The door had opened and Joce’s servant had appeared, glanced quickly up and down the street, and then fixed upon the girl with evident trepidation. Wally wasn’t surprised, for all knew that Joce was a vicious bastard to his servant. Wally couldn’t hear a word spoken, but he saw the servant disappear inside, then Joce himself came to the door and held out a hand wordlessly to the girl. She took it with obvious relief and entered the house with him. Wally left soon afterwards, musing on the sight.
Now he could see her in daylight, she no longer looked so worried. Since going to Joce, she had obviously lost her concerns, and Wally was pleased. She was a lovely thing, a delight to the eyes, with a smile that many men would die for, and an easy manner, friendly and outgoing. Perhaps more outgoing than she should be, he considered, bearing in mind her visit to Joce’s last night. It had been painful to see her in such distress. Now her joy chimed with his own pleasure. The monk Peter had made him the happiest man in Tavistock.
‘Sara!’ he called.
She turned on him a smile so radiant that he felt as though the clouds had parted and the sun burst forth with renewed vigour.
‘Hello, Wally. You’re looking well.’
‘Not so well as you, I’ll bet.’
‘I am happy today,’ she said confidentially, swinging her hips so that her skirts swelled and billowed, as if she was dancing to a tune only she could hear.
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Have you found a shilling at the roadside?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ she said, still happily swaying. Then she stopped, stepped forward to him, laying a hand lightly on his forearm, and leaned up to him, saying breathily, ‘But it’s wonderful!’
As quickly as she had moved forward, she retreated through the crowds, leaving him with a bemused smile on his face. She wasn’t really his sort, he told himself, but even so the feeling of her breath upon his skin had sent his entire face tingling, and he wished that he was married to someone as impulsive. Wally touched his lips with a feeling almost of awe, unaware of the dark and bitterly resentful eyes of Ellis, the barber, who spied on him from a short distance away.
Ellis had witnessed Wally’s brief conversation with Sara, and from where he stood, slightly behind Wally, it had looked as though she had leaned up to kiss him. In public! Full of misgivings, Ellis pushed his way through the crowds after his sister.
He had never married. There hadn’t been an opportunity. His trade was his life, apart from his sister, and although he had never known the joy of fatherhood, of watching a wife of his own grow great with a baby, seeing her face alter, glowing with that inner warmth as she became aware of the life within her, he had seen other women in the first flush of pregnancy. Sara had been like that when she was married, bearing her children. And now she looked that way again.
It was not until she had reached the far side of the market square that he caught up with her. ‘Sara, what are you playing at?’
‘Nothing! What’s the matter with you?’
‘I saw you out there, looking up at him, all moon-eyed. Have you been bloody stupid?’
‘Let go of my arm,’ she said, snatching her forearm from his grasp. ‘Leave me alone, Ellis.’
‘You haven’t been foolish, have you?’
‘No. I have been very sensible,’ she said with a flash of fire in her eyes. ‘I have found a man to love, and who loves me.’
‘And have you slept with him?’
She stiffened, then smacked a hand across his cheek. ‘That is my business, and none of yours, Brother!’
‘You have, haven’t you?’ he said dully. ‘And now you’re pregnant.’
‘Just go away, Ellis.’
‘I know who it is.’
‘I don’t care! He’ll marry me.’
‘He’ll never marry you, you fool.’
It was the first time in days that the agony of Hamelin’s ruined tooth had faded to a dull ache, and now, after the abundant stream of strong ale that Hal had bought him, he felt as though his mouth was almost normal. If only his tongue would keep away from his teeth. He seemed to keep biting it accidentally.
He moved somewhat precariously from the tavern’s door to go and watch the coining, grabbing at a rail here, a fence there, breathing loudly, but with a happy smile on his face. ‘Where’s the coining, friend?’ he asked of a man near the market.
‘Right in front of you! Christ, you’re as drunk as a monk!’
There were other men all about, and some began to laugh at the sight of Hamelin’s state.
‘Look out, he’ll spew over us all.’
‘Not Hamelin, eh, fellow? Hamelin could always handle a few pints.’
‘So can many – but they all fall over just as heavily!’
‘Even bloody monks. The Abbot’s Steward and his friend Mark were here last weekend, and pissed as rats in cider! Jesu, it was hard to get them out the door, they were swaying so much.’
Hamelin frowned. He could hear voices, but he was finding it hard to focus. Perhaps he ought to go and find his wife. Her rooms weren’t far from the market. He could go and talk to her. Apologise for his failure. She might soothe him a little. If only he hadn’t drunk quite so much…
‘The Steward was almost unable to talk, he was so far gone. Mark had to help him through the door, and you could hear the two of them roaring and laughing up the road.’
‘Aye, well, the Abbot’s away, isn’t he? It’s rare enough that the monks get a chance to have a drink. Poor bastards! I’d go mad, locked away in that place like them.’
‘Doesn’t sound like they’re too securely locked up, does it?’
‘Yeah, well, every once in a while they get let out.’
Hamelin tried to speak, but phlegm in his throat threatened to choke him. When he had coughed a little, he said, ‘You mean that thieving shit Mark was out here last weekend? If I’d known, I’d have killed the bastard!’
There was a sudden silence. His voice had been louder than he intended. Not that he regretted it. He’d be damned if he’d apologise for cursing the man who had robbed him of his wealth. Mark, it was, who had taken Hamelin’s money, then gambled and lost it all. And by simply taking on the tonsure, he had evaded his debtors. ‘The bastard!’ he repeated.
‘You should keep your voice down.’
‘Who’s that?’ he demanded truculently, peering at the man who had joined him.
‘It’s me – Wally.’
‘Ah! Oh, Wally. Yes. You’re a friend, you are. What are you doing here?’
‘I don’t really know,’ Wally admitted, jealously eyeing the tinners. He should have been up there, selling his tin. If his mining had succeeded, he would have been, instead of earning money by thieving. Ah well. He was alive, and that was the main thing. ‘Come on, Hamelin, let’s get you somewhere safe.’
‘Can’t go home like this. Wife’s got no money. Youngest is ill. Can’t let her see me like this.’
He was a dead weight on Wally’s arm, and Wally staggered. Then he saw a bench, and led Hamelin to it. ‘Lie down on that,’ he puffed.
Hamelin was reluctant to do so, explaining that the sky was turning around and around, and that people were staring at him, but eventually Wally managed to settle him, and soon he was rewarded with harsh rumbling snores.