Ken Follett - World Without End

Ralph said: “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Wulfric from Wigleigh, sir.” Wulfric was deferential, but not afraid. He turned back to Annet and said: “I’ve come to help you sell some eggs.”

The boy’s muscular shoulder came between Ralph and Annet, his stance protecting the girl and at the same time excluding Ralph. It was mildly insolent, and Ralph felt a stirring of anger. “Get out of the way, Wulfric Wigleigh,” he said. “You’re not wanted here.”

Wulfric turned again and gave him a level look. “I’m betrothed to this woman, sir,” he said. Once again, the tone was respectful but the attitude fearless.

Perkin spoke up. “That’s true, sir – they are to be married.”

“Don’t talk to me about your peasant customs,” Ralph said contemptuously. “I don’t care if she’s married to the oaf.” It angered him to be spoken to this way by his inferiors. It was not their place to tell him what to do.

Merthin butted in. “Let’s go, Ralph,” he said. “I’m hungry, and Betty Baxter is selling hot pies.”

“Pies?” Ralph said. “I’m more interested in eggs.” He picked up one of the eggs on her tray and fondled it suggestively, then he put it down and touched her left breast. It was firm to his fingertips, and egg-shaped.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She sounded indignant, but she did not move away.

He squeezed gently, enjoying the sensation. “Examining the goods on offer.”

“Take your hands off me.”

“In a minute.”

Then Wulfric shoved him violently.

Ralph was taken by surprise. He had not expected to be attacked by a peasant. He staggered back, stumbled, and fell to the ground with a thump. He heard someone laugh, and amazement gave way to humiliation. He sprang to his feet, enraged.

He was not wearing his sword, but he had a long dagger at his belt. However, it would be undignified to use weapons on an unarmed peasant: he could lose the respect of the earl’s knights and the other squires. He would have to punish Wulfric with his fists.

Perkin stepped from behind his stall, speaking rapidly. “A clumsy mistake, sir, not intended, the lad is deeply sorry, I assure you-”

However, his daughter seemed unafraid. “Boys, boys!” she said in a tone of mock reprimand, but she seemed more pleased than anything else.

Ralph ignored them both. He took one step towards Wulfric and raised his right fist. Then, when Wulfric lifted both arms to defend his face from the blow, Ralph drove his left fist into the boy’s belly.

It was not as soft as he had expected. All the same, Wulfric bent forward, his face twisted in agony, both hands going to his midriff; whereupon Ralph hit him full in the face with his right fist, catching him high on the cheekbone. The punch hurt his hand but brought joy to his soul.

To his astonishment, Wulfric hit him back.

Instead of crumpling to the floor and lying there waiting to be kicked, the peasant boy came back with a right-handed punch that had all the strength of his shoulders behind it. Ralph’s nose seemed to explode in blood and pain. He roared with anger.

Wulfric stepped back, seeming to realize what a terrible thing he had done, and he dropped both arms, holding his palms upwards.

But it was too late to be sorry. Ralph hit him with both fists on the face and body, a storm of blows that Wulfric feebly tried to ward off by holding up his arms and ducking his head. As he punched him, Ralph wondered vaguely why the boy did not run away, and guessed he was hoping to take his punishment now rather than face worse later. He had guts, Ralph realized; but that made him even angrier. He hit him harder, again and again, and he was filled with an emotion that was both rage and ecstasy. Merthin tried to intervene. “For the love of Christ, enough,” he said, putting a hand on Ralph’s shoulder; but Ralph shook him off.

At last Wulfric’s hands fell to his sides and he staggered, dazed, his handsome face covered in blood, his eyes closing; then he fell down. Ralph started to kick him. Then a burly man in leather trousers appeared and spoke with a voice of authority: “Now then, young Ralph, don’t murder the boy.”

Ralph recognized John, the town constable, and said indignantly: “He attacked me!”

“Well, he’s not attacking you any more, is he, sir? Lying on the ground like that with his eyes shut.” John put himself in front of Ralph. “I’d rather do without the trouble of a coroner’s inquiry.”

People crowded around Wulfric: Perkin; Annet, who was flushed with excitement; the Lady Philippa; and several bystanders.

The ecstatic feeling left Ralph, and his nose hurt like hell. He could breathe only through his mouth. He tasted blood. “That animal punched my nose,” he said, and he sounded like a man with a heavy cold.

“Then he shall be punished,” said John.

Two men who looked like Wulfric appeared: his father and his elder brother, Ralph guessed. They helped Wulfric to his feet, shooting angry glances at Ralph.

Perkin spoke up. He was a fat man with a sly face. “The squire threw the first punch,” he said.

Ralph said: “The peasant deliberately shoved me!”

“The squire insulted Wulfric’s wife-to-be.”

The constable said: “No matter what the squire may have said, Wulfric should know better than to lay hands on a servant of Earl Roland’s. I should think the earl will expect him to be severely dealt with.”

Wulfric’s father spoke up. “Is there a new law, John Constable, that says a man in livery may do what he likes?”

There was a mutter of agreement from the small crowd now gathered. Young squires caused a lot of trouble, and often escaped punishment because they were wearing the colours of some baron; and this was deeply resented by law-abiding tradesmen and peasants.

Lady Philippa intervened. “I’m the earl’s daughter-in-law, and I saw the whole thing,” she said. Her voice was low and melodious, but she spoke with the authority of high rank. Ralph expected her to take his side, but to his dismay she went on: “I’m sorry to say that this was entirely Ralph’s fault. He fondled the girl’s body in a most outrageous way.”

“Thank you, my lady,” John Constable said deferentially. He lowered his voice to confer with her. “But I think the earl might not want the peasant lad to go unpunished.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “We don’t want this to be the start of a lengthy dispute. Put the boy in the stocks for twenty-four hours. It won’t do him much harm, at his age, but everyone will know that justice has been done. That will satisfy the earl – I’ll answer for him.”

John hesitated. Ralph could see that the constable did not like taking orders from anyone but his master, the prior of Kingsbridge. However, Philippa’s decision would surely satisfy all parties. Ralph himself would have liked to see Wulfric flogged, but he was beginning to suspect that he did not come out of this as a hero, and he would look worse if he demanded a harsh punishment. After a moment John said: “Very well, Lady Philippa, if you’re willing to take responsibility.”

“I am.”

“Right.” John took Wulfric by the arm and led him away. The lad had recovered fast, and was able to walk normally. His family followed. Perhaps they would bring him food and drink while he was in the stocks, and make sure he was not pelted.

Merthin said to Ralph: “How are you?”

Ralph felt as if the middle of his face were swelling like an inflated bladder. His vision was blurred, his speech was a nasal honk, and he was in pain. “I’m fine,” he said. “Never better.”

“Let’s get a monk to look at your nose.”

“No.” Ralph was not afraid of fights, but he hated the things physicians did: bleeding and cupping and lancing boils. “All I need is a bottle of strong wine. Take me to the nearest tavern.”