Yet this strange country knight had managed a productive manor efficiently, without driving his peasants into utter submission. As Baldwin walked past, they nodded or grinned; not cowering, but meeting his look almost as equals. And Baldwin had a word for most of them, recalling all their names, asking after wives, children, or sweethearts. One man he made a detour to speak to, a ragged, worn-looking older man, with a drawn and wan face. Jeanne couldn’t hear his words, but she saw Baldwin pull some coins from his purse and press them into the other man’s hand.
She also saw the way that the people glanced at her, and was again aware of their cautious assessment, but now she was as certain as she could be that the man with whom she walked was as unlike her first husband as was possible. As they approached the door, she found herself being forced nearer to him, for the press of people was thicker here, and as they walked out into the clear evening air, she was close at his side.
“Who was that old man you were talking to?”
“The farmer? Quivil. He and his wife live out toward Crediton.”
“You spoke to him for some little while.”
“His son has developed leprosy,” Baldwin explained. “I wanted to make sure he was all right, and to offer any help I could.”
“It must be awful to lose a son like that.”
“Indeed. To see your child condemned to years of disease is somehow worse than a simple death, after a short illness.”
“Yes, for how could you look your child in the face, knowing that you live and prosper while the child dies so slowly and horribly?”
“Ah, but it’s not just that, is it? It’s not only the guilt of failing to help one’s child to grow healthily,” Baldwin said, pausing.
The scene was all silver and gray, under an almost full moon. By its clear light Jeanne could see the view rolling away into the distance between the trees. Something in Baldwin’s voice made her look at his face, and under the benevolent, if cold, glimmer, she could see he was worried.
“It’s not only the fact that the parent can see the son or daughter slip further and further from life,” he went on slowly, “it’s also seeing the jealousy and rage in the child, knowing their confusion, wanting to give them comfort and not being able to. I wonder how poor Edmund feels now.”
“He is Quivil’s son?”
“Yes. And a happier, lustier, more comely fellow you couldn’t hope to see plowing a field or reaping the corn. Poor Edmund! He was about to wed.”
“Perhaps it is fortunate that he was found out before he could marry.”
“Yes. But it seems so unfair, so unjust, that a man should be taken away into confinement just as he was about to enjoy the companionship of his woman. Even as he was preparing to enter into marriage, with the knowledge that he would henceforth have the comfort of a partner in life, that succor is stolen from him.”
“You sound as though you have considered this at length, Sir Baldwin.”
He gave a dry smile. “I have. I have sometimes seen myself as a kind of social leper.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“As a Keeper, and a knight, it’s difficult. I am often cut off from other people because of my position.”
“You are denied companionship?”
“I sometimes feel I’m denied the companionship of a woman who understands me.”
“Perhaps you might discover such a woman after all.”
“My lady, I have.”
She walked on a short way, gripping the cloak tightly around her body, her hands crossed over her breast. The knight remained where he was, and she had to turn to face him. His expression was one of mistrust-almost of suspicion. But there was a gentleness too. Jeanne knew that he had been badly hurt when she had refused his offer of marriage before, and knew that he wanted to ask again whether she would accept his hand, yet was fearful that she might reject him; he was unsure whether he could rely on her giving him the answer he craved.
“Jeanne, you know me. You have seen my land, my home, my life. Is there anything you could not grow to be comfortable with?”
She felt her breath catch. For some reason, this offer, which she had anticipated for over a year, which she had expected and mused over since she had first arrived, was now a surprise. She hadn’t thought that he could spring it on her so suddenly. “I…I don’t know!”
“Is it your last husband, Lady? Is that what makes you hesitate?”
“How can I be sure what you are like? He seemed so kind and generous before we married. How can I be sure you will not change when I marry you?”
“Me? Change? This, this is me!” he cried, and held both arms out, embracing the country before, behind, to either side, the sky above, the silver clouds chasing across it, the moon and the stars. He smiled up, his eyes fixed on the unfathomable distances, and slowly let his arms fall, and let his face drop to hers. “You know all about me. I know what I need to know about you. I am no courtly knight, and God willing, I never will be. I am the King’s officer here, and that is enough for me. Could I be enough for you?”
“I don’t know, Baldwin. I don’t know.”
Simon left his wife in their room, and walked downstairs. In the buttery he found Hugh, who was morosely filling a jug from a large barrel. As his master entered, Hugh nodded. “Ale, sir?”
“Yes, a pint would round off the evening.”
Taking another mug from the shelf, Hugh took the jug and wandered out through the screens to the hall. Following, and burping softly, Simon was surprised to find Edgar waiting with the boy, Wat. The lad looked at the bailiff with an unfocused stare, grinning foolishly, but Edgar motioned toward the door.
“Sir, please shut it.”
Surprised, Simon did as he was bid. Only then did Edgar rise and open the door to the solar. Instantly Uther bounded out and looked about, seeking his master.
“What’s he doing here? I thought he was out seeing to trespassers!”
“Ah, he must have decided to come back,” said Hugh distantly.
“But, you said to Baldwin that he was patrolling the land to keep someone at bay.”
“Yes, Master.”
As Simon frowned with incomprehension, he was sure he could hear a querulous voice. He was about to walk to the solar, from where the sound appeared to issue, when Edgar put out a hand to stop him.
“Sir, you don’t want to go through there.”
“But can’t you hear someone?”
“Sir, I think it’s the wind.”
“I can hear someone-it’s Emma! She’s calling for help!”
“Surely, if she wanted help, she’d come down to ask for it.”
“She would, sir,” Hugh confirmed. “She would only have to open her chamber door and walk down here, wouldn’t she?”
Simon looked at his servant, then at Baldwin’s. Both avoided his gaze, studying their ales carefully. The bailiff looked at Uther, who seemed to share his confusion, and scratched an ear thoughtfully. Then Simon looked at the doorway, and slowly a smile creased his features. “Do you think Uther is protecting his master well even now?”
“I think his master would be delighted to know how well his dog is keeping unwanted folks away from him,” observed Hugh, and belched.
John got back to the wall and stood, panting as quietly as he could, nervously studying his surroundings as he sought any sign of a waiting guard.
The same sky which Baldwin was standing under so few miles away was becoming congested with clouds that looked as if they were composed of finest spun-silver threads. Only now and again was the moon visible. For the most part it was obscured by the clouds as they grew ever larger.
It was some consolation to John, as he hesitated by the wall, that the land was not under so bright a light as before. When he had set out earlier, the sack on his back filled with the hollowly clanking pewter, he had felt as if he had been under constant scrutiny from every man and woman who lived in the town. It had seemed that every tree and bush had intentionally dropped twigs and branches to try to trip him and make the sack rattle ever more loudly, or to ensure that the ground itself crackled and crunched with every footstep to show precisely where he was. The journey to the hall had been one of terror for him, each step another pace toward possible ruin. When he was almost halfway to the opened window, a screech owl had given its raucous shriek, and he had thought he might end up at the top of the oak beside him, so high did he jump at the unexpected noise. Every hair on his head stood upright in sympathy with his pounding heart.