It had persuaded Geoffrey. More, it had been obvious that this man, who was a warrior by trade, and who detested spies and subtle strategems with every fibre of his being, would not divulge the tale to anyone unless he was convinced that they were safe. It would probably take the bishop himself to persuade Geoffrey to give the truth. No doubt they would go to that extreme.
Which was sad, because it meant that he would have to devise another means of continuing the campaign. He had to see more messages being delivered to the bishop, and then, with luck, he would at last have his chance. He would be able to draw a sword or knife and end the bishop’s foul life, once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Exeter
Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was marching towards the house which had grown to be his favourite residence in the city. Knocking, he had to wait only a very short time before he was allowed entry, and then he strode through to the little parlour and waited fretfully, taking his hat off, then resetting it on his head. He did so several times while waiting.
‘Sir Peregrine, I am pleased to see you, sir.’
‘And I, you. You look magnificent, lady,’ he said with sincerity.
She wore a tight-fitting tunic, much in the latest fashion, with a high bodice and soft silken shawl about her shoulders, for the day was not the warmest. Hearing his tone, she arched her eyebrows slightly and smiled. ‘Your compliments are always welcome, but to what do I owe this visit? You were here only yesterday.’
‘Yesterday I did not have my news. I fear I am to leave the city soon,’ he said brokenly. ‘The king has commanded me to depart with all haste. I should have gone some days ago, but you have brought me so much joy, I could not bear to leave. However, now I have a definite order, and I may not refuse him.’
‘Then of course you must go,’ she said. ‘Where will you travel? To his side?’
‘No. The king is at the coast, helping to organise defences, I think. I am ordered to ride to London, where I am to serve in the Tower. The walls are strong, but they need men to guard them. I have to collect the knights who owe me their service, and some men-at-arms and archers, and hurry there.’
‘You have been to London?’
‘A few times, but it is not the sort of city I would wish to return to. Especially now I have met you.’
‘It is a good city. I have been there on legal matters often enough. But you are right to say that it is not the place to stay for long. I wouldn’t wish to either. I am happier with the country.’
‘I regret the moments I am away from you. I would prefer to remain here at your side.’
She smiled at that. ‘You are gallant and chivalrous, Sir Peregrine. But please, there is no need for so much effort. We are very comfortable in each other’s company, are we not?’
‘I am happy with you, my lady.’
‘Well, then. Perhaps this is not so unfortunate after all. How would it be if I were to join you? I would prefer to ride with you to London than stay here alone. This city of Exeter is lovely, but without a friend, it is a poor place.’
‘But of course, my lady,’ he beamed. ‘I would be delighted to protect you on your journey.’
‘Then that is settled. I shall leave for London too. What could be more perfect?’
Much later, as Sir Peregrine considered their discussion and the decision that she would ride with him and his men, he would recall that odd expression in her eyes as she spoke, and he would realise why she had been so keen to escape the city with him; however, at the time, all he knew was the overwhelming glee that she felt an affection for him to equal his for her.
Exeter
She knew that her husband would be some while, so Lady Jeanne decided to spend as much time as possible looking round the market, to see if there was anything else she should buy, some little item that would be indispensable to a man about to set off on a long journey.
It was so tempting to demand to go with him. Simon Puttock, their friend, had gone to Portchester only a few weeks ago, and he had taken his wife with him. It was not unknown for a man to take his wife with him, even for warriors to take wives and children with them on campaign, but she knew that Baldwin was less keen than many to have women on such journeys. He was always worried that Jeanne might fall prey to thieves or killers, and while the realm was so unstable, she could not fault his reasoning. The land was falling into madness, with gangs of clubmen walking the streets as boldly as the king’s officers, with knights and even barons turning to outlawry to supplement their income, and hundreds of the men dispossessed of their property after the Battle at Boroughbridge trying their hands at theft just to stay alive. No, it was not a good time for a woman to travel. And at least her home was … defensible.
She was sad to think that they would be separated again. It had been that way all through the previous year, when Baldwin had been sent to France at different times on the king’s business. She had been forced to remain at home, waiting and hoping that he would return safely. And she had been very lonely.
However, she was a woman born to a certain position in life, and she knew that tribulations of this kind were natural for the wife of a knight. He must go and serve his lord or king, and she must protect the home and their children.
She was walking with Edgar along an alley, when she saw a man’s face which she recognised. It made her frown at first, because she had not seen this face in this environment. Or perhaps it was less the environment, more that the clothing or something was wrong … And then she saw a young woman come along, and instantly knew it to be Edith, Simon’s daughter. ‘Edgar — look!’ she said excitedly, and darted through the crowds, not heeding her servant’s hisses to stop.
‘Edith!’ she called, and then she had a sudden lurch in her belly as she recognised the other face. Of course — how could she have been so stupid! It was Edith’s husband, Peter. Jeanne had only met him once or twice, and that briefly. Even at the wedding, she had not seen him above a minute or two. It was not possible to see much at the church itself, and afterwards Jeanne had been involved in keeping her husband’s new cowman, Wat, away from the ale and wine. The fellow had drunk himself into a stupor at Baldwin and Jeanne’s own wedding, and she didn’t want him to act the brute at Edith’s too.
The young man looked terrible. She could see how fear had etched deep lines across his forehead. His eyes were anxious too, flickering towards her and then away, as though expecting to be struck down and robbed at any moment.
‘Master Peter,’ she said with a gushing enthusiasm she hardly felt. ‘It is so good to see you again. Do you remember me? Madam Jeanne de Furnshill, wife to Sir Baldwin, who was always such a good friend of your father-in-law. I haven’t seen you since your wedding, although I know my husband did visit you, didn’t he? Late last year, I think? And how are you both? My, Edith, you are looking well!’
‘I apologise, madam, but we have much to do,’ Peter said with a sad attempt at a smile. ‘Come, Edith.’
‘Edith, I hope you are well?’ Jeanne said.
‘I thank you, yes. I am fine, Madam Jeanne. I hope you will give my kind thoughts to your husband, and …’ Her voice petered out before she could mention her father and mother, and instead she looked down at the ground, and Jeanne saw that there were tears in her eyes.
And it was only then that Jeanne remembered that Edith had been pregnant last October. ‘Your baby?’
‘He is fine, a strapping fellow, born two months ago,’ Peter said, catching hold of his wife’s arm. ‘And now, madam, we must be gone. A good day to you, my lady.’