Agnes had set upon marrying Ham from the first time she had met him, and this had been his house, with his parents. When Ham and she were wed, making their vows out in the pasture late at night after the midsummer feasts with five of their friends around to hear them, they had been only fifteen, both of them. It was frightening to leave her parents and come here, to be inspected by her father-in-law. But he was a kindly old man, and it was a black day when he died, Ham’s mother too a short time later.
Later, when her friend Alice married and left, she began to feel the first stabs of envy. Alice’s husband was an apprentice, but soon he took over the business, and the couple lived in luxury. Mild vexation grew to disgruntlement that her own husband could not provide so well.
Still, they had the house, and the land about here was abundant. Fruit grew thickly on the trees. The cider here was the best in the land, she swore, and no man need go hungry. They did not suffer hardship.
She saw that over the fireplace, hooked in the hole in the wood where the plaster had fallen away, was the old goosefeather which Ham had bought her for dusting and cleaning. It was a silly thing, just a length of feather, nothing more, and yet the sight of it was enough to make the tears flood her face. The feather held so many memories for her — of times when she and Ham had been happy, when Jen had been a little child. So many happy things to recall, and all now in the past. Ham had left her — had gone away to find a new life. She could almost wish she had been less shrewish.
‘Mother?’
Agatha opened her eyes and looked at her daughter. The girl was anxious, wishing to console, but sad too, to think that her father was gone — because Jen was no fool. Agatha held her arms open and embraced her daughter, and soon she was sobbing like a maid. The emptiness in the cottage, the anxiety about her husband, all conspired to bring her to an emotional collapse.
It was not that she feared he was dead. Rather that he was alive and well, and enjoying another woman.
‘I miss him so much!’ she wailed, and the sound of her despair scared her.
‘Mother, what did Father Luke mean? He said there was money. Papa had no money, did he?’
‘No, of course not.’ Agatha wiped her eyes. ‘Must have meant the purveyor.’
Jen blew her nose. ‘Why did Father Luke have to go with them?’
‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said. But now there was a vague memory. . She cast her mind back to that fateful day. Father Luke had approached her to ask where her husband was, hadn’t he, and a little later she had heard that the priest was joining Ham and the purveyor. Ham had said he must go to the church to fetch something before he and the purveyor left. The words he muttered made her think it was a heavy item belonging to the priest.
Heavy. Coin was heavy. Gold was heavy. Could it be that the priest had something valuable to carry? What could a priest have that was worth anything, she scoffed. But there was a niggling suspicion at the back of her mind. Was that why Father Luke was so determined to tell her nothing about Ham? Poor Ham! What had happened to him?
‘Ma?’ Jen said.
‘Don’t worry,’ Agatha said. ‘I think there’s something the Father forgot to tell us.’
Furnshill
Baldwin stared in astonishment. ‘At Kenilworth? They must have been mad!’
‘It was a bold attack, from all I have heard. No subtlety, just a simple assault. They almost reached Sir Edward, but then they were repulsed and several killed.’
‘And?’
‘And all the Keepers of the King’s Peace are expected to be alert for any signs of such malefactors in their areas, and should arrest all those who appear to have plotted or who may plot the escape of Sir Edward of Caernarfon, lately King of England.’
Baldwin nodded, but did not react. Sir Peregrine knew that Baldwin had been an enthusiastic supporter of the King. No matter. So had many others.
‘I shall be vigilant,’ he said.
‘Sir Baldwin, I am sorry, but I do not think you understand my mission. I was sent here by the guard at Kenilworth to ask you to join him.’
‘What? At Kenilworth, you mean?’
‘Yes. Sir Edward is to be taken away from that castle and installed in another. He is distressed. He believes his life is in grave danger, and he has asked that two men whom he can trust should go with him.’
‘Not I?’
‘I fear so.
Baldwin was about to sneer at his words, when he saw the sympathy in Sir Peregrine’s eyes. It was enough to stifle his response. ‘Aye, well.’
‘Not you alone, though. I believe you know Sir Ralph of Evesham?’
‘I do. He was with me when the King was captured. He and I were among the last knights in his service.’ Baldwin nodded his gratitude.
Sir Peregrine said nothing more, but both men knew that a fence had been leaped and both felt better for it.
It was obvious that Jeanne did not understand the undercurrent, but Baldwin could not explain. Not now.
King Edward II had been Baldwin’s King for these twenty years past. Oh, Baldwin knew that his monarch had been foolish occasionally, but Baldwin was an intensely loyal man, who felt the solitude of his royal master’s position keenly. Fractious barons, the Scots, and an inclination to unsuitable pursuits had all conspired to bring him low in the nation’s esteem. Even merchants and peasants felt ashamed of a King who liked to join fishermen, who enjoyed swimming and acting, rather than more regal past times. In the eyes of his peers, he was foolish.
However, during all the long years since Baldwin and Sir Peregrine had first met, Baldwin had known that Sir Peregrine desired the removal of King Edward’s adviser, Sir Hugh le Despenser. The latter was detested all over the realm, and yet Baldwin would not join with any plots to bring about such an outcome. He remained true to his oath.
That Baldwin had served his King was a source of pride, because he believed in the importance of oaths and he had given his word to his King freely; yet the realisation, when he was captured, that he could be executed along with any who sought to defend the King had forced him to look back on his life and reconsider some of the decisions he had made.
If he had died, his wife and children could have become destitute. It was not a thought which had troubled him before, because a man in full strength rarely considers his own destruction, but now, more and more, he was aware of this concern. He imagined his wife being evicted, probably raped and beaten before being thrown out on the road with only the sobbing of their children to accompany her.
He felt as though, in seeking to serve his King, he had betrayed his own family. He could not do that again.
Willersey
The way that he tried to scurry from the church as soon as his service was over was enough to convince her.
‘Father,’ Agatha called. ‘Father!’
He was already at the door, and seemed on the verge of bolting — but then she was at his side and he deflated like a punctured bladder.
‘I want to know the truth,’ she said grimly. ‘What has happened to him?’
‘Mistress, I don’t know,’ he protested weakly.
‘I don’t believe you!’ She thrust her face forward. ‘You wanted Ham to take something heavy, and so valuable that you didn’t dare leave it to him alone. You had to go with him, didn’t you? That’s what you were saying when you spoke yesterday. The money you mentioned, that Ham could have taken — did you put it on his cart?’
Luke stared past her towards the cross. He did not know whether to tell her all, or even a part of what had happened. Surely to divulge her husband’s flight would be more cruel than allowing her to think that she was widowed? She could forget her man, continue with her life — perhaps find another husband.
And that brought him up short. What if she did find another and came to him, her priest, to ask that he marry her again? He could not do so, not while he remained convinced that her husband was no more dead than he was himself. No! He must tell her the truth, and that right soon.