“If we make an enemy of Lord Ralph, we could suffer for the rest of our lives.”
“But he’s raped Annet!”
Wulfric said incredulously: “Ralph did this?”
Perkin said: “God will punish him.”
“So will I, by Christ,” said Wulfric.
Gwenda said: “Please, Wulfric, no!”
Wulfric made for the door.
Gwenda went to him, frantic with fright, and grabbed his arm. Only a few minutes had gone by since she had given Ralph the fake message. Even if he believed it, she did not know how seriously he would take the urgency. There was a good chance he had not left the village yet. “Don’t go to the manor house,” she pleaded with Wulfric. “Please.”
He shook her off roughly. “Get away from me,” he said.
“Look at your baby!” she cried, pointing at Sammy in the crib. “Are you going to leave him without a father?”
Wulfric went out.
Gwenda followed, and the other men came after. Wulfric marched through the village like the angel of death, fists clenched at his sides, staring straight ahead, his face twisted into a rictus of fury. Other villagers, on their way home for the midday meal, spoke to him but got no reply. Some followed him. In the few minutes it took to walk to the manor house he gathered a small crowd. Nathan Reeve came out of his house and asked Gwenda what was happening, but all she could say was: “Stop him, someone, please!” It was useless: none of them could have restrained Wulfric even if they had dared to try.
He threw open the front door of the manor house and marched in. Gwenda was right behind him, and the crowd pushed through after them. The housekeeper, Vira, said indignantly: “You’re supposed to knock!”
“Where is your master?” said Wulfric.
Vira saw the expression on Wulfric’s face and looked scared. “He went to the stable,” she said. “He’s about to leave for Earlscastle.”
Wulfric pushed past her and went through the kitchen. As he and Gwenda stepped out of the back door, they saw Ralph and Alan mounting up. Gwenda could have screamed – they were just seconds too early!
Wulfric jumped forward. With desperate inspiration, Gwenda stuck out her foot and hooked it around Wulfric’s ankle.
Wulfric fell flat on his face in the mud.
Ralph did not see either of them. He kicked his horse and it trotted out of the yard. Alan saw them, read the situation, decided to avoid trouble and followed Ralph. As they left the yard Alan urged his horse into a canter, passing Ralph, whereupon Ralph’s horse eagerly increased its pace.
Wulfric leaped to his feet, cursing, and chased them. Gwenda ran after him. Wulfric could not catch the horses, but Gwenda was terrified that Ralph would look behind and rein in to see what the fuss was about.
But the two men were enjoying the lively energy of fresh horses, and without a backward glance they raced away along the track that led out of the village. In seconds they disappeared.
Wulfric slumped on his knees in the mud.
Gwenda caught up with him and took his arm to help him to his feet. He pushed her aside so forcefully that she staggered and almost fell. She was shocked: it was completely out of character for him to be rough with her.
“You tripped me up,” he said as he got to his feet unaided.
“I saved your life,” she said.
He stared at her with hatred in his eyes and said: “I will never forgive you.”
When Ralph reached Earlscastle he was told that Roland had not sent for him at all, never mind urgently. The rooks on the battlements laughed mockingly at him.
Alan conjectured an explanation. “It’s to do with Annet,” he said. “Just as we left, I saw Wulfric coming out of the back door of the manor house. I thought nothing of it at the time, but maybe he was intending to confront you.”
“I’ll bet he was,” Ralph said. He touched the long dagger at his belt. “You should have told me – I’d welcome an excuse to stick my knife in his belly.”
“And no doubt Gwenda knows that, so perhaps she invented the message to get you away from her murderous husband.”
“Of course,” said Ralph. “That would explain why no one else saw this messenger – he never existed. Crafty bitch.”
She should be punished, but it might be difficult. She would probably say she did it for the best, and Ralph could hardly argue that she had been wrong to prevent her husband attacking the lord of the manor. Worse, if he made a fuss about her deception he would call attention to the fact that she had outwitted him. No, there would be no formal penalty – though he might find unofficial ways to chastise her.
As he was at Earlscastle, he took the opportunity to go hunting with the earl and his entourage, and he forgot about Annet – until the end of the second day, when Roland called him into his private chamber. Only the earl’s clerk, Father Jerome, was with him. Roland did not ask Ralph to sit down. “The priest of Wigleigh is here,” he said.
Ralph was surprised. “Father Gaspard? At Earlscastle?”
Roland did not bother to answer these rhetorical questions. “He complains that you raped a woman called Annet, the wife of Billy Howard, one of your serfs.”
Ralph’s heart missed a beat. He had not imagined the peasants would have the nerve to complain to the earl. It was very difficult for a serf to accuse a lord in a court of law. But they could be sly, and someone in Wigleigh had cleverly persuaded the priest to make the complaint.
Ralph put on an expression of carelessness. “Rubbish,” he said. “All right, I lay with her, but she was willing.” He gave Roland a man-to-man grin. “More than willing.”
An expression of distaste came over Roland’s face, and he turned to Father Jerome with an inquiring look.
Jerome was an educated, ambitious young man, a type Ralph particularly disliked. He had a snooty look as he said: “The girl is here. Woman, I should say, though she is only nineteen. She has massive bruises on her arms and a bloodstained dress. She says you encountered her in the forest, and your squire knelt on her to hold her down. And a man called Wulfric is here to say that you were seen riding away from the scene.”
Ralph guessed it was Wulfric who had persuaded Father Gaspard to come here to Earlscastle. “It’s not true,” he said, trying to put a note of indignation into his voice.
Jerome looked sceptical. “Why would she lie?”
“Maybe someone saw us and told her husband. He gave her the bruises, I expect. She cried rape to stop him beating her. Then she stained her dress with chicken blood.”
Roland sighed. “It’s a bit oafish, isn’t it, Ralph?”
Ralph was not sure what he meant. Did he expect his men to behave like damned monks?
Roland went on: “I was warned you’d be like this. My daughter-in-law always said you’d give me problems.”
“Philippa?”
“Lady Philippa, to you.”
Enlightenment dawned on Ralph, and he said incredulously: “Is that why you didn’t promote me after I saved your life – because a woman was against me? What sort of an army will you have if you let girls pick your men?”
“You’re right, of course, and that’s why I went against her judgement in the end. What women never realize is that a man without some bile in him is good for nothing but tilling the land. We can’t take milksops into battle. But she was right when she warned me that you would cause trouble. I don’t want to be bothered, in peacetime, with damned priests whining about serfs’ wives being raped. Don’t do it again. I don’t care if you lie with the peasant women. If it comes to that, I don’t care if you lie with the men. But if you take a man’s wife, willing or otherwise, be prepared to compensate the husband in some way. Most peasants can be bought. Just don’t let it become my problem.”
“Yes, lord.”
Jerome said: “What am I to do with this Gaspard?”
“Let me see,” Roland said thoughtfully. “Wigleigh is on the edge of my territory, not far from my son William’s landholding, is it not?”