the hell with him! What of me?’
‘Edmund – I married Walter. I loved you, but that was a long time ago.’
‘So you do not love me any more, Helen?’ he had said with despair in his voice.
There was nothing she could do to ease Sir Edmund’s envy; he must grow accustomed to the fact that he could not possess her – but against her better judgement she had agreed to meet him again later, after tonight’s feast.
Helen hurried up the tunnel towards the castle’s main entrance and stood a moment to settle her breathing. Fitting a serene, innocent expression to her face, she made her way to the hall’s entrance.