‘If the King himself supports the Despensers, my choice is made,’ Baldwin said steadily.
‘Sir Baldwin, I beg you to consider whether it is better that the King should be supported by a council of wise advisers, with decisions agreed by all for the fair government of the land, or that the King should be led by the nose by an avaricious devil like Despenser!’
Baldwin smiled. ‘Is it better that a man should forget his oaths of loyalty to his King or abide by them?’
‘In this case we should be upholding the King’s power and authority, protecting him from advisers who would destroy the peace of his realm. By defending him against the evil advice of the Despensers, we should–’
‘Yes, I understand the drift of your argument. I shall have to consider your words.’
‘And you, Bailiff – what would you do?’
‘Me?’ Simon asked with surprise. ‘I have no idea. After all, I am no knight.’
‘Ah, but you could be! There are fines for those who can afford to take up their knighthood and who do not. Perhaps you ought to be a knight.’
‘If I were a knight, I would obey the man to whom I owed allegiance,’ Simon said. ‘To do otherwise would be to earn the title “Traitor”.’
Sir Peregrine smiled thinly. ‘Is that what the Despensers have led us to already? A man who wishes to save the realm is now to be termed a traitor to his King?’
Baldwin met his gaze. ‘Someone who has given his oath to his King would certainly be a traitor if he went over to another man.’
Sir Peregrine appeared irritated by his coolness. ‘I hope you aren’t implying that I have broken my vow?’
‘Certainly not.’
Sir Peregrine’s face did not reflect satisfaction with Baldwin’s response. ‘Do you think I killed Sir Gilbert then? That was what you implied in the hall.’
‘I implied nothing, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘I was speculating on what could have happened, nothing more.’
‘You can stop speculating about me at once!’ Sir Peregrine said, colouring. He realised straightaway that he had over-reacted but couldn’t stop himself. He had lost the sense of ease and calmness which lying with Felicity had given him and the knowledge that Emily was dead was a rasp across his sore nerves. He tapped his foot, avoiding Baldwin’s eye. ‘What’s that blasted dog doing?’
Aylmer had crossed to the door to the tack-room and now stood growling. Baldwin shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s hungry.’
‘Well, if it keeps up this row, it’ll get his fill – of steel,’ Sir Peregrine said impatiently, fingering his sword hilt. Then he turned on his heel and stormed off to the stairs that led to the gatehouse.
Baldwin slowly walked over to the hound. The animal seemed nervous, not angry. He put out his hand to pat Aylmer’s head. ‘What is troubling you, old friend?’ He opened the door and Aylmer walked in stiffly, full of menace, crossing the room to a door at the far end, which he sniffed at carefully. Then he went to Sir Gilbert’s pile of clothes.
‘Is that it? You wanted to be close to your master’s things?’ Baldwin laughed.
Aylmer sat and watched the two men.
Simon glanced at Baldwin. ‘I fear you’ve succeeded in antagonising Sir Peregrine.’
‘I think we have learned quite a deal. Especially from Lord Hugh.’
‘What did we learn from him?’
Baldwin smiled at his disbelieving tone. ‘Simon, a man like Lord Hugh is trained to conceal much, but he did confirm that he had been expecting a messenger. And he did not reject my reasoning that pointed to Sir Gilbert being a messenger from Despenser.’
‘You think that takes us further?’
‘I am convinced that there has been a crime, that a murderer is free, and that Sir Gilbert died for a reason which has something to do with politics. Yes, I think that takes us further.’
He laughed, walking from the room. Simon shook his head, but followed him, closing the door behind him.
Aylmer sat a while longer, frowning suspiciously at the door. When he was sure that all was quiet, he stood, circled round his dead master’s belongings two or three times, then lay down with his head on his paws as if to sleep, but at every noise from the yard his eyes snapped open.
Later, Jeanne and Baldwin were leaving the hall with Simon after their meal when Jeanne saw Edgar at the far side of the court. She thought little of it at the time; she was too full of good humour to consider why her husband’s man should wave at her. In any case, it was late, she was weary and her bed was calling to her. Baldwin and she had to share their room with another couple but the thought of resting on her mattress was enormously appealing. She thrust her arm through her husband’s and smiled up at him.
‘Tired, my love?’ he asked.
She yawned in answer. ‘The journey was not so tiring as I had expected, but it is exhausting to have to meet so many people whom I have never seen before.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Especially when some of them are dead.’
‘It would be nice to be able to accept what the Coroner said,’ Simon said.
‘Very nice,’ Baldwin said scathingly. ‘But how can one trust that fool’s judgement? A man who thinks a Templar could have his knife stolen and be stabbed with it!’
‘Couldn’t he, though?’ Jeanne wondered. Her attention was wandering. Edgar had caught her eye again and now he gestured urgently, his lips pursed with concern. ‘Husband, excuse me a moment. I must see what Edgar wants.’
She left them speculating on the reasons for Sir Gilbert’s death and crossed the yard.
‘My Lady, I am very sorry to have interrupted you, but I thought it better that you should help than that I should call for another.’
‘Why, what is it, Edgar?’
‘Petronilla.’
She followed him out to a little storeroom. Inside she could hear drunken sobbing. Glancing at Edgar, she saw him nod slowly.
‘Something happened to her today,’ he said.
Jeanne muttered a curse and entered. Edgar followed more slowly. He felt unqualified to assist with the girl. He had seen how the Coroner had molested her, and was sure that the last thing the girl needed was another man offering her sympathy.
The two women soon appeared, Petronilla weeping and leaning on her mistress’s arm. Jeanne had to ask. ‘Edgar – are you responsible for this?’
Edgar blinked in shock, but it was Petronilla who threw out a hand in extravagant denial. ‘Of course it wasn’t Edgar, my Lady. He saved me from him. Edgar’s my hero.’
Jeanne sighed at the slurred voice. ‘Well, your hero can help me take you to your room. I can’t get you there alone in this state.’
She was right. Edgar took one arm while Jeanne kept hold of the other, but even then it was hard to half-carry Petronilla back to the women’s rooms where she was supposed to be sleeping. In the end Jeanne stopped, breathless. ‘Edgar, if we get her to the room she’ll wake everyone else. Help me put her in the hayloft. She can sleep there the night. Then you go and tell Baldwin that I’ll stay with her most of the night, and see the child’s nurse. Stephen must stay with her tonight, not Petronilla.’
Soon they were hauling her up the small staircase to the low loft.
‘It’s love that matters,’ Petronilla declared as Edgar shoved her rump upwards.
Jeanne pulled her arms, snarling, ‘There’ll be little love around here if you aren’t silent, my girl.’
‘My little son loves me,’ Petronilla continued, throwing her hand out emphatically and nearly sending the three of them back down the ladder.
Snatching at her wrist Jeanne spoke through gritted teeth. ‘That’s fine because right now your mistress certainly doesn’t!’
‘He loves his mama. Not that Coroner, though, the filthy bastard!’
Edgar pushed but the girl was resisting. Glancing up he saw that Lady Jeanne was near the end of her tether; he made a quick decision. Stepping back, he allowed Petronilla to topple a little. As she gave a short squeak of alarm, he set his shoulder to her waist and caught her about the knees, climbing quickly up the ladder and depositing her giggling in a thick pile of hay. She rolled over and tried to stand. ‘Again! That was fun.’