Then Joce saw the knight’s eyes flicker to one face in the crowd, and he heard Sir Tristram say, ‘Oh, so it’s you again, Scot-lover!’
Peter shifted his staff from one hand to the other. Joce was some distance away, but Peter could sense him thrusting his way forward to stand belligerently in front of Sir Tristram. The whole place was held in the grip of powerful emotions, Peter thought. Men squaring up to each other like game-cocks, both determined not to strike the first blow, both keen to be seen to be acting in defence, neither willing to back down. It was the sort of behaviour that led to feuds.
‘Lordings, calm yourselves,’ he said loudly with an enthusiastic, cheery tone. ‘This is a silly situation. What a fine kettle of oats! Look at you both. You’re here, both of you, to do your duty, one to the King, the other to the town. But the town is the King’s and the King loves the town, so why should his officials come to blows?’
‘We do not have to give up our profits to the Arrayer. The men can fill their bellies once they are on their march, but they don’t get free food here,’ Joce grated uncompromisingly.
‘No more should they,’ Peter chuckled. ‘But there is no reason why they shouldn’t buy their own food, is there?’
‘They are the King’s men now,’ Sir Tristram blustered. He was staring past Peter, wondering what had happened to his Sergeant. Jack had been there, Sir Tristram was sure he had seen him. Jack had moved as though about to draw his sword, and Sir Tristram had transferred his attention back to Joce, thinking all he need do was keep him talking and distracted so that Jack could stab him in the back for delaying the King’s Arrayer, but he’d disappeared.
‘Then why d’ye not give the Receiver here a piece of paper that confirms that you have bought food from him on behalf of the King, and that the King must pay the town later?’
Joce laughed. ‘A paper like that, unauthorised by the King, isn’t worth the cost of the ink.’
‘Well now, if it was confirmed by the King’s Arrayer, so that if the King wouldn’t honour it, his Arrayer himself would, that would serve, wouldn’t it, Receiver?’
‘I’d consider taking that, I suppose,’ Joce agreed cautiously.
‘You may take it, but I wouldn’t give it!’ Sir Tristram spat, his anger rising again. ‘What, give an assurance that I’d cover the debt myself? I might as well give you my purse and the key to my manor!’
‘Come, now,’ said Peter. ‘You tell us that it’s the King’s service you’re on, that these men are owed food from their service to the King. Surely since they’re in his service, any food they crave must be bought at his expense.’
‘It is the custom that towns feed the King’s Host.’
‘Then the King would seek to recover any money paid out, wouldn’t he?’ Peter said. ‘So you need have no fear on either account. If you are right, of course.’
‘You are threatening me?’
Joce smacked his hand against his sword-hilt. ‘No, Arrayer, I am threatening you. This good monk is trying to save you injury.’
He watched as the knight gave in with a bad grace. It was a pity, because Joce had expected, had craved, an opportunity to stab someone in the belly. He yearned for that moment of release. Yes, Joce regretted not being able to test himself against this knight. Sir Tristram didn’t look very competent. Not compared with some Joce had fought.
He nodded curtly to the Brother, and set off homewards. At the steps which led to the entrance to his shop, he paused and glanced back at Sir Tristram, and in his angry, flat stare, he felt sure that he would soon have an opportunity to test himself against the knight. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t come too soon.
Joce had only gone a few yards down the alley when a figure darted out from a doorway. He drew back, his hand falling on his dagger. Then he saw who it was.
‘Sara, what do you want?’ he sneered. ‘Come to ask me to wed you again?’
‘It’s not for me, Joce. It’s my brother. Won’t you help us?’
‘Piss off, wench! I’ve got business to see to.’
‘Joce, just a favour – please! You can help us.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because,’ Sara swallowed hard, ‘because I’ll swear to deny you fathered this child. I won’t cause you more expense.’
‘It means nothing to me. You can charge me with whatever you wish, but I don’t think your litigation would succeed,’ he said coldly. He thrust the dagger home in the scabbard with a flourish. ‘No, I don’t care to help.’
‘All I ask is that you use your influence, that’s all,’ Sara said hurriedly.
‘For what?’
‘Ellis! He went to see Wally the day that he died because Ellis thought Wally was the father of this child. I didn’t tell him about you.’
‘Does he still think that?’
‘No. I’ve told him the truth now. But Ellis was there, on the moors, and he saw Wally. People saw him; they could believe him guilty of the murder.’
‘Aye. I could myself, at that.’
‘But Ellis couldn’t do something like that – you know that full well! All I ask is that you speak for him if he goes to court. Tell the truth about him.’
Joce shook his head. ‘No. He could well have killed Wally. If he is accused, then damn his eyes. I don’t care whether he hangs or not.’
Sara felt her blood chill. She had thought that this man who, when he tempted her into his bed had been so suave and sophisticated in his flattery, would at least agree to help her with this. Although he denied that his oaths last Thursday had been made honestly, she had persuaded herself that he must hold some affection for her, but his face and demeanour denied it. He was as cold as a lizard.
He continued, ‘It seems my whole life is taken up with you. The last time I saw Wally, I had to thrash him. You know why? Because the fool sought to warn me away from you. He told me not to play with your affections. And now you say your brother went to see him? Perhaps all Wally’s bruises at my hand will be laid at your brother’s door!’
She could take no more of his gloating.
Suddenly she felt rage explode within her. She took the hilt of her little dagger and pulled it free, then with a wild shriek she launched herself at him.
He scarcely bothered to exert himself. As she aimed the point at him, he sidestepped, wrapping the edge of his cloak about his forearm with a rapid whipping motion, and clubbed her knife down. His other hand rose to her shoulder and thrust her back, hard, against the wall, then he took hold of her knife hand and wrenched it severely until she gasped and dropped her blade.
‘You pathetic little whore,’ he hissed. ‘Should I demand compensation for this? Maybe I should take you indoors now, get you to undress one last time for me. Or should I just kill you now?’ He chuckled unpleasantly. ‘Or leave you alone to think about what will happen to your brother? He’s a hothead. Maybe he did murder Wally. So, perhaps he’ll soon be in gaol, and when he is, and you have no money to support yourself, why maybe then I’ll let you come to my house every so often. You can warm yourself by my fire, for as long as you behave. Wouldn’t that be amusing?’