Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

Then the guests were filing in, and Hugh was having to serve faster than he could manage. When the jugs had all been emptied, he hurried from the room and into the buttery, where he found Wat, mercifully sober.

‘Quick! Fill this lot,’ Hugh ordered and sat on a barrel. ‘Where’s Petronilla? She ought to be helping.’

‘I suppose she’s gone for another walk.’

‘Don’t talk rubbish!’

‘I still don’t understand why she had such filthy hands yesterday,’ Wat frowned.

‘What are you on about?’ Hugh demanded, and listened with surprise as Wat told how he had seen her the day before, all mucky with black soil smeared over her hands. Hugh was no fool and, after being servant to the bailiff for so long, he was able to make quick inferences, but for the present he only muttered grumpily, ‘Never mind her, you get more jugs filled, lad. The party in there will be dying of thirst soon.’

As soon as the jugs of warmed wine were ready, he took them into the hall and began topping up people’s pots and mugs; the flow of conversation, muted at first, became louder. Shortly after this, Petronilla came in. She too carried jugs, and she took her station near her mistress, although with many a confused glance at Thomas. Hugh could understand her feelings: she knew her master was Thomas now, and although she was still loyal to her mistress, she had no wish to damage her position with him.

Hugh pursed his lips and went to his master’s side. ‘Sir?’

Simon listened, his expression unchanging as his servant told him about the girl and how she had returned from the moors with her hands covered in peaty soil. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured at last. ‘Well done, Hugh.’

At the other side of the hall, Baldwin had been trying to get closer to the priest, but each time he made his way through the throng, Stephen moved on. Eventually Baldwin fetched up against a pillar, and he stood there, testily staring at the tonsured figure for some while before he realised someone was speaking to him.

‘Anney, my apologies, my mind was elsewhere.’

The maidservant gave him a mocking curtsey. ‘So kind of you to apologise to a poor villein like me.’

Baldwin thought she was an attractive-looking woman. Her face, although marked by channels of grief, some for the loss of her husband, some for the loss of her son, was still fresh and youthful, and she had a glowing complexion that many ladies of position would have given much of their wealth for.

‘A woman with your looks will always be able to force a poor, innocent knight to apologise,’ he riposted.

‘Thank you again, Sir Baldwin. I don’t know what I could have done to merit such compliments.’

‘Come, lady, you can hardly be unaware of your attractions.’

She gave a low, throaty chuckle, but there was little humour in it. ‘You mean to a man like my husband?’

‘Anney, I am sorry. I never intended to remind you of him.’

‘Why shouldn’t you? He was the only husband I ever knew. I don’t hate him. How could I, when he gave me my two boys? I believe you are hoping to speak to the priest?’

Baldwin nodded. Stephen was now at the opposite end of the room, deep in conversation with Thomas.

‘I thought so. You’ll find it difficult, Sir Baldwin. He doesn’t want to talk to you.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps he’s scared you’ll discover something.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as how he disliked the squire’s son,’ she said coolly.

‘What could he have had against so young a child? Herbert was only five or six.’

‘Five, but rowdy with it. He never attended to Stephen’s lessons, wouldn’t obey his sternest orders, and treated the priest like a figure of fun. Herbert also used to shoot at him with his sling whenever he could, and for that Stephen would give him a good hiding.’

‘Did Herbert’s parents realise what was going on?’

Anney gave a short laugh. ‘Squire Roger had won his son a place with Sir Reginald of Hatherleigh. What more could he ask but that his cleric should teach the boy the same way he’d already taught the sons of Sir Reginald? There was no difficulty there, I assure you.’

Her tone interested Baldwin. ‘You think he wanted to beat the child?’

‘Of course he did. He hates children – not only the squire’s son, all children. It wasn’t just Herbert he thrashed: my own boy was often whipped or punched by him, and never for any real misdemeanour, only because it pleased him to do so. Look at him! He has such a soft, womanly appearance, and yet he has a heart of flint!’

Baldwin followed her gaze. The priest was still chatting to Thomas, his face animated. That same hint of femininity that he had seen on first meeting the priest caught the knight’s attention once more. If it was not for the tonsure, Baldwin could have thought him a woman from this distance. It was hard to believe that such a person could enjoy hurting children, and yet that was Anney’s clear implication.

‘Are you sure he wasn’t merely trying to teach them obedience?’ he hazarded.

‘Master Herbert was a pleasant, well-spoken child, and my own boy is very well-behaved. He has to be, seeing as how he’s had to learn to fend for himself without a father. What a lad like him needs is the gentle hand of someone who appreciates him, not bullying from one who should know better. And as for poor Jordan…’

Baldwin expressed polite interest but the woman shook her head. ‘No, I’ll leave it to you to speak to him. Make up your own mind.’

‘What do you think of the Fleming?’ Baldwin asked after a moment.

‘Him? Haven’t you realised yet?’ she asked, and then gave a long sigh. ‘Look at him! Ever at my lady’s side, always there with a flattering word, a generous compliment. It’s like watching a knight courting a lady, isn’t it? The man wants her. He knows she won’t inherit all the estates, although I think that was a shock to him at first because he was hoping that he might be able to master the whole manor with luck, but he still hopes to win her and whatever Master Thomas thinks fit to endow her with.’

‘What?’ Baldwin demanded, startled. ‘But the woman has only just buried her man. She can’t remarry – it would leave her open to the charge of unchastity! She could be accused of lasciviousness – or of being guilty of infidelity while married!’

‘In short, she would be suspected of infamy,’ agreed the maid unabashed. ‘Yes, she would, but would the Fleming care? Next time you talk to him, look deep into his eyes, Sir Knight, especially when he smiles, because the smile never touches them. He is cold and unfeeling, no matter what his words might be. Watch him carefully, Sir Knight. He’s not what he appears to be.’

When Jordan met Alan out at the fields near the manor, he could see that his friend had already heard the news about Edmund.

‘Are you all right?’ Alan asked him quietly.

Jordan nodded. His eyes were red from weeping all the long night, and he felt utterly miserable, but he said nothing. He couldn’t rely on his voice, and didn’t want to scare the quarry.

Thirty feet away three pigeons were feeding from four tiny mounds of grain. Others were circling, unaware of the two boys. A fourth and a fifth gradually felt the desire for food overcome their fears, and plummeted downwards. When mere inches from the ground, they stretched their wings, halting their mad plunge, and landed gently. In a few minutes there were eight there, and only then did Alan spring his trap. He pulled quickly at a hempen string before him; the knot at the far end slipped free, and the framed net fell swiftly onto the eating birds, only two managing to make off.

Flapping, the six remaining pigeons could not escape, and the boys laughed with delight as they ran to the net, sitting down and wringing their necks before beginning to pluck and draw them.