Michael JECKS: The Traitor of St Giles

‘Good day, Owen. How are you?’ Sir Baldwin said on catching sight of the Welshman as he entered.

‘Well, thank you, my Lord.’

‘And how is Sir Peregrine?’

‘He is more calm and relaxed than before, sir,’ Owen said, and a fleeting grin passed over his stolid features. ‘He is happier now he has a new woman. Felicity has left her whoring and is keeping a chamber for Sir Peregrine a short way from the gate.’

His light-heartedness faded swiftly and Baldwin felt the sombre atmosphere sinking into his hall. ‘It looks bad, then?’ he asked, knowing that Owen hadn’t ridden all this way to tell him about Felicity.

‘Yes, Sir Baldwin. Sir Peregrine wanted to tell you that the clergy have declared the King’s banishment of the Despensers as illegal since it was extracted from him by force of arms.’

‘If they have, Despenser will soon be back breathing his poison in Edward’s ear.’

‘That’s what my master fears. The Marcher Lords will not submit to his extortion without a fight.’

‘So it means war.’

‘We have heard that the Younger Despenser is already back.’

‘Christ’s Blood! Hasn’t he done enough harm already?’ Baldwin demanded rhetorically. ‘I am sorry, I forget myself. You would care for some wine after your journey?’

‘Spiced and hot would be best.’

Edgar left and Baldwin studied him. ‘Well, Owen, your scar has healed well.’

‘Yes, sir. I have your maid to thank for that,’ he said, a hand going to his cheek.

‘And I have you to thank for the fact that I am still alive. If you hadn’t let Edgar know, I could be dead now.’

Owen looked away. ‘I couldn’t act like a common footpad. That was why my arrow intentionally missed you that day in the Templar village,’ he added. ‘Your survival was good enough reason – or so many others would have thought.’

‘Perhaps. But all ended well.’

All ended well. Those were the words which Baldwin recalled later when Owen had gone to sleep in the stable and Baldwin, shivering, pulled the linen curtains around the bed.

Jeanne lay back beneath the sheets and blankets with a faraway look in her eyes. A short while before Owen appeared, Baldwin had told her of his position in the Templars and, rather to his surprise, she had been dismissive about it. Now he eyed her nervously, wondering if she had been silent from horror.

His wife was still silent, not meeting his gaze even when he slipped between the sheets himself and put out an arm towards her. She hesitated before wriggling towards him.

‘Your feet are like ice!’ she exclaimed.

He glanced down at her impatiently. ‘What do you expect?’

‘I could have wished for a husband who warmed his feet before entering his Lady’s bed.’

‘Be glad you have a husband who pulls your curtains for you,’ he growled, and let his hand move along her soft flank.

‘Not tonight, Husband. I am tired.’

As she spoke, young Stephen began to cry and Baldwin swore. He made as if to rise, but then studied her anxiously. ‘Are you sickening for something?’ he asked.

‘No, no.’

He drew away and looked into her face, his own anguish apparent. ‘Is it because of what I told you? You don’t regret marrying me, now you know what I used to be?’

Jeanne stared a moment, then closed her eyes and shook silently with humour. When she opened them again, she reached up and kissed him. ‘You clot! I love you.’

He kissed her back, radiating his confusion.

‘Baldwin, dearest. I am tired because I am pregnant. You are to be a father.’

In the hall, Aylmer’s head shot up at the cry from his new master’s room and he stared fixedly at the ceiling as he heard Baldwin leap from the marital bed and perform a thunderous impromptu dance on the bare boards overhead. Then, when silence reigned once again, the animal stretched luxuriously in front of the fire, scratched at a flea on his neck and settled for the night.