The Traitor of St Giles

Chapter Twenty-One

While Matilda wept for the daughter she had now lost for ever, a fire burned brightly in a small cottage four miles away.

Harlewin smiled at the naked treasure before him. He had ridden here as quickly as he could in order to sample the delights of Cecily’s body, and seeing her here was enough to justify his urgency.

‘It was a work of brilliance to say that a man had fallen in a well,’ he laughed as he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

She twined her hair around a finger. ‘It seemed the best means of rescuing you from the interminable feasting. Was John there?’

‘Yes, and he looked daggers at my back when I left,’ Harlewin said and dropped her onto the bed.

She squealed with delight. ‘The fool! So long as he never knows for sure that we’ve met.’

Harlewin let his sword belt fall to the ground, his fingers pulling at the laced neck of his shirt. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I hate the thought of him taking a switch to your arse or belting you.’

‘Oh, you really would mind that, wouldn’t you?’ she said, reaching up and touching his face with her soft fingers.

‘Course I would,’ he returned gruffly, untying his hose from his tunic and letting them drop beside his shirt. ‘If he hurt you, I ’d challenge him.’

‘To a duel?’

‘Of course.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘I must confess to a certain surprise that you don’t seem to be scared he might find out about you.’

‘That’s easily answered.’ Her face lost a little of its gaiety and in its place she wore a colder, more calculating expression. He had never seen such a look on her face before and it made him pause a moment. ‘I am scared that he could find out. That is why I am very, very careful. He isn’t that bright, and provided I carry on being careful I should be safe enough.’

‘You’d have thought the dumb bugger would have got the message, wouldn’t you, eh?’ Harlewin said. He tugged his tunic over his head and threw it to the ground.

‘Not really, no. I can be devious when I want,’ Cecily said, pulling a long tress of her black hair to her mouth and sweeping it in teasing flicks over her lips and chin while she watched him. ‘I usually make sure he’s busy before I come out.’

‘What about tonight? He’ll be back after the feast and wonder where you’ve got to – especially since he knows I left the place early,’ he said, kicking away the last of his clothes and climbing into the bed beside her.

‘You have your alibi arranged?’

‘Yes. The fool wouldn’t dare cross me,’ he said, and nuzzled at her breast.

She giggled and cupped his head to her but after a moment he pulled away and looked up at her.

‘But what will you say tomorrow when he asks you where you have been?’

‘My husband doesn’t trouble me in my bed of a night. I lock my door and my maid will tell him I am asleep if he knocks.’

‘He could knock the door down and see you aren’t there.’

She touched his lip with a finger, smiling. ‘No. He will return home drunk and bang on my door angrily demanding to see me. His rage will make his frustration and impotence all the more painful for him. Rather than cause more of a stir in the household, he will swallow any story. He can’t face confrontations, you see. My maid will tell him I am asleep and he will go to his own chamber and collapse in a furious stupor. Tomorrow I shall be back before he wakes. I’ll leave here before dawn.’

‘So long as you don’t doze off.’

‘Am I likely to get bored?’ she asked innocently.

Baldwin awoke with a head that thumped madly and a belly that rebelled at the very thought of food. His bladder demanded release, but he couldn’t stand. The mere thought was an exquisite torture.

It was not only that he had eaten too much rich food last night, it was the fact that it was so late at night. They had finished their meal long after he would usually have been in bed. Looking back on it, Baldwin was quite certain that the priest would not have had time to retire to bed before going to his church to hold the nightly services. They were supposed to be conducted at the middle of the night, after all, and by the time the meal was done it was close enough to the middle watches.

Perhaps he had drunk a little too much as well, he amended as a dagger of pain stabbed at his temple.

‘How are you?’ Jeanne asked at his side.

He grunted. There was sympathy in her voice, but a certain tartness indicated that where he had passed an uncomfortable night, his movements and snoring had ensured that she suffered a sleepless one.

‘Do you want some wine?’ she asked, motioning to the jug on the chest.

‘Yes. A small pot, with water.’ He felt hot and shivery. The muscles of his hand wanted to clench for some reason and his stomach rumbled and hissed. It was some time before he could rise, not so much because of his head, but more because of his stomach. The thought of breaking his fast made him nauseous. Miraculously the wine helped.

‘You look dreadful,’ Jeanne observed. She had risen from the bed and covered her nakedness with a thin robe, standing near the window.

They were alone now. The other couple using the room must have already risen. He wondered whether they too had slept badly. With him as a neighbour he assumed they had.

‘Thank you, my Lady,’ he said and sipped. The wine slipped down more pleasantly than he would have expected.

Jeanne stood with the sun behind her, filtering through the thin gauzy material of her night-gown and showing her body beneath. Baldwin swallowed, feeling better after the wine. His smile grew broader and he patted the mattress beside him. ‘Lady, there is a comfortable bed here. We didn’t make good use of it last night, but now…’

‘Oh, no, Baldwin. We can’t. The household is up. They’d know.’

‘My wife, that doesn’t concern me,’ he said, stalking after her as she backed away.

‘Baldwin, we have to get dressed!’ she protested, but her voice was quiet and sounded on the brink of a giggle.

‘We shall get dressed,’ he murmured, adding, ‘later.’

‘What if someone should hear us?’

He caught an arm and tugged her towards him. She was trembling with laughter as he wrapped his arms about her, but then she kissed him slowly and he could feel the pace of her breathing alter. He picked her up and took her to the bed, settling her on the mattress before he slowly opened her robe.

‘Hurry, husband,’ she said and held out her arms to him. He went to her and as their lips touched he felt the blood pounding in his head.

It was matched by the pounding on the door. With a muttered curse Baldwin recognised Simon’s voice: ‘Baldwin, are you there? Are you awake?’

Jeanne froze, then was convulsed at the sight of the expressions that flew over her husband’s face: disbelief, shock, anger and finally, despair. ‘I think you should open the door, husband,’ she chuckled and pulled away from his embrace to hide behind a screen.

‘Baldwin? Wake up, man!’

Taking a deep breath, Baldwin went and unlocked the door.

‘That knight Furnshill and his friend Puttock the bailiff were here looking for you yesterday,’ Andrew said as he broke his bread and dipped a crust into his pottage.

Nicholas had been pouring himself a pot of thin ale, but on hearing his brother-in-law’s words he started and spilt it over the table. ‘Me? Why?’

‘Something to do with the death of another man. Sir Gilbert of Carlisle’s servant: the one who pointed us to where Dyne was in the woods.’

Nicholas set the jug down and shrugged. ‘We’ve told the Coroner all we know.’

‘They were asking about the night before that, too. Wanted to know where you were, what time you’d got in and so on.’

‘Did they say why?’ Nicholas enquired casually.

‘No.’

Their breakfast completed, Andrew said he would be going to the Fair to see how his stalls were doing. Nicholas said he would go along later, but in the meantime, he waited until Andrew had disappeared, then hurried to his roll of clothing in his chest near the hall’s doorway. Searching through it, he pulled out his old sword belt.

The blade was as clean and unmarked as when he had first been given it, almost twenty years ago now, in Lincolnshire, by a grizzled old warrior who had taken it from a Moor outside Acre. Nashki script ran along the fuller, saying, according to the older man, ‘Praise to God’ – although Nicholas had never learned Arabic or the strange letters that flowed over the metal like some kind of liquid fire. Now, as he studied the metalwork, he felt a little of his courage return. Any man who tried to make him out to be a heretic would have to fight him.

Putting the belt about his waist, he was tying the cords when his sister entered.

‘What are you doing with that? Has Andrew told you about Sir Baldwin?

He stood upright once more. With the comforting weight at his side, he felt more like a soldier-monk again, as if the mere carrying of his weapon reminded him of his duty and of honour. ‘I am preparing to meet with Furnshill. He’s learned about me from someone.’

Matilda went to a chair and, fell into it as she stared up at her brother. ‘He knows you were a Templar. He asked me yesterday – before the feast.’

Nicholas gazed at her. He had never confessed to her that he had stolen his money from the Order. She still believed that he had saved money while he was a Templar, as he had told her. Much of his wealth now was based upon the shrewd investment of his money and hers, but it was all founded upon his theft.

‘What will you do?’ she asked, worried by his anxious but determined mien.

He gave a slow, sad smile. The money he had taken was legally the King’s. If he was discovered, Nicholas knew he would die. ‘I have no idea what I should do, Matilda. No idea at all.’

In the roadway, Felicity saw Andrew and then Nicholas leave the house. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘You have to come with me now and tell your story, if you want to hear what really happened to your brother.’

Avicia nodded, but she was still unsure why they had come. ‘I just don’t understand why we’re here. If, like you say, Andrew Carter is not particularly bothered about his daughter’s murder, what good can it do, me saying that Philip was innocent?’

For answer Felicity led the way over the road to Andrew Carter’s door and knocked.

‘But he’s gone! We just saw him,’ Avicia protested, more confused than ever.

As the door opened and Rose peered out, Felicity pushed the door wide. ‘Tell Mistress Matilda that Felicity would like to speak with her.’ She paused, and an unpleasant smile transformed her features. ‘And if she asks who I am, tell her I’m Felicity the Whore and I know who really killed her daughter.’

It was the tapping at the door that woke him from his dreams.

Harlewin was drifting delightfully. With Cecily warm, soft and plump at his side, he saw no need to waken. His eyes opened once, took in the little room, the fire now dead in the hearth, the packed earth floor without even rushes, the chest owned by the miller. The only item of value was this, the miller’s bed, which Harlewin himself had bought for the man and his family. Harlewin wanted a good bed when he came here to sleep with his woman. It was a small price to pay, the fact that the miller and his family slept in it all the time Harlewin wasn’t here. When the Coroner wanted the place, the miller and his brood went and slept in the mill itself.

Closing his eyes, he was annoyed to hear the tapping again. ‘Bugger off!’ he roared.

His bellow made Cecily jump, and before she could properly open her eyes and take in the sight of him, he closed them again with kisses while his hand rested first on her hip and then stroked its way down to her thigh. She moaned and rolled onto her back, and he felt her legs part slightly, just enough, and then snap together as her whole body went tense.

‘Come on, my love,’ he whispered, ‘let’s just–’

‘Christ bollocking Jesus!’ she blurted.

He blinked, startled, and gazed down at her. ‘What on earth…?’

‘I fell asleep, you fat twerp! My husband!’ she snapped and leaped from the bed grabbing at clothing, pulling her tunic over her head and letting it settle anyhow, before drawing a shift over it. In the chest she kept a change of clothing, and now she went to this and pulled out various dresses and skirts, muttering to herself all the while. ‘God! That I should be so stupid! How could I have fallen asleep? I must be a complete fool! He’ll want an explanation this time.’

Harlewin leaned on his arm and watched as she pulled on a skirt and patted it smooth, then a clean shirt, cotte and surcoat. ‘How do I look?’

‘Fine, once your hair is done.’

The miller’s daughter shyly obeyed Cecily’s bellowed command and Harlewin watched while the two worked swiftly to repair the damage of the previous night, and then the red-faced maiden was sent out. Cecily quickly went to his side and patted his cheek.

‘You should have covered yourself. She hardly knew where to look.’

He grinned widely. ‘I thought she knew exactly where to look!’

‘Don’t make the poor girl jealous for things she can’t touch.’

He kissed her.

‘You should be gone.’

‘Yes. You will be careful?’

‘Don’t think of me,’ he said, and his brow creased. ‘You make sure you’re safe from that husband of yours.’

Edgar could see that his master was not of a mood to tolerate jesting. He quickly sent Wat away to fetch wine and Petronilla for bread and cold slices of meat: a simple diet to help his master’s head.

Baldwin sat at a bench and sourly eyed the folk about the room. Two men who had drunk more than was usual for them were still snoring near the fire, but most guests had risen earlier when the servants appeared to begin preparing the place for the new day. Lord Hugh had eaten in his chamber, Edgar told Baldwin, and the knight grunted his jealousy. Edgar smiled and left his master to his meal.

Simon chewed happily on an old mutton bone he had found in the kitchen and took a pint of ale, smacking his lips and giving a loud grunt of appreciation as he finished.

‘Have you no feeling of queasiness when you think of what you ate last night?’ Baldwin asked.

‘It was good food, wasn’t it?’ Simon said happily.

At Baldwin’s side Jeanne snorted. ‘I’m surprised you can remember it, the way you sank so many pots of wine.’

‘It was good wine!’ Simon protested defensively. ‘Baldwin liked it too. Why shouldn’t a fellow take a little wine with his food? A man has to drink!’

‘Man has to breathe; fishes need to drink,’ Jeanne noted caustically.

‘I find both help,’ Simon said cheerfully. ‘Do you want that fat?’

Baldwin winced as Simon stabbed the thick, yellow pork fat that he had left at the edge of his trencher. Simon studied it closely: it was crisp and burned at the outside, and he beamed as he put it in his mouth. ‘Ah, good, that!’

‘Shall we go?’ Baldwin said, standing.

‘Nothing more to eat?’ Simon asked hopefully.

Baldwin looked at him.

Matilda remained in her chair when the two girls were shown in, and waved an imperious hand to halt them some few feet from her.

Avicia felt overawed by this woman, who wore on the fingers of one hand more wealth than Avicia could ever hope to earn. The house itself was magnificent, as she would have expected. Large, imposing, with a multitude of small decorative works carved into the beams and lintels, she could only gawp around her in awe. It was far finer than the Shermans’ place.

The lady herself was different. She was the picture of depression. Looking into her eyes Avicia could see her own misery reflected. One woman mourning the loss of her daughter, the other the loss of her brother; both had lost their own flesh.

‘Is this some sort of a joke, Felicity?’ Matilda said at last. ‘You bring me the sister of the man who murdered my daughter on the pretence that I might learn something?’

‘The wrong man was killed,’ Felicity said flatly.

‘I am supposed to take your word for it?’ Matilda sneered.

‘Your husband had me thrown from the house. Do you know why?’

‘You were a nuisance. He told me you were sleeping with the men in the yard. A common whore!’

‘I am now. I had no choice when your fine husband threw me from here. But when I lived here, I had only one lover: your fine husband.’

‘Rubbish! Rose!’ Matilda shouted. ‘These women wish to leave.’

Felicity turned to the pale girl. ‘Oh, it’s Rose now, is it? He’s been after you, hasn’t he?’

Rose coloured, and her head dropped in shame.

Matilda opened her mouth to offer a snide comment, when something in the maid’s demeanour caught her attention. ‘What do you mean? Rose? Are you all right?’

Felicity turned back to face her. ‘Can’t you see it yet? Your husband always picks the best of the maids, the youngest, the most impressionable, the most appealing, and takes them. Haven’t you realised? Are you blind?’ She stepped towards the seated woman and held out her hands in appeal. ‘Andrew Carter, your husband, forces any maid in the house who takes his fancy to share his bed. That’s what he did with me, and by the time he was finished with me, what else could I do? He ruined me.’

‘Well? And what of it?’ Matilda said proudly. ‘He is a man, and we women all know what men are like. But he is also my husband and the head of my family, and as such I owe him my loyalty. Perhaps he does sleep with my maids – well, he wouldn’t be the first man to do that – and if he does, there’s little harm in it.’

‘ “Little harm!” ’ Felicity repeated with disbelief. ‘Look at me! He made me what I now have become, a used woman, a whore, a common stale – you call this nothing? He has taken my life. I could have been happy, could have married a good man and raised my own daughters…’

‘You still might – if you can find a man who can forgive you your sinfulness.’

‘It is not my sins but his that need forgiveness. Do you remember how long ago your husband made me leave?’

Matilda shrugged. ‘Years.’

‘Yes. Six years ago. That was when he threw me over for his new lover.’

‘What has this to do with me? Are you merely boasting to upset me?’ Rising, Matilda made as if to walk from the room.

‘It was six years ago he took your daughter for the first time.’

‘NO!’ Matilda gasped. She fell back into her chair, a hand flying to her mouth. There was a seething motion to the room. She was sure that the walls were moving as if about to tumble down, but she couldn’t look at them; her attention was fixed upon the woman before her. ‘No,’ she said again, and this time she shook her head in denial.

‘He raped me, then went on to Joan. That was why he had her installed in the servants’ quarters, so she wouldn’t be missed from your chamber when he called her.’

‘No. He couldn’t… He wouldn’t…’

‘He took her every night, and when she found her own lover, a man who adored her, your husband grew scared. He didn’t want her to tell her man what he had been doing to her all those years. She may only have been his step-daughter, but the Church frowns upon a man who takes advantage in that way. He is still guilty of incest.’

Matilda swallowed. There was a feeling of weakness in her legs and she couldn’t trust them to support her if she were to try to stand. Her heart was pounding painfully as if it would soon break free from her breast. There was a thick sensation in her throat as though a ball had lodged there, and her head spun. It felt as if she were whirling around, weightless and formless.

‘And not only the Church would want to see him punished. Can you imagine how Joan’s husband would feel if he heard later that his bride was already deflowered, and by her own father? He would want his revenge.’

‘Air… It is so hot… Open the shutters,’ Matilda wheezed. It felt as though there was an iron band about her breast, slowly squeezing the air from her lungs.

Felicity sent the maid for wine, walked to the window and opened the shutter wide. By the time she was done, Rose was back, bringing Clarice with her.

As soon as she saw her mistress, panting and gasping, she threw a bitter look in Felicity’s direction. ‘Couldn’t you have saved her from this? What good will it do to ruin her life now?’

Felicity watched as Clarice took a little wine in a bowl and used it to dab Matilda’s temples, murmuring all the while, ‘Come now, mistress. Don’t worry what the whore says. She will soon leave us and you can go and rest, and then we’ll–’

Thrusting her arm aside, Matilda stared into her face. ‘Is it true?’

‘What, mistress?’ Clarice asked, but Matilda read the answer in her frightened eyes.

Felicity walked to Rose’s side. ‘Don’t ask me, don’t ask Clarice: ask Rose. Ask her when your husband first started taking an interest in her. When did he first demand she should join him in his bed?’

‘Rose, come here!’ Matilda said.

The girl stepped forward slowly, reluctantly, her head hanging so low her chin almost touched on her breast.

‘Tell me, Rose. Has he told you to join him in his room?’

‘Mistress, I never wanted to!’ Rose burst out. ‘He just can’t keep his hands off me, not since your Joan died. Since then he’s wanted me almost every night, and when I tried to refuse, he told me to look at what happened to girls who turned him down.’

‘What did he mean by that?’ Matilda asked quietly.

‘He meant I’d become a whore like Felicity or…’

‘Or die like Joan,’ Felicity finished for her.