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They were silent until they reached the walkway. Here Baldwin let his breath gush out in a long sigh. ‘I am glad you were there. That was close.’

Simon looked down towards the river far below. ‘A nasty drop. You should be careful in case you find Sir Peregrine behind you one dark night.’

Baldwin grunted, standing with his hands on the battlement and peering down with a puzzled frown.

‘What is it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked.

‘What in God’s name could William have done or known that made his death necessary?’

Behind them, hidden in the shadows of the staircase, Toker watched and listened with Perkin. Speaking in an undertone, Toker said, ‘That bastard knight from Furnshill is too interested in the sailorboy’s death.’

‘You want me to slip a knife in his back?’ Perkin asked seriously, measuring the distance over the yard.

‘While the bailiff’s there? Don’t be bloody stupid! No, we’ll leave them alone for now. But I don’t want the whoreson to keep asking questions about the place.’ He considered. ‘I’ll follow him tomorrow and see what he gets up to. And then, if he carries on asking about the sailorboy, we’ll kill him.’

Chapter Eighteen

Jeanne chose not to join them to witness the inquest. She had come all the way to Tiverton with a view to visiting St Giles’s Fair, and if her husband now intended questioning a number of people about a possible murder, Jeanne was content to leave him to it. She returned to store the spices in their room, kissed him, and begged that he should not spend too long at the inquest, but when he asked that she should take Edgar with her if she did walk about the Fair, she agreed happily. She knew Edgar was a useful judge of cloths and trinkets.

When about to leave they saw Wat in the yard watching sulkily as Petronilla fed her child watched by another young mother. Wat jumped up at the sight of his mistress and Edgar, and his expression of desperate eagerness made Jeanne relent. She agreed that he and Petronilla should join her, and Petronilla smiled, passing her boy to the other maid and refastening her tunic while Stephen gurgled happily.

The Fair was only a short distance from the castle and they were soon past the toll-booth and in among the shouting, excited populace. Flags fluttered from strings, children walked about with sugar sweets, mothers gripping their hands as they peered from one stall to another; men chewed pies or drank ale; hucksters of all kinds bawled their wares; scruffy dealers offered dubious goods half-visible within baskets or concealed under their coats while shiftily looking about for the watchmen of the Fair’s court; and all about them were women and children munching on roasted fowclass="underline" thrushes, starlings, fieldfares and larks.

At one meat stall Jeanne allowed her empty stomach to direct her. She selected five honeyed larks for herself and Petronilla at one and a half pennies. A board demanded another one and a half pennies for the ‘Fire, paste and trouble’ to put them into coffins, and she asked him to put them all into a pie. Wat and Edgar shared three plump pigeons for another twopence-halfpenny.

Jeanne threw occasional glances at her maid. Petronilla appeared to have forgotten her trial of the day before. Fresh-faced, happy, calm, she looked as if she had never imbibed to excess. In comparison Jeanne felt like a doddery old woman; her head was light, her back ached, and someone appeared to have sanded the interior of her eyelids – all because she had sat up half the night with Edgar to make sure Petronilla didn’t vomit and suffocate.

Although the Fair was not of the same dimensions as the one at Tavistock, where Jeanne had first met Baldwin, Tiverton had a respectable mix of goods for sale and she was soon immersed in the relative merits of the silks and velvets on offer.

Edgar too eyed the various materials. His wife-to-be was becoming demanding, now that he had put off their wedding day for so long, and a good fur trimming or piece of fine linen might soothe her impatient breast. He wasn’t sure, but he was wondering whether she was the right woman for him after all.

He was so used to being a bachelor that the thought of having a woman in his home was daunting – all the more so since he had been granted the opportunity of seeing how a woman could affect a household. Watching Jeanne move through Baldwin’s hall and alter tapestries, throwing out all the older and tattier ones, discarding chairs, replacing all Baldwin’s comfortable white tunics with brightly coloured cloths made Edgar look askance at the idea of a woman in his life. He wasn’t sure he could cope with it.

And there was always the temptation of other women. Edgar had always been attracted, and proved attractive to, women of all kinds. Cristine was a lovely woman – tall, slender, fair, with a caustic wit and an intellect that often made men quail before the lash of her tongue. She made Edgar laugh, and when he was with her, he was happy, but when they were apart, like now, he found himself thinking of other women.

And not only when he was away from Furnshill. He was just as sorely tormented there as well, especially now that Petronilla had come from Throwleigh. She too was tall, slim and fair, and when he looked at her, with her gentle manner and soft speech, he was struck by the difference between her and Cristine. The comparison was not favourable to Cristine.

It was a difficult business and Edgar was swiftly coming to the conclusion that he would be happier if he were to stick to the oath of chastity he had made as a Templar.

Unfortunately, he had sworn his hand to Cristine. He eyed a small selection of furs. Petronilla was roughly the same complexion as Cristine, he reminded himself, and he gauged the colour of the furs against her colouring: red-gold hair and blue eyes – although Cristine’s flesh was paler than Petronilla’s since the tavern-girl spent so many hours indoors.

Catching a glimpse of his expression, Petronilla felt an anxious thrill. Since first meeting Edgar she had felt a warmth in his presence, but after his rescue from the overly-ardent Coroner she had become aware of something stronger – a feeling of security. But she knew it was wrong. Edgar was already betrothed to another woman. Although she was personally quite sure that she would be better for him than some common alehouse wench, she could not escape the fact that she had an illegitimate child.

That fact could make her weep. It made her look as common and foolish as a tavern-girl. Certainly she had always thought it would prevent Edgar from looking at her, but now she was struck with the thought that he might reciprocate her feelings, and she was aware of a nervousness. Edgar was so worldly-wise and dashing, she was sure that she’d be an embarrassment to him.

She moved nearer to Jeanne as if feeling the need for support. Edgar was an enormously good-looking man, but she daren’t encourage him. Unhappily aware that he was watching her, she was also aware of a guilty sympathy for Cristine. Petronilla had lost the father of her baby and felt for any woman who had her man stolen from her; she didn’t want to inflict the same suffering on Cristine.

It was while Petronilla was miserably trying to convince herself that she could live contentedly without Edgar that Jeanne drew their attention to a large bolt of blue velvet. Petronilla and Jeanne fingered it, adding to the grubbiness of the material’s edge, but Petronilla was aware only of Edgar standing so close beside her that she could practically feel the heat of his body. His proximity made her shudder with longing.

Avicia Dyne walked through the Fair with a sense of unreality as she took in the noise, the bustle and the cheerful shouting all about her. It seemed incomprehensible to her that people could be capable of enjoying themselves when such an appalling injustice had occurred. To her the death of her brother was so hideous as to blot out any comprehension of pleasure. She saw people laughing and grinning, but all she recognised was the inane gambolling of apes.