But for now, Margaret had thoughts only for the knight. He sat at his old table, waving her and her husband on with every indication of pleasure. The servants were waiting, one with the bowl of water and towel, the panter with his loaves of good white bread, Edgar with his jugs and bottles, Wat waiting anxiously to run to the kitchen and tell them to bring the food to table as soon as the last of the guests should appear. But there was no sign of Jeanne.
“Margaret, my dear, please sit here. Simon, you take your place at her side.” Baldwin peered toward the door, and noticed Hugh sidling in and seating himself beside one of Baldwin’s cattlemen. That was all, then, apart from Jeanne.
Then he heard a whispered comment, and a light step, and suddenly the door behind him that led to his solar opened, and in came Jeanne.
He had never seen her look more lovely. Her face was framed by her red-gold hair, which was plaited and coiled under a light veil, setting off her regular, if slightly round features. She had a pale complexion, and this was perfectly complemented by the fine scarlet tunic she wore, with simple white embroidery at the neck and hem. Her face, with its mouth looking wide and stubborn, the upper lip more prominent, was at first glance grim, and Baldwin felt a quick tug at his heart, as if at a premonition, but then, when her clear blue eyes met his, and she recognized his appreciative wonder, her face broke into a smile.
Margaret, watching them closely, felt a rush of elation at the way that Baldwin quietly led his guest to her chair and sat her down. It was as if he was walking in a dream, entranced by his guest’s loveliness, and she almost wished there were musicians to play some light, airy and above all cheery tunes. It would be a fitting accompaniment.
But the scene was ruined as Emma came out and glowered at the assembly. She took in the seated men at their benches with a sneer, before studying the upper table. All at once the light of battle shone in her eye.
Edgar went to her side and was about to escort her to a seat near the dais, when she froze him with a look. Instead, she went to her mistress and stood at her side, where she could not be ignored. “My lady, I understand I am to be seated at the common mess there. Was this your wish?”
Jeanne threw a harassed glance at the indicated seat. “What is the matter with it, Emma? It is near me here in case I need-”
“It is not for me to sit with common farmers and serfs!” she whispered furiously, bringing her mouth close to Jeanne’s.
“I do not see any threat to you by sitting there, Emma. Go to your place and eat!”
“Very well. But no good can come from it. Remember, Mistress, that I warned you and it was you yourself who insisted I should sit there,” the woman said, and swept down off the dais to her seat.
Baldwin noticed that the exchange and her common neighbors didn’t affect her appetite. Emma set to with gusto, carefully selecting the best lumps of meat from the stew, the best slices from the cuts presented. Such behavior showed an appalling lack of manners and would have been frowned upon in the meanest household. To his way of thinking, Jeanne was perfect in every way-she was his ideal woman-but now he found that while he wanted a marriage contract with her, when he conjured up in his mind the scene of domestic bliss that she represented, he couldn’t leave out of the delightful prospect the human contagion that was Emma. Where there was peace, she would bring enmity; where there was calm, she would bring strife; where there was comfort and ease, she would inevitably poison it.
Baldwin wanted Jeanne, but he most categorically did not want Emma into the bargain.
Edgar had done well, he saw. The best available meats and fowls were laid out and steadily consumed. And yet Baldwin found he didn’t have an appetite.
In the town, William arrived at the hall wearing a pensive frown. He had done the best he could, and he was reasonably satisfied. It hadn’t taken much to wind up the smith into a vindictive rage against lepers in general, and as William had walked home, he had seen two of them limping and shuffling back toward their lazar house. He had felt agreeably confident that they would meet Jack and his friend and had halted, listening. Sure enough, soon he heard the sneers and taunts, then the cries as stones were hurled.
Now, leaning at the door and staring back the way he had come, he could see that there were few fires or candles burning. It was late enough, and most people were already in their beds, but here and there a stray beam lightened the gloom. His own master was not yet abed, or if he was, wasn’t asleep, for the shutters of the bedchamber in the private block were showing clearly, outlined by the yellow glow, and William could hear voices: his a low rumble; hers a malevolent whisper. A door slammed, and William heard Coffyn stride through the hall. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his master at the screens. Matthew ignored his guard and walked out to the garden.
William shook his head. It was not good to see a couple so bitter toward each other. God knew it happened often enough, but that didn’t make it any better. His master couldn’t control his wife, and that was wrong.
Turning, he walked through the screens to the hall and peered inside. Two of his men were drinking and playing dice, while another was rolled in a heavy cloak and lay asleep on a bench. Glancing at the dice players, William guessed they must be playing Raffle. It was the only game the heavily bearded Welshman, who was even now groaning as he counted his score, knew the rules for.
Grinning at the curses hurled at the dice, William walked on along the passage and out into the yard after his master. Something, he didn’t know what, was setting his nerves on edge. Standing on the threshold, he leaned against the doorpost.
There was another light, this one from the house next door. It was broad, like a partly opened window, and as he watched, he saw it darken and become smothered, then blaze again. It looked as if someone was standing before an open shutter-or climbing through the window, hiding for a moment the bright candlelight inside. Intrigued, he stepped quietly along the path until he came to the stone wall that separated the two properties.
Godfrey had built his wall highest at the road. Here, at the boundary of his own and Matthew’s properties, it was only some five feet high, and William could just peep over. At first he could see nothing, but William was experienced in warfare, and a man who has mounted guard over encampments learns how to watch and listen. He stood, his mouth slightly open, staring at nothing, but waiting for a sound or movement to catch his attention. Soon he heard it.
It was a faint rustle, then the snap of a twig. A man was stealthily making his way round from Godfrey’s hall toward the kitchen. As William concentrated, he could just make out the muffled and cloaked shape of someone crouched low, someone stepping cautiously along near the hall’s wall. As soon as he was away from the yard area, which, although it was dark and unlighted, must have felt threatening by virtue of its being a large, open space, the figure came upright, apparently staring back the way he had come. As William watched, he saw the man-for he was sure it was a man-raise one hand and hold it to his face for a moment before letting it fall.
That was when William decided to make his presence known, and he pursed his lips to give a piercing whistle.
The man dropped his hand, gave a short bleat as if of terror and bolted away, behind the kitchen, up over the enclosing yard wall, and off.