Michael JECKS - The Leper's Return

With a bad grace, Coffyn surrendered. He waved a hand at William, and the man-at-arms strolled from the room. There was quite a delay before he returned, wandering along behind the young wife of Matthew Coffyn.

This was the first time Simon had seen Martha Coffyn since his move to Lydford. Then she had been an elegant young woman who had a tendency to put on a little too much weight, but with her lively nature and sense of fun, she had never lacked popularity. Before Coffyn had managed to ensnare her, she had attracted a host of admirers not only from Crediton but from several miles away.

But the woman Simon now saw was not the same – not at least at first sight. She was still a little overweight, but her size only added to her voluptuous attractions, emphasizing her heavy breasts, the sweep of her broad hips and the length of her legs. The difference lay in her manner and her face.

Her beautiful pale complexion, which in color had always reminded the bailiff of the finest clotted cream from Tavistock Abbey, was mottled and blotched with red. Her eyes looked as though they were raw from weeping, her nose shone, her lips were bloated with sobbing, crimson as blood itself. Even her hair was unkempt and bedraggled, hardly contained in her wimple.

She stood before her husband, but her gaze never met his. Instead, she stared at Baldwin with a kind of arrogant disdain. “Well, husband? You wanted to see me – here I am! What do you want now you have witnessed my utter destruction? What more do you want of me?”

Coffyn sank down in his chair. “You’re in error, my lady. It was this knight who wished to speak to you. Please answer him.”

“My lady, I am sorry to have brought you down here to ask you these questions, but I have to prevent any more violence if I can, and you are the key. I know your husband has been keeping you locked in your room, but…”

“Keeping me locked in my room?” she demanded, eyes flashing. “You think I would let him do that? He did no such thing, Keeper. Oh no, I chose to stay in my room.”

“Please, Martha,” Coffyn groaned, putting a hand to his brow and shielding his eyes from the contempt in her own.

“Please, Martha!” she sneered. “He pleads with me now, trying to stop me telling you what I know, while…”

“Martha, these men are here because yesterday I beat your lover to within a breath of his death,” Coffyn said coldly. “They want you to tell me I was wrong and had the wrong man almost killed.”

She gaped at him, before giving a wild laugh. To Simon it sounded like the beginning of hysteria, and he was about to move nearer her to offer some comfort when she held up her hand. “Don’t approach me,” she hissed. “I am perfectly well, although it is a miracle in this household. So this absolute cretin had the monumental stupidity to try to have someone killed in an attempt to get him to leave me alone?”

“It was John of Irelaunde,” Baldwin murmured.

“Him!” she spat contemptuously. “The pedlar? You dare to think I would defile myself with a slovenly little shit like him?” Her voice became harsher. “You think I would demean myself with a pathetic creature like that? How dare you?”

Simon was intrigued by her rage. It was entirely genuine, he was convinced of that, but he was staggered that the woman could feel so degraded by the allegation. She felt no shame about her wanton adultery, but could be appalled when her husband felt she would give herself to a lowly tranter.

Baldwin interrupted her protestations. His attention had been fixed on Coffyn, whose face had taken on the appearance of a man who had seen a ghost. His hand had fallen, and now he sat as though struck dumb with horror.

“Mistress Martha,” Baldwin said. “I think you have said enough.”

“Who was it, then?” Coffyn’s voice was a whisper.

“Your friend, dear Matthew! Your favorite – your partner. Dearest Godfrey was my lover, and had been for months. You never guessed, because you were never here to see, but he was with me every night whenever you went away. He stole into my room each night, and he stole my heart when he left me.”

“Why, Martha? All I ever wanted was to please you, to make you comfortable. Why should you betray me in this way?”

“You’re pathetic!” Her anger made her enunciation slow and deliberate. “You think you own me because of a contract, but you never bothered to satisfy me. You thought by buying me new jewels and robes you could hold my love – but you never realized that to hold my love, first you had to hold me! Why should I betray you, you ask! Why should I remain loyal when that means living the life of a celibate?”

She turned sharply, the long skirt sweeping over the rushes. “Sir Baldwin, I have answered your questions. I hope my husband is not stupid enough to try to attack anyone else, but if he is keen to, perhaps the next man he springs on will do me the favor of sending my husband to Hell. I have no use for him.”

With that parting shot, she marched haughtily from the room.

Matthew shivered and rested his head on his hands. He had never before felt the vastness of his wife’s contempt for him. It came as almost a physical blow to his stomach to see Martha behave in this way. He felt sickened, revolted by her absolute disgust for him.

“Matthew, do you accept your wife’s word?” Baldwin asked softly.

“I believe her.” The words came as if wrung from his very soul. Matthew Coffyn shook his head. His future was blasted. There could be no hope of peace or renewed love in his marriage. Before her outburst there was still a chance, but now that chance was gone. Her words had scorched his pride. It was impossible that she would ever be able to reciprocate his feelings. He had hoped that with his competitor out of the way, her love for him would return – instead, her loathing for him had increased.

“You accept that John of Irelaunde had nothing to do with your wife’s infidelity?”

“It seemed so obvious!” He held up his head appealingly to the knight. “Everyone knows of John’s reputation. As soon as I realized what was happening with my wife, I was convinced it had to be that little sod!”

“On the night Godfrey died, you were here looking for John, weren’t you? You came home earlier than expected, and were searching for him in your home when you heard Godfrey’s scream.”

“Yes. The time before when I’d been away, I returned late at night instead of the following morning, and although Martha came fairly quickly to meet me, I heard someone jumping from the roof and making off through the garden. Well, John lives out at the back of Godfrey’s – I thought it would be easy for him to clamber over Godfrey’s wall and thence into my garden. It seemed so obvious that the little git was ravishing my wife, I hardly gave it a second thought.”

“It took you a long time to decide to have him beaten,” commented Simon.

“I intended catching him.” The merchant turned his angry, unblinking eyes on the bailiff, worrying at a fingernail. “What would you have done? I had no real proof. That was why I invented this charade of a final trip away. I said I had to go to Exeter for a couple of days, but after a few hours at a tavern on the way, I came back. My men I sent into the garden to block any escape, while I ran upstairs. There was no sign of anyone, and my wife insisted she was alone, but I searched her chamber, and went through all the chests. There was no sign of him. I just thought John must have heard us in the street before we got here, and then made use of the same escape route as before, climbing through the window and leaping from the roof before making off.”

“Whereas it never was John,” Baldwin reminded him.

“No. Instead, when I ran next door to save my neighbor from being attacked, I was in truth trying to save the man who had been cuckolding me. Oh, my God!” he cried, and covered his face with his hands. “I have lost my wife, and now I’ll be prosecuted for having my revenge on the wrong man! How could I have been so stupid!”