Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

‘She is a viper!’

‘I have met nicer human beings, certainly,’ said Golde.

‘And she had the gall to pour scorn on you?’

‘Until I decided to strike back. The lady Marguerite soon curbed her arrogance then. I kept my calm as long as I could but no woman is going to crow over me like that with impunity. She is like so many of her kind: willing to wound but unable to face the prospect of retaliation.’

‘What did the lady Adela do throughout it all?’

‘Keep her composure.’

‘Was she not as offended as you?’

‘I think she was, Ralph, but she took care not to show it. Though there was a merry twinkle in her eye when I finally routed my attacker.’

Ralph chuckled. ‘I wish I had been there to see it!’

‘It could only have happened with you absent.’

‘Why is that, my love?’

‘Because you were the main target of her attack.’

‘Me?’

‘I fear so.’

When she recounted some of the things which had been said or implied about him, Ralph’s fury surged again and he paced their chamber restlessly, pounding a fist into the palm of one hand and muttering expletives under his breath. The idea that his wife had been shown such disrespect was galling enough but the comments about him were quite intolerable. He was all for tearing off to find the culprit so that he could confront her. Golde counselled tolerance.

‘Calm down, Ralph,’ she said. ‘If I had known that it would rouse you to this pitch, I would not have told you.’

‘I will not have my wife insulted.’ Ralph was scarlet with indignation.

‘Let me fight my own battles. I usually win in the end.’

‘That is true,’ he conceded with a wry grin. ‘But did that malevolent hag really say those things about me?’

‘Malevolent she may be, but no hag. The lady Marguerite is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen and I suspect that you would own as much if you were not so annoyed at her.’

‘She is very beautiful, Golde. I admit it.’

‘Any man would be attracted to her.’

‘At first, perhaps, until her true character came to light. The lady Marguerite may be beautiful on the outside but she is ugliness itself on the inside.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I almost envied the lord Philippe when I first clapped eyes on her but I pity the fellow now.’

‘They are two of a pair, Ralph.’

‘Yes, you may be right.’

‘Drawn together by their mutual desire.’

‘Why, so were we, my love. Have you so soon forgot?’

‘Their desire is of a different nature. Political ambition.’

‘I hate people who lust after power.’

‘We are travelling with two of them.’

‘Which is the worse?’ he mused. ‘The noisy husband or the conceited wife? The crusty old soldier or the young siren?’

‘Each is as bad as the other. They are well matched.’

‘Yet the lord Philippe did not wish to bring her with us.’

‘Can you blame him?’ she said. ‘His wife will not let him rest until he has fulfilled his greatest ambitions. She drives him on relentlessly and expects to be the consort of a sheriff before too long.’

‘That, alas, is not impossible.’

‘Would the King be taken in by him?’

‘If he garners recommendation enough.’

‘But the lord Philippe is such a boor.’

‘That never stopped others from becoming sheriff,’ Ralph said with bitterness. ‘Indeed, it might almost be one of the qualifications for such high office. Think of some of the sheriffs whom we’ve encountered along the way — not least that oaf in your home town of Hereford.’

‘I would prefer to forget him!’ she sighed. ‘He was one of the most despicable men I have ever met.’

‘Wait until you get to know the lord Philippe better.’

‘Is he so objectionable?’

‘The signs are all there.’

Ralph sat on a stool and rested against the wall with his hands clasped behind his head. He surveyed her with smiling affection, then nodded sagely.

‘Beautiful on the outside — and the inside.’

‘How do I compare with the lady Marguerite?’

‘She pales into invisibility beside you, my love.’

‘Don’t lie.’

‘Why not? I do it so well.’

She gave him a playful nudge then lowered herself on to his knee. Slipping an arm around his shoulder, she recalled some of the charges earlier made against her and pondered.

‘Ralph,’ she said at length.

‘Yes, my love?’

‘There may be a grain of truth in what she said.’

‘The lady Marguerite?’

‘In some senses I do hold you back.’

‘That is why I married you.’

‘I am serious. You are ten times the man that the lord Philippe is yet he is more likely to attain high office. Is that partly my fault?’

‘No, Golde.’

‘Should I be urging you on to fulfil your promise?’

‘Not if you wish to stay married to me.’

‘But you would make a fine sheriff.’

‘I would rather be a loving husband,’ he said firmly, ‘and, in my experience, a man cannot be both. Look at the lady Albreda in Exeter. Neglected and ignored because her husband is too busy coping with his shrievalty even to notice her. And the same goes for all the other wives of sheriffs whom we have met. They enjoy status but little beyond it.’

‘That would suit some women.’

‘You are not one of them, Golde. Nor would I subject you to that kind of existence. A sheriff may have power and wealth but he also has the most awesome responsibilities. I wish to be spared those.’

‘As long as I am not blighting your career.’

‘You are my career!’ he said with a laugh. ‘When I am able to enjoy it, that is. For the moment, the King of England comes between us but that will soon change.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I hope.’

Heedless of the fact that they would have to return to Warwick after dark, Gervase Bret and Brother Benedict left the town by the north gate and goaded their horses into a steady canter.

They only had a few miles to ride but the evening light was already beginning to fade and the breeze was stiffening. Gervase did not mind. Benedict’s account of his visit to the prisoner convinced him that they must act swiftly to help the man. Nobody else would do so.

‘Who was this mysterious stranger?’ Gervase asked Benedict.

‘I have no notion.’

‘Why does Boio remember so little about him?’

‘I am surprised that the poor soul remembers anything. They have him chained hand and foot and locked away in a fetid dungeon. He has been denied food and water and there was the most fearsome wound on his scalp. He has been cruelly treated.’

‘There may be much worse to come.’

‘That is why I am anxious to help him.’

‘Did you report your conversation to the lord Henry?’

‘Most of it,’ said Benedict with a private smile.

‘How did he react?’

‘Badly.’

‘That does not surprise me,’ said Gervase. ‘He has already made up his mind that the blacksmith is the murderer. The lord Henry would not believe for a second that this stranger with the donkey exists.’

‘To all intents and purposes, he does not,’ said the monk, a rare frown eclipsing his customary smile. ‘Unless we can somehow trace him.’

‘We will.’

They rode on along the hard track until the road curved between an outcrop of elms, now shorn of their leaves but still blocking out the view with their looming bulk. When the road straightened and the trees thinned out, the riders saw the forge up ahead, a straggle of buildings which leaned against each other for support like drunken revellers too unsteady on their feet to attempt movement. Forge, stable, house, barn and shed were in a fairly dilapidated state but they seemed a natural habitat for the shambling blacksmith. Reaching their destination, the two men reined in their horses and dismounted before approaching the forge. The door was unlocked and the whole place had a deserted air but, as soon as they went in, they sensed that they were not alone.