‘Yes, I hope it is the last part of the journey. I want to see Jeanne again,’ Baldwin said, with a burst of shame exploding in his breast. He had betrayed her. It was the first time he had done so, and now he was terribly afraid that he had damaged his relationship with his wife. He could never forget Tedia.
‘Yes,’ Simon said, but without enthusiasm. ‘But when I return, I shall have to move house and start a new life in Dartmouth. I do not look forward to that.’
‘It will be a good life, you will see,’ Baldwin said with a heartiness he did not feel, his mind still fixed upon his wife.
‘I hope so. I hope so,’ Simon repeated, staring out blankly at the mist on the horizon.
William of Carkill was there to welcome the new Prior when he arrived: a tall, thin man, with eyes that protruded like a frog’s in so definite a manner that William suspected that, should he open his mouth, there might be a long tongue inside, ready to flick out and catch a fly.
‘You are William, the priest at St Mary’s?’ he asked as he came along the rickety gang-plank.
‘Yes, that’s me,’ William said. ‘And you are the new Prior.’
‘You may call me Prior John,’ the man said, gazing about him with a pained expression. ‘What a place!’
‘Indeed, Prior. The islands are-’
‘Beyond the fringe of civilisation. This is indeed the limit of Man’s ambition. What else could one imagine?’
‘It’s beautiful in the sunshine,’ William said loyally, prompted to defend his islands. In fairness, he accepted that the islands in this weak, grey light were not being shown to their best advantage, but that was no reason to be so insulting.
‘I suppose it looks better — marginally. My God, what have I done to deserve this! At least I should only be here for a short while.’
William smiled nastily. ‘Oh, aye, Prior? I’ve only been here about fifteen years myself.’
With a shudder, Prior John stared about him again. ‘My God!’
It was two weeks after Cryspyn’s death that Thomas was deposited at Penzance. He walked down to the harbour among the thronging crowds with a sense of disbelief as he was pushed from side to side, jostled by the eager stevedores. He almost stepped on a rope as it was being drawn away by a sailor on a ship moving off from the harbour, and had to dance to one side to avoid being pulled into the water.
This was his life now, he knew. He had the clothes he stood up in, a pack of some items which he had taken from the priory, a little ink, reeds, parchment, and other tools which he fervently hoped would help him earn a living of some sort, but that was all. His wealth, all of it, had been confiscated by Ranulph. His ship: gone; his belongings: stolen. All his profits from the last years of effort were gone. Nothing was left.
He walked out along the harbour to the main town. Here he stopped, and stared up the road blankly. There was nothing for him here, a poor man with skills in penmanship. What could he do?
There was a tavern nearby, and he entered, using one of his last coins to buy a jug of wine. Sitting, he morosely gazed into his pot, wondering what the next day would bring for him, but he could not think. Instead he slowly drank his wine. There was an alley alongside, and when he was done, he walked into it, pulling his tunic up to urinate, but then there was a harsh chuckle and he suddenly felt a knife prick at his throat, a rough hand on his back.
‘I have nothing. Take whatever you want,’ he snapped.
‘Oh Thomas, what could you have that I would want?’
Thomas frowned. It was a voice he recognised — someone he had known. He tried to recall their identity, but then the voice said, ‘Extraordinary to meet you here. I’d prefer your master, but he isn’t about, is he? So you’ll have to do.’
A few moments later, Sir Charles left the alley with a new spring in his step. He glanced up and down the road, and then set off towards an inn near the harbour-front. He would teach a man to keep him confined, bound. With a soft chuckle, he entered and ordered a jug of wine.
In the alley, there was a slow gurgling sound, followed by a sad little tapping sound as though a man’s bare heel was rattling on a loose cobble. A rat heard it and scuttled across the way to investigate, but the heel lashed out at it, once then twice, and the rat decided to return to the cat’s corpse under a loose box.
Naked, with his hands bound behind him and his legs tied at the knee, Thomas, sat waiting for rescue, miserably wondering how he might explain this latest predicament to whoever discovered him.
There was no point in going to the shore to see the sails unfurling, the ship gradually heeling over and picking up speed. Tedia had seen enough ships in her life. For now, all she wanted was the peace of forgetfulness.
Bitter? Yes, she was bitter. She had managed to lose so much in so little time. First her potential lover, then her husband, and now her real lover. Sir Baldwin had not spoken to her since that last visit at Mariota’s house. He had said nothing more since then, as though he had made his use of her and had no further need. Perhaps he was happy enough to know that he had conquered, like so many men were. Once they had stormed a woman’s last bastion, they were prone to lose interest.
Perhaps she was unfair to think of Baldwin in that way; she felt sure that he was a kinder, more generous-spirited man than that, but whether he was or not, it made little difference to her. She was divorced, and there was no need for sad memories of past lovers. That wouldn’t bring in the harvest. No, she must work now that she was alone.
Mariota had suggested that they should live together in Mariota’s home, and Tedia had almost accepted her offer, but rejected it after consideration. Now, standing in her room again, watching the smoke wisp up from the little fire, she knew why. This was her home. It had become hers when she married Isok, and she couldn’t just run from it. She must make it work for her.
The memories would remain, though. No matter how hard she tried to forget Baldwin, she was sure that he’d always be there, whenever she lay back on her bed in the dark. It would be his kisses she dreamed of, his hands on her, his arms embracing her.
With a deep sigh, she collected up the vegetables to make a pottage, and she was so engrossed that she didn’t hear the knock at her door.
‘Mistress?’
‘Oh, my!’ she cried, a hand going to her breast to keep her heart in there as it threatened to leap from its moorings. ‘Who are you?’
The dark figure in the doorway bent slightly to enter under the lintel. It was the tall, brawny sailor from Ennor whom she had seen at the priory, the one who brought Thomas for questioning and had winked at her. He stood and glanced about him with a half-smile on his face. ‘Not a bad home.’
‘Should I be grateful for your approval?’ she bridled.
‘No, but I’d be glad if you were,’ he said.
She saw his grin, and then she saw his gaze drop and look over her appraisingly. It was like being assessed by a farmer buying a new cow, and she was about to tell him to leave her home and never return, when he winked at her and smiled broadly. ‘After all, you’re the most attractive woman on the islands, and I’d like to get to know you,’ he said.
Opening her mouth, she intended to tell him to leave, but then she found herself eyeing him in the same manner — and found that she liked what she saw.
Thus it was that she found herself, five months later, petitioning the new prior for the right to marry again. It was necessary by then, for the child was beginning to show.
The tavern was dark and grimy, with smoke from sea-coal laying a thick black deposit over every surface, but Isok felt at home.
It had taken him days to reach this place. His first intention of sailing westwards came to nothing, because the winds would not aid him. Instead he let the wind decide his course, and sailed north and east until at last he arrived here in Bristol. It was a thriving place, filled with inns which teemed with haggling merchants and buxom wenches who brought jugs for the sailors thronging them. Isok could only watch with astonishment, but his bulk soon won him companions. Within a few weeks he was paid and accepted the money to go and work with a merchant who had wines to collect in Guyenne. A long sail, but an easy one.