‘My Lady? My Lady, drink this!’ Alicia said urgently, passing her a goblet.
‘Wine, Alicia? Wine? I don’t need wine now!’ Isabella said breathlessly. ‘Do you understand? Did you see what my Lord Cromwell was saying? He has moved to our camp, Alicia. Even the head of the King’s embassy here in France has moved to support me!’
Louvre, Paris
His mood, always fragile, shattered when the next knock came. Sieur Hugues lifted Amélie bodily from him, stood up and hoiked his hosen up as he walked across the room to open it.
Amélie couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him. The sight of his skinny little legs, the heavy scarlet robe, and his scowling features was enough to make her dissolve. Even when he threw a furious look in her direction, it only served to make the scene still more amusing.
‘What do you want?’ he bellowed at the poor boy outside.
‘Sir, there’s b-been a murder!’ the boy stammered, appalled at the glower on his face and petrified that he might be beaten for interrupting.
Sir Hugues was still for a heartbeat, and then he glanced over his shoulder at Amélie, his face a picture of horror.
She met his gaze with a blink of surprise. She had no idea why he should look so anxious. He had been here all the time.
Furnshill, Devon
‘Wat! Stop that unholy racket!’
If it were not for young Wat whistling in that tuneless, foolish manner, Baldwin de Furnshill would have been perfectly content as he sat at his table. There was much to be done here, plus he had duties as Keeper of the King’s Peace, which kept him busy. It was just good to be here, at home, with his wife. For too much of the last year he had been forced to stay away from his family, even undertaking a journey to France to protect the Queen on her way to see her brother, but now he could sit and enjoy the simpler delights of his family. Or could, if it weren’t for Wat …
Baldwin was tempted to tell him to leave the hall — but that would not do. Wat had every right to sit at table, just as all his servants did. They were there by feudal obligation: theirs was to serve and support him, while his was to feed, house and clothe them. The responsibility of feudal law meant more, so Baldwin sometimes felt, to the lord of the manor than it did to the servants themselves.
But it was a responsibility which he felt keenly. Any man who had given him his word and hand was fully deserving of Sir Baldwin’s reciprocation. Just as Baldwin’s own lords were deserving of his unswerving loyalty, so he was deserving of their support and protection. That was the whole basis of English law.
So, Sir Baldwin must give all aid to the Lord of the Shire, Sir Hugh de Courtenay; through him, Baldwin must support the King himself. As must Sir Hugh. And yet Baldwin was becoming concerned that the balance of rights and responsibilities was shifting. There was a growing burden on the part of the King’s subjects — all because of Despenser. The rapacity of the man was unwholesome and no one in the country could stomach it any more — except, apparently, the King.
Outside, once he had finished his meal, the air was still cool, and as he waited for his horse to be brought to him he stood in front of the house gazing down southwards, a tall man of some two-and-fifty years with the powerful shoulders of a trained warrior, the thick neck of a knight used to the weight of a heavy helm, and the slightly bandy legs of a man who had spent much of his time in the saddle. His dog walked to him, sitting against his leg and leaning, looking up into his eyes.
Wolf was a handsome animal. He was heavy-boned, and black all over, apart from delightful tan colouring at his eyebrows, cheeks and ankles, with a white muzzle, paws and tip to the tail. And a large white cross on his breast. He panted all the while, as though it was ridiculously hot in the sun. Still a little anxious, he preferred to be with Baldwin at every moment. It was irritating to Jeanne on occasion, but Baldwin had always been a lover of hounds and large dogs of all types. He had acquired Wolf only a few weeks ago, from the Bishop of Orange, and felt honoured that the brute was so affectionate to him in such a short while.
As he thought this, his eyes rose to the distant view again.
‘Husband, you are too pensive.’
He smiled and nodded as Jeanne, his wife, joined him. From here there was a patch of grass that led to the Tiverton Road. It was a small pasture for feeding goats and occasional travellers’ horses, but Baldwin always enjoyed standing just here, in front of his door, because there was a fair view over the road. It was easier to see people approaching.
‘Are you worried about something?’ she said gently.
‘Your soft words show better than anything how well you understand me,’ he said with a dry grin, his fingers playing at the hair on Wolf’s head.
It was easy to be happy in her company, he reflected. Jeanne was a tall, slim woman with red-gold hair, and a face that had none of the merits of classical beauty. Her nose was tip-tilted, her mouth over-wide, with a large upper lip. And yet it was the total of the imperfections that he thought made her unimaginably lovely. Added to her looks, she had a brain which was sharp and astute.
‘Is it the King?’
He sighed. There was no concealing his fears with his wife, no matter how dangerous it might be to allow his concerns to become more widely known. ‘Yes. I do not know what I should do.’
‘What is the need to worry about it at this time?’
‘In case I have a man demand that I support him now. This has been brewing for many years. Our Lord, Hugh de Courtenay, has been a keen supporter of the King most of the time — but when Piers Gaveston was being hunted down in the land, it was Sir Hugh who went to try to capture him. When there have been troubles, and the Good Lord knows how often there have been in this unhappy reign, the baron has been at the forefront of the forces trying to hold the King to account.’
‘You are worried that he may not support the King?’ Jeanne said quietly.
‘It would not surprise me. And would that mean that he would demand my loyalty to him personally?’
‘What would you do if he did?’
‘I could do little. I have made my oath to Sir Hugh and his family. But I do have a higher debt of honour to the King, surely?’
‘I am sure you will find a balance, my husband.’
‘I wish I were so sure as you,’ Baldwin smiled. Then, at the sound of a short scream from inside the house, he spun round and winced. ‘I think your son wants you again!’
‘He can wait,’ Jeanne said with uncharacteristic sharpness. ‘What of Despenser?’
‘He has no oath from me,’ Baldwin said shortly. ‘The man is vile. If his mother were to swallow a gold coin, he would dismember her to seek it.’
‘Baldwin! That’s a terrible thing to say!’ Jeanne laughed.
He did not join her. He had not been joking. ‘I seek only to avoid any confrontation with him.’
‘I think that is sensible.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said, and his eyes rose to the view again. There was no one on the road, he saw.
That was good. Because there was one man he did not wish to be called to see: the Bishop of Exeter, Walter Stapledon.
Chapter Three
Westminster, Thorney Island
Sir Hugh le Despenser was in his small chamber when his clerk found the single sheet of parchment in among the pile of correspondence.
‘My Lord?’
‘What is it?’
‘You have apparently acquired a property in Devon, but I cannot see exactly what this …’
Despenser frowned and strode to the unfortunate man, snatching it from him.