‘Mistress,’ Father Luke confessed quietly, averting his eyes, ‘I think that he stole my money and has fled.’
Furnshill
It was late that night when Jeanne heard her husband climb the stairs to their solar.
‘You are weary, Baldwin.’
She saw him grin at her as he reached over to set the candle on a spike by the doorway. ‘I admit it freely, my love. I am tired.’
‘Was it Sir Peregrine?’
‘The man exhausts me. His presence is a trial in its own right.’
‘He is a different man since his marriage.’
Baldwin looked at her. ‘No. He is the same man with a thin veneer of suavity.’ He sat and began to tug off his boots. ‘His marriage to Isabella has given him new interests, it is true, but his own desires were always concentrated on removing the Despenser from the heart of government. To achieve that, he knew that he must see the King replaced. Now that King Edward II has given up his throne and passed it on to his son, Sir Peregrine considers his function in the world achieved, and he is content. But he knows that my own loyalty will remain with the King anointed in the sight of God, and none other. For no other King will exist for me until Edward II is dead.’
‘But what does that mean?’ Jeanne asked. She felt a flicker of fear awaken in her breast. ‘You will not go against the new King, will you?’
Baldwin sat back and she saw his dark eyes study her for a long while. ‘No,’ he said at last, and her heart begin to calm. ‘No, I could not involve myself in the kingdom’s politics. Not willingly. I think that I have done my part in the last five years. I am keen now to remain as I am: a lowly rural knight. I have no affectations, no ambitions. I wish to enjoy what life is left to me with my family. That is all.’
He turned away and pulled his tunic over his head, tugged off his chemise and bundled all his clothes into a ball, setting them on top of the chest. He climbed into bed naked, and Jeanne snuggled closer. ‘Ach, you’re freezing!’
He chuckled, pulling her towards him, and kissed the top of her head. ‘We shall be safe enough down here,’ he said comfortingly.
Jeanne smiled to herself as he kissed her again, and lifted her head so he could kiss her mouth. She felt the familiar thrilling through her body as they began to make love, but later, when she opened her eyes again, close to sleep, she saw that her husband was staring up at the ceiling intently, like a man considering an unpleasant task.
Last year, at the time when he had been called away to protect the Duke of Aquitaine on his journey to Paris, knowing he was to desert her, he had worn a remarkably similar look on his face.
He looked at her now, and murmured, ‘I think I am glad I collected my sword.’
His words were spoke lightly enough, but the look in his eyes was enough to chill her blood.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vigil of the Feast of the Annunciation
Willersey
It was no good, she couldn’t sleep. Agatha surrendered herself to the fact that she would remain awake throughout the night, and rolled from her palliasse to her feet, then shuffled in the dark towards the table. She sat on the stool and leaned her elbows on the table, chin resting on her fists.
That prickle!
It was the only thought that kept running through her mind. She wanted to scream and lash out at anyone who came near. But in truth, deep down, all she felt was despair at the thought that the man with whom she had expected to spend the rest of her life had deserted her.
Her man must have told Father Luke, since the latter was so certain. Perhaps Ham had confessed in church, or when he got drunk. Ham may have found some accommodating bitch who tempted him. Perhaps that was it — not money, just a draggletail, and he was off after her like a dog. All men were the same. Even Ham.
‘Why now?’ she groaned.
She could have made something of her life if he’d died years ago. When she was in her twenties, there were men who’d shown an interest in her and she could have made a good match. Instead, here she was — a raddled old wench, her face lined, her body sagging and worn. No man would want her now. She took her hands from her face and studied them: the calluses and warts, the horny skin. Once she had been pretty enough, and if she had been saved from this life of endless effort, maybe she would still be comely.
In time, she hoped she would accept the idea that he had left her. It was terrible to think she might not. A life full of bitterness was no life at all.
She looked over at Jen sleeping on her palliasse, her mouth dropped open, faint snores ensuing, and felt another surge of sadness, tinged with determination.
They would survive, even if Ham had left them. They would survive.
Ross-on-Wye
Matteo de Bardi rode stiffly still, the pain in his back a reminder of his vulnerability. It did not matter whether a fellow was a lord or a king — if the mob decided to remove him, it would do so. A word in the right ear and a crowd would stab him to death without a moment’s hesitation.
The thought brought another twinge of pain.
Death had not left his mind in the last days. At Abergavenny Castle, danger had felt so close; on leaving, he felt as if he had sloughed off a heavy cloak — and with the cloak went all his fears and troubles. Outside the town’s gates he felt like a man renewed.
‘Are you well, master?’ Alured asked at his side.
‘Yes,’ Matteo smiled.
Matteo Bardi knew he was little known outside the bank, and yet it was he who wielded much of the real control. It was the information he gathered which led to the new directions being taken by the bank. Especially since the others rarely realised that they had been manipulated.
In recent years he had never once been in error. His informants were competent, from an Earl all the way down to a lay brother in a small priory. All knew their duties, and all were proficient if not prolific. It was the most arduous task, Matteo knew, to sift through the distraction of base rocks to search out the twinkling motes of pure gold. Other banks, even Florentine ones, were put to great effort to decide which information was accurate, which was guesswork, which was spurious or intended to cause confusion.
Matteo was happy that all that work had been done already. He paid well, and his sources knew that even if they had no information, he would still pay them. And because he did pay monthly in gold, his men continued to give him important tidbits when they had them. They trusted him.
And they were right to do so. He would support and protect them. Until they became dangerous, in which case he would instantly remove them.
It must have been something of this reputation which had helped recommend him to Sir Roger Mortimer. And now the latter had asked him to deliver the indenture to move Sir Edward of Caernarfon from Kenilworth. Matteo had considered it an honour, and had been happy to wait for a day while the parchment was drawn up by Mortimer’s clerks.
However now, sitting astride his horse, he was assailed by doubts.
Matteo knew that Earl Henry of Lancaster and Sir Roger were vying for power. Earl Henry had better contacts in Parliament and could count on winning debates there, but Sir Roger was the Queen’s lover. If Sir Roger wanted to take the old King from Kenilworth and place him in Berkeley Castle under the control of his son-in-law Lord Thomas de Berkeley, that must give Sir Roger the edge. While Earl Henry had him at Kenilworth, he could threaten to return Edward to his throne and oust Sir Roger. Without Sir Edward, his position was greatly weakened.
At least he would be safe enough, Matteo told himself. He was a mere messenger, one who was impartial in this matter.