The Traitor of St. Giles

by Michael Jecks

  Jeanne’s touch drew him back to the present. ‘I hope we have a child soon,’ he said.

  Simon’s head was not too seriously bruised. He was shaken and feeble for two days but then he began to recover swiftly. On the fourth day after the attack he went to see Lord Hugh in his great hall. The castle was almost deserted; the larger part of the guests had left and Simon found Lord Hugh sitting on his favourite carved chair on the dais with Sir Peregrine alone for company. ‘You asked for me?’

  ‘Bailiff, thank you for coming. The physician tells me you are recovering swiftly. How does your head feel?’

  ‘I am fine now, I think. Good food and drink have helped me and your servants have all been most kind, I thank you.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ Lord Hugh said. Coming swiftly to his point, he jerked a thumb towards his companion. ‘Good Sir Peregrine here has suggested that you should be knighted, Bailiff. What do you think of that?’

  ‘I . . . I am most grateful, my Lord. It would be a great honour and privilege . . . um.’

  ‘But one you would be happy to forgo?’

  ‘My Lord, if I am to be honest, yes.’

  ‘Why, in God’s name?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

  ‘Sir you are trained in warfare. I am not. If I were to be made a knight, I would be expected to fight as a lance in the army – and I have no idea how to. I could be called to tournaments with other knights and forced to fight, and if I lost, I would lose everything. I am not trained for such a service. And there is another thing . . .’

  ‘Which is?’ Lord Hugh asked.

  ‘My Lord, I am conscious of the honour you do me, but surely I would be disloyal to my own master if I accepted a knighthood from any man other than he? My master is the Warden of the Stannaries, Abbot Champeaux of Tavistock. If I accepted a knighthood from you, you could call me away to wars in your host when my own legitimate lord wished me to remain with him or join his army. How could I do that to him?’

  ‘A splendid argument, Bailiff!’ Lord Hugh slapped his thigh, but Simon noticed that Sir Peregrine looked at him with a bleak distaste in his eyes.

  Lord Hugh ceased laughing after a moment. ‘There is another matter, Bailiff, on which I wished to canvass your opinion. The jewels that you and your friend Sir Baldwin deposited with the Coroner. They were clearly intended for me. What do you think I should do?’

  Simon looked up into his shrewd eyes. ‘That is something I think is easily decided. The money is the King’s. It was found in a Templar chapel and before that was being carried by a Templar. All their possessions were confiscated by the King, so this too must go to him.’

  ‘It is a small fortune!’ Sir Peregrine growled.

  ‘A King’s ransom,’ Simon agreed.

  Lord Hugh appeared to have lost his amusement. ‘You don’t think I can claim it as my own?’

  ‘You could try to appeal in court and prove that it was yours, my Lord.’

  ‘Appeal against the King?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘As matters stand, I do not see you have any choice.’

  Lord Hugh nodded, his face sour. ‘Very well. I thank you for your advice anyway.’

  It seemed that the meeting was over, and Simon walked out to the sunshine with relief at having escaped so easily. Things could have gone very differently and he could have been forced to become a knight. Not a pleasant propect.

  Baldwin and Jeanne were outside in the yard, walking arm-inarm, Sir Gilbert’s surviving dog following them. Simon looked at the hound but forbore to ask. He knew that his friend inevitably attracted dogs of all types and assumed that this was the latest of Baldwin’s acquisitions.

  ‘Is the case all tied up?’ Simon grunted after greeting his friends.

  ‘I think so. We know why Sir Gilbert was killed, why we were attacked and why William was killed. Coroner Harlewin is waiting the arrival of the justices as are the two men who survived from Toker’s gang.’

  ‘Apart from Owen, you mean?’

  ‘He has already joined Lord Hugh’s retinue. As an archer he leaves something to be desired, but he would be a good man-at-arms in a host.’

  ‘How is John Sherman?’ Jeanne asked.

  ‘I believe he has left his wife to go and live in Exeter. His wife remains here. Whether she will be happy is a different matter. I believe she truly cared for Harlewin, her lover.’

  ‘I wonder what will happen to Avicia?’ Jeanne continued more thoughtfully. ‘She has no protector at all in the town with her brother dead.’

  ‘One can only hope she doesn’t turn to the same trade as Felicity,’ her husband said. ‘The same thing could be said about Andrew Carter’s servants. His wife has turned them all from the house.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Simon mused. ‘To learn that her husband had raped and murdered her daughter . . . it must have been appalling for her.’

  ‘And for Nicholas too,’ Baldwin reminded him. ‘It was he who introduced Carter to his sister. He was responsible for his niece’s death.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Where is Edgar?’ he asked suddenly.

  Baldwin looked at him coldly. ‘He is with Petronilla.’

  ‘Your maid?’ Simon asked innocently, and then a grin slowly spread over his face. ‘You don’t mean . . .?’

  Jeanne was unimpressed by his amusement. ‘It’s no laughing matter if he breaks his promise to Cristine.’

  Baldwin nodded, but he had been struck with a sudden, delightful thought. ‘It would be very bad if he were to do that. I would have to make sure that he was made aware of our feelings,’ he said seriously, but as he spoke he could not help thinking that if his servant was to marry Petronilla instead, Edgar could remain in the manor.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t help the grin from breaking out over his face.

  Edgar’s release was much easier than Baldwin could have expected; to Jeanne’s mind much easier than Edgar deserved. Cristine took his announcement and apology with stoical calm, a fact which caused Edgar no little hurt, having expected tears and protestations of eternal devotion. He had never before known a woman who had so willingly given him up, and it made him resentful.

  Not, however, as resentful as he became a week later when he heard that she had married another man, one of the ostlers at the inn where she worked.

  ‘I expect she took him on the rebound,’ he remarked to Baldwin a short time after he heard.

  Baldwin took in his piqued expression with amusement. ‘You arrogant bugger!’

  It was largely at Jeanne’s prompting that Edgar and Petronilla were wed at the church door. Lady Jeanne was a sensible, cautious and worldly woman where Edgar was concerned. She knew that he was sleeping with her maid and she was satisfied in her own mind that the two had exchanged their vows and wanted to fix that thought hard in Edgar’s philandering mind.

  But the day was good, she had to admit to herself afterwards. The sun shone brilliantly, if coldly, for once in that miserable, damp December, and the two hurried inside the church with the guests to warm themselves with prayers and blessings once the formal oath-making was done. Baldwin had arranged for a feast afterwards, and when the wedded couple entered his hall for the meal set out for their celebrations, Baldwin had been quite touched to see Petronilla dissolve in tears of pure joy.

  For once Wat managed to avoid ending up repellently drunk, which was a relief to Baldwin, the food was suited to the knight’s plain taste, and he was pleased to see how all his servants appeared to enjoy themselves. The season of hardest work was done, the winter-time now called for rest until the first Monday after Epiphany, Plough Monday, when the ploughmen would begin the annual round of work with their teams of oxen.

  Baldwin sat back and covered a belch. His wife threw him a reproachful look, but it faded when she saw his happiness. Her man was happy and content, and she felt a sudden warm affection for him which prevented the sharp comment about politeness at the table which had threatened. Instead she put her hand upon his and smiled. He saw her reflective, gentl
e smile, but simply thought she had drunk too much wine.

  It was the very next morning that the news filtered down to them.

  Baldwin and Edgar sat in the hall while women brushed and swept around them. Aylmer yelped as he was caught over the nose with a besom, and retreated to the kitchen where he hoped to be able to rest in a warm spot by the cooking fires.

  ‘Good day, Owen. How are you?’ Sir Baldwin said on catching sight of the Welshman as he entered.

  ‘Well, thank you, my Lord.’

  ‘And how is Sir Peregrine?’

  ‘He is more calm and relaxed than before, sir,’ Owen said, and a fleeting grin passed over his stolid features. ‘He is happier now he has a new woman. Felicity has left her whoring and is keeping a chamber for Sir Peregrine a short way from the gate.’

  His light-heartedness faded swiftly and Baldwin felt the sombre atmosphere sinking into his hall. ‘It looks bad, then?’ he asked, knowing that Owen hadn’t ridden all this way to tell him about Felicity.

  ‘Yes, Sir Baldwin. Sir Peregrine wanted to tell you that the clergy have declared the King’s banishment of the Despensers as illegal since it was extracted from him by force of arms.’

  ‘If they have, Despenser will soon be back breathing his poison in Edward’s ear.’

  ‘That’s what my master fears. The Marcher Lords will not submit to his extortion without a fight.’

  ‘So it means war.’

  ‘We have heard that the Younger Despenser is already back.’

  ‘Christ’s Blood! Hasn’t he done enough harm already?’ Baldwin demanded rhetorically. ‘I am sorry, I forget myself. You would care for some wine after your journey?’

  ‘Spiced and hot would be best.’

  Edgar left and Baldwin studied him. ‘Well, Owen, your scar has healed well.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I have your maid to thank for that,’ he said, a hand going to his cheek.

  ‘And I have you to thank for the fact that I am still alive. If you hadn’t let Edgar know, I could be dead now.’

  Owen looked away. ‘I couldn’t act like a common footpad. That was why my arrow intentionally mised you that day in the Templar village,’ he added.

  ‘Your survival was good enough reason – or so many others would have thought.’

  ‘Perhaps. But all ended well.’

  All ended well. Those were the words which Baldwin recalled later when Owen had gone to sleep in the stable and Baldwin, shivering, pulled the linen curtains around the bed.

  Jeanne lay back beneath the sheets and blankets with a faraway look in her eyes. A short while before Owen appeared, Baldwin had told her of his position in the Templars and, rather to his surprise, she had been dismissive about it. Now he eyed her nervously, wondering if she had been silent from horror.

  His wife was still silent, not meeting his gaze even when he slipped between the sheets himself and put out an arm towards her. She hesitated before wriggling towards him.

  ‘Your feet are like ice!’ she exclaimed.

  He glanced down at her impatiently. ‘What do you expect?’

  ‘I could have wished for a husband who warmed his feet before entering his Lady’s bed.’

  ‘Be glad you have a husband who pulls your curtains for you,’ he growled, and let his hand move along her soft flank.

  ‘Not tonight, Husband. I am tired.’

  As she spoke, young Stephen began to cry and Baldwin swore. He made as if to rise, but then studied her anxiously. ‘Are you sickening for something?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no.’

  He drew away and looked into her face, his own anguish apparent. ‘Is it because of what I told you? You don’t regret marrying me, now you know what I used to be?’

  Jeanne stared a moment, then closed her eyes and shook silently with humour. When she opened them again, she reached up and kissed him. ‘You clot! I love you.’

  He kissed her back, radiating his confusion.

  ‘Baldwin, dearest. I am tired because I am pregnant. You are to be a father.’

  In the hall, Aylmer’s head shot up at the cry from his new master’s room and he stared fixedly at the ceiling as he heard Baldwin leap from the marital bed and perform a thunderous impromptu dance on the bare boards overhead. Then, when silence reigned once again, the animal stretched luxuriously in front of the fire, scratched at a flea on his neck and settled for the night.