‘Oh!’
‘Then I took the road to Warwick myself,’ he said quietly. ‘We would surely have overtaken you if you had been heading that way.’ Asmoth blushed guiltily. ‘Have no fear. I will not betray your secret. I know that you drove Boio to Coventry in that cart and I know that you gave him the file which helped him to escape.
We, too, have tried to help him. We went to Coventry and talked to the stranger who called at the forge with his donkey.’
‘Will he speak for Boio?’ she asked eagerly.
‘He will be pleased to if they let him out of gaol,’ said Gervase,
‘but I fear that it may have gone beyond the point where Huna’s testimony alone will exonerate your friend. The lord Henry is very angry. He needs to hang someone for the murder of Martin Reynard. And for the second crime as well.’
‘The second one?’
‘Someone killed Grimketel yesterday.’
‘Grimketel?’ She was shocked. ‘Murdered?’
‘They are trying to blame that crime on Boio as well.’
‘But he did not do it,’ she said with sudden passion. ‘I know he didn’t. He would have told me. We were friends. Boio was honest with me. When we talked yesterday, he told me everything.’ Her head lowered to her chest. ‘It showed me how much I meant to him,’ she whispered.
‘Did he mention Grimketel at all?’
‘No.’
‘Did he say where he had been?’
‘Running throughout the night, then dodging the men who were out looking for him. He went nowhere near Grimketel’s house.’
‘That is what I decided.’
‘All he thought about was reaching me,’ she said proudly. ‘He waded four miles upstream to get here. He was soaked through when I found him.’
Gervase smiled. ‘He knew where to come.’
Asmoth fell silent, still not entirely sure that she should trust him and half expecting the soldiers to come out of hiding any moment to arrest her.
Gervase saw her anguish and tried to ease it. ‘You are quite safe,’ he assured her. ‘I only came to tell you that Boio was at the abbey because I knew that you helped to get him there.’
‘That was kind. Thank you.’
‘Will you do a kindness for me, Asmoth?’
She tensed slightly. ‘What?’
‘You said a moment ago that Boio told you everything. So he should, for you are the best friend he has. We are keen to prove his innocence but we may need a little more help. Now,’ he said, moving in closer, ‘when you talked with him yesterday did Boio say anything else about Martin Reynard or about that morning when he was supposed to have been seen in the forest near the place where the reeve lay dead? Even the smallest detail may make a difference.’ She remained mute. ‘You spoke with Boio.
We have not. You may be in a position to help your friend, Asmoth.
Think hard. What did you talk about yesterday?’ He saw the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. ‘Tell me, please. For his sake. What was it that Boio said to you?’
A look of blank refusal came over her face and she backed away.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Will you go now?’
For the second day in succession the castle seemed largely deserted. Most of those left behind accepted the situation without complaint but one of them was not attuned to the notion of resignation. The lady Marguerite felt obliged to have a tantrum.
‘Where is everybody?’ she wailed, pacing restlessly.
‘They are called away on business,’ said Adela quietly.
‘The lord Henry is, I can see that. He is the constable of the castle and has responsibilities. But why,’ she demanded, ‘does my husband go riding off to Coventry in the dark? What is the point of bringing me here if he is not willing to spend any time with me? It is so inconsiderate. I have lost Heloise, I am in a strange place and Philippe abandons me. It is too much to bear!’
‘Your husband has not abandoned you,’ said Golde, ‘any more than mine has abandoned me. It is one of the perils of marrying men of importance, my lady. Work preoccupies them.’
‘I want a man who is preoccupied with me!’
‘That can be tiresome after a while,’ suggested Adela.
‘It is better than being left all on my own. Especially now Heloise has gone.’
‘You are not on your own, Marguerite.’
‘No,’ said Golde. ‘We are neglected wives as well.’
Marguerite would not be appeased. They were in Adela’s chamber in the keep but its usual tranquillity was shattered by a shrieking voice and stamping feet as Marguerite circled the room to vent her spleen. Her companions gave up trying to calm her down and let her rant on for several minutes. It was only when, lacking Heloise’s moderating influence, she had worked herself up into a pitch of impotent rage that she seemed to realise what she was doing. She let out a cry of horror and rushed to shower her hostess with apologies.
‘I am so sorry, my lady. I did not mean to offend you.’
‘You did not, Marguerite.’
‘I just feel so ignored.’
‘You will have to learn to live with that, I fear.’
‘It is so ridiculous,’ said Marguerite. ‘Often when my husband is with me, I just wish that he would go away yet when he does, I miss him.’
‘It is called marriage,’ commented Golde softly.
‘I want more!’
‘More of what, my lady?’
‘More of everything,’ asserted Marguerite, eyes flashing. ‘More love, more wealth, more attention, more pleasure, more interest, more husband, more of a proper marriage.’
Adela smiled. ‘What is a proper marriage? I am not sure that I would care to answer that question. Would you, Golde?’
‘We would all have different ideas on the subject.’
‘Both of you seem to have proper marriages,’ said Marguerite.
‘Do we?’ said Adela.
‘Yes, you both seem settled. You have grown into your situation.’
‘You will do that yourself in time, Marguerite.’
‘Never, my lady. I came along too late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am Philippe’s second wife,’ she said, pouting. ‘All the love and joy was lavished on the first. She was his real wife. She had all of him. I have to make do with what is left over. It is hideous being a second wife.’
‘I do not find it so, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘My second marriage is far happier than my first, not least because I chose my husband on my own this time. In Ralph I have the man I wanted. My father selected my first husband for me. It … led to problems.’
‘I have had nothing else,’ said Marguerite, resuming her seat.
Her face was bathed in an almost childlike innocence. ‘When I was a girl I knew exactly what kind of a man I wanted to marry.
Brave, handsome and devoted to pleasing me. I used to dream of him sometimes. He always had the same horse — a black stallion with prancing feet. Then one day …’ she had to gather her strength before continuing, ‘… one day my father came to me and told me I would marry someone called Philippe Trouville. I did not even know who he was.’
‘But you must have had so many suitors,’ said Adela.
‘Dozens of them but none acceptable to my father. He chose Philippe for me. I tried to pretend that he was what I wanted and imagined that he would be the handsome man on the black stallion. But he was not,’ she sighed. ‘When I finally met him he turned out to be a grey-haired old man on a bay mare. I was horrified. When he started to pay court to me I had no idea that he was already married.’
‘Did your father know?’ asked Golde.
‘Oh, yes. I think so.’
‘He must surely have objected?’
‘The first wife was sick with a wasting disease,’ remembered Marguerite sadly. ‘She was not expected to live long. His friends told me afterwards that she was very beautiful when she was young. Philippe adored her. He was desolate when she …’ She looked across at them. ‘I know that Heloise told you and I know what you must think but it was not like that. The first wife, Marguerite — she had the same name — could not face withering away in front of her husband. When he came home one day she had taken poison. The grief almost killed him. Then it turned to bitterness. I knew nothing of this until after we were married and it was too late. Philippe was rich and powerful enough to impress my father but he was an angry man inside, given to outbursts of violence. He did not love me. I was just a younger version of his first wife. He was simply trying to replace one Marguerite with another.’ A combative note sounded. ‘I have made him pay for it ever since.’