The Leper's Return (36 page)

“Edgar, what happened?”

The servant shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, sir, but she says Uther went for her. She tried to be friendly with him, and when she made to stroke him, he bit her.”

Baldwin looked at her skeptically. “Where did he bite you?”

“Here! Look!” she wailed, holding out her hand.

There on her wrist, Baldwin could see the toothmarks by the light of the moon. Blood was drawn on two gashes where the canines had gouged the skin, but they were not the deep wounds of a savaged limb—they were no worse than Baldwin himself had received when enjoying a tussle with the dog. Teeth like Uther’s would do vastly more harm than this. “Is that all?”

“All? What more proof do you need, you unnatural fellow! That dog is vicious, it’s a brute. What do you mean by asking if that’s all! What more do you need? A corpse?”

The knight eyed her with frustration. That she was scared he didn’t doubt, but to say that Uther was in any way ferocious was ludicrous. “Look, Emma, perhaps we should go indoors and get your wounds seen to.”

“Why, so you can try to persuade me I imagined this? Look: blood! The dog must be killed. Now!”

“Where is he?”

Edgar answered. “Hugh took him back to your room, sir.”

“Sir Baldwin?”

“What now? Oh, sorry, Hugh. What can I do for you?”

In answer, Hugh said nothing, but pushed past Emma to a bush by the wall. He stared for a moment, then reached in, and brought out a long stick. Passing it to Baldwin, he stood and stared at Emma with his arms folded.

The knight studied it, and glanced helplessly at the impassive servant. “Well?”

“That’s why Uther bit her. She kept stabbing him with it. I saw her from the window.”

One end of the stick had been sharpened to a point. Baldwin tested it on his finger as he surveyed the maid. “Is this true?”

“The hound attacked me. He’s mad and vicious.”

“Is it true you baited him?”

“Answer him, Emma.”

Baldwin turned to find Jeanne at his side. She was watching her maid with an expression of contempt. “Did you make the dog try to bite you?”

“No, I only had the stick to defend myself.”

Baldwin broke the stick in half and threw it away. “That dog is less cruel than most humans, and you tried to beat him into betraying his nature. You did so to make him appear dangerous so that you could get him destroyed. You are less humane than he is.”

“Emma, you are released from my service. I will not give you a home when I return to Liddinstone. You must find somewhere else to live,” said Jeanne coldly, then she spun on her heel and went back into the hall. Baldwin walked after her.

“Madam, I am sorry if my hound has been the cause of your losing your maid.”

“Can you believe that I would want you to have your best dog killed because of a foolish woman who mistreats him?”

“No, of course not. And I don’t think I could suffer her to live with me, either.”

She shot him a look. Baldwin was smiling broadly, his happiness a mixture of delight at the removal of the block from his path, and new-found confidence. Now he was certain of her answer. He held out his hands to her again. “Come, I think we were about to talk of something important when your maid interrupted us.”

“Yes, Baldwin?” she said, and walked into his arms.

It was unfortunate that Hugh had thought Uther should be freed from his confinement. More so, that Uther felt left out when he saw his master kissing and embracing Jeanne. So it wasn’t surprising that he jumped up at them, although he was surprised at the way his master shouted at him.

Simon and his wife knew nothing of the scene. Upstairs in their room, Simon threw a tunic at his wife. She was still naked on the bed, languidly running her hands through her long blonde hair.

“You should get dressed,” he grinned.

“It was you who delayed the process,” she retorted, spreading the green velvet tunic beside her over the patch where he had been lying only a few moments before. “If you hadn’t decided to attack me as soon as we got up here, I’d be ready now.”

“My apologies, Lady. In future I’ll leave you to dress alone.”

“I don’t think so,” she chuckled, rising from the mattress and pulling a shift over her head. Simon watched her as she clothed herself, smiling to himself. When she was ready, and he had pulled on his hose, shirt, and tunic, he held out his hand and they left the room together.

Simon was filled with expectation. He knew only too well how much Baldwin wanted a wife, a woman who could comfort him and provide him with children, and his friend had selected the widow. All Simon hoped was that she would accept him and be the lady he longed for.

He walked down to the screens. The way was curtained. Margaret paused, her grip on his hand tightening. “Do you think they’ve agreed?”

“That’s in their hands.”

He smiled, but she could see his confusion: he wanted to go in and hear good news, but he wasn’t sure that he would.

“Come, my love,” she murmured, her mouth at his ear. “The anticipation is killing me.”

With a resolute movement, Simon swept the curtain aside and they walked in. In front of the fire sat Jeanne. Baldwin was nowhere to be seen. Jeanne rose elegantly as they approached. “I think Baldwin will be back shortly.”

“He left you here?” Simon asked.

Jeanne caught the note of enquiry in his voice, and her eyebrow rose. “His dog came in here and jumped up at us,” she said, and lifted her arm. There, beneath her arm, were two massive muddy footprints. “Baldwin is seeing to him.”

Simon shook his head. So his friend had failed. As soon as he had tried to persuade Jeanne to marry him, the blasted dog had ruined things again.

“Uther has already caused the removal of Emma from my service,” Jeanne continued, seating herself. “I fear Baldwin was rather angry with the dog. I can’t imagine why.”

Her words made Simon grit his teeth. She was being so cold and unresponsive, yet Simon was convinced she knew perfectly well that Baldwin wanted to have her for his wife, and she must also be aware that he adored his dogs—especially “Chopsie.” “It is a shame,” he said quietly. “I hope Baldwin will not do anything hasty with Uther.”

“”Hasty?“ Oh, I don’t think his treatment of the brute would be at all hasty.”

Just then there was a clap from behind them. Simon spun around to see his friend walking in, wiping his hands on a towel as if cleaning them of dirt—or, Simon thought, blood.

“Simon! Margaret! Are you ready to eat?”

The bailiff couldn’t stop himself glancing at Jeanne. Baldwin saw the look, and raised his eyebrows. She returned his glance, innocently widening her eyes.

“I told them you were seeing to Uther,” she said. “Have you done it?”

“Baldwin, you haven’t had him killed, have you?” Margaret demanded.

“No,” said Baldwin.

“But…Then what were you doing?” Simon stammered.

The knight laughed out loud. “I don’t want him leaping all over me while I am celebrating! Simon, Margaret, meet the lady who will be my wife! Jeanne de Liddinstone has accepted me, providing I keep the brute away from her while she is in her best tunic.”

26

S
imon and the cheerful knight rode into Crediton in the middle of the morning. They went straight to the Dean’s house, and it was here that they heard about the near riot. Baldwin immediately insisted on riding out to the leper camp to ensure that all was now well. They found Ralph morosely wandering about the grassed area.

“Brother Ralph, I came to offer you my apologies for last night.”

“Sir Baldwin, that is very good of you. And I am pleased to see you too, Simon. Yes, it was a dreadful shock.”

“And two dead?”

“Yes. Edmund Quivil died immediately. He never spoke again. The other, the smith, was soon dead as well. His skull was crushed when another tried to stop him killing poor Edmund.”

“I shall have to see Edmund’s parents,” Baldwin murmured, shaking his head. “What a ridiculous waste, though. If only Jack had been sensible.”

“Do you want to see the bodies?”

“Where are they?”

“I have them in the chapel. I thought they might as well wait there until the Coroner could view them. We don’t want them out in the open to rot.”

“Er, quite so.”

He and Simon studied the corpses. The knight was shocked to see how skinny Quivil had become.

“He lost his appetite as soon as he was diagnosed, and the weight fell off him while he was here,” Ralph explained.

“And you say that the other man who died had his head stoved in?”

“Yes. Quivil’s friend here, Thomas Rodde, tried to save him, but the blow had already been struck.”

“I was too late.”

Baldwin turned to see Rodde approaching. Although this was the lepers’ own chapel, Rodde obeyed the rules by standing some three yards from the others, sadly eyeing the cold body. “He could have defended himself if he’d wanted.”

“He turned the other cheek, Thomas,” said the monk quietly. “He behaved as a good Christian should.”

“But he didn’t need to.”

“I think he had lost the will to live. Everything he counted as most dear was taken from him.”

“Yes. Even his woman was to go to be a nun.”

“Mary chose that route for herself,” Ralph pointed out quietly.

“And you will not allow my wife in to be with me?”

“Your wife?” Baldwin asked.

Ralph nodded. “This man is the husband of the woman you know as Cecily.”

Simon gave a gasp. “So it was you she was talking to on the night her father was killed!”

Thomas Rodde gave a slight grin. “It appears you know much about my business, sir. But yes, I was there.”

“Come outside and let us talk,” said Baldwin. “We have much to ask you.”

They walked out into the bright but chilly sunlight, and stood near the gate where two had died the night before. Rodde shook his head when his eye caught a glimpse of a reddish-brown smudge on the grass.

“He was a good friend to you?” asked Baldwin, noticing his expression.

“Yes. He was brought here the day I arrived. That night he was attacked by other inmates, and I saved him. He was my friend from that moment.”

“It’s no surprise he decided to let Jack kill him, then,” said Simon. “If the poor bastard was hounded in here by his peers, and bullied outside by the townsfolk.”

“No,” agreed Rodde. “Yet I wish he’d let his illness take its course. There was no need for him to die. He could have had plenty of enjoyment in the years he had to come. I would have shown him how.”

“You have yourself been ill for many years?” Baldwin asked.

“Yes, sir. I was struck down when I was almost twenty. My father was another goldsmith in London, and we lived close to Godfrey and my wife.” There was a defiance in his voice, as if daring Baldwin to deny that he, a leper, could still be married. Seeing no dispute in the knight’s eye, he continued. “We grew up together, living almost next door. It was only natural that we should marry.”

“What sort of a man was Godfrey?”

“Him?” Rodde blew out his cheeks as he considered. “He was a good, generous man in those days. It was only more recently that he changed, or so I understand. As soon as I was denounced for this—” he waved his hand at his face “—he became quite hysterical. His wife, Cecily’s mother, was horror-struck, and I think lost her mind. Because of that she was run over by a cart and died. That, I think, was what made Godfrey snap. Until then, he had tried to help me and Cecily. He had found a good place for me in a leper hospital, and provided the place with alms and money, and allowed Cecily to come and visit me, but when his wife died, he was embittered. He blamed me for his wife’s death, and by extension he blamed Cecily herself.”

“Was that why he came here?”

“No. I saw what effect he was having on my wife, and rather than ruining her life, I persuaded my leper master to release me, and took myself off to the north. I wanted to leave her to find a new man. She wouldn’t do it while I still lived there, but I felt sure that once I’d gone she’d discover someone else. Some time after I left, which was a good nine years ago, Godfrey brought Cecily down here.”

“Why did he come here? It’s a strange place for a London goldsmith to come to.”

“Cecily wouldn’t forget me. She is a loyal woman. With me gone, he came to blame Cecily even more for her mother’s death. I think he needed someone to hold responsible, and she was an easy target: it was her decision to marry me, and thus she was at least partly involved in her mother’s death. Cecily wanted to remain in London near her memories of our life together, and I think it was to punish her that he decided to move. He said he wanted to take her away from the disease and corruption of the city, but I don’t believe that. Mind you, it may be that he was also nervous I would return. He had no wish to be confronted by me again.”

“And you did come back.”

“It wasn’t my intention. I spent many years living in the north, and hated every moment. It was cold, and the chilly rain seeped into my soul, but even that wouldn’t have made me come back to the south where I might upset my Cecily. No, it was the raid. The Scots were involved in one of their periodic attacks and flooded over the border. My lazar house happened to be in their path. The priest and I were lucky, we weren’t there at the time—we tended to walk when we could—and when we got back, the place was razed to the ground. All that was left was smoke and ash.”

“So you came down here?”

“Not at first, no. I went back home, to London. There I found that Godfrey and Cecily had left. A man in the town told me they had come this way, although he thought it was Exeter.”

“And you found them here?”

“By luck, yes. While I was in Exeter I hung around the goldsmiths’ streets and overheard some men talking. They were actually discussing the loans made to Coffyn, but one of them mentioned Godfrey. When someone spoke of a retired goldsmith from London who had a beautiful daughter, and whose name was Godfrey, it wasn’t hard to guess that my search was ended.”

“And what did you intend?” Simon burst out. “Did you mean to hold your wife to her vows and force her to go with you?”