obviously made up your mind that this fine fellow is of that ilk.’
‘Look at him! Fat, foolish, a sluggard . . . what would you think?’
‘I would think we’ve arrived,’ Simon said.
The Coroner was waving to the baker, and Piers kicked his little pony forward, pointing in among the trees. Baldwin wrenched his horse’s head around after a struggle; Simon’s was still more recalcitrant. It obstinately tugged at the grasses and flowers at the side of the river, and Simon had to kick it hard, swearing, to make it obey. It turned, and then, for no apparent reason, bolted. Caught off-balance, Simon clung to the reins even as his feet flew from the stirrups. He could feel himself gradually toppling backwards but by fighting he managed to remain in his seat and, as he passed Baldwin, who was ambling along gently, he turned and called, ‘My beast has more fire than yours, anyway!’
‘
Simon
!’
He saw Baldwin’s anguished expression and turned just in time to see the branch.
Jeanne had felt the mood of the hall lighten after Simon and Baldwin left with Harlewin. It was as if the presence of the Coroner had put a blight upon the proceedings.
Petronilla had gone to a quiet room to feed Stephen as soon as they had arrived, agreeing to come and help the servants in the hall as soon as her child was sleeping. A maid in the castle also had a young child and had agreed to look after Stephen while Petronilla helped her mistress. Now Jeanne saw Petronilla enter carrying pots of wine for guests and sent Edgar over to help her – and to ask where Wat had got to. Jeanne was always nervous if the cattleman’s son disappeared when there was ale or wine available. Wat enjoyed alcohol and was often to be found snoring in a hidden corner of a buttery when left to his own devices.
‘It’s all right, my Lady,’ Petronilla said quietly. ‘He’s in the dairy. I sent him there to help since so many of the maids are in the kitchens.’
‘Well done,’ Jeanne said. If Wat was occupied there was less chance he could embarrass her or her husband. Glancing up, Jeanne saw Petronilla move away from a passing man. ‘Are you well?’
Petronilla nodded, but didn’t speak for fear of shaming herself. It was daunting in here, with knights, bannarets, even lords and their ladies. Some might think the same as the Coroner.
Horrible man, she thought, shuddering. All greasy and slimy, like a fat reptile. As he’d gone out, he’d put his arm around her in the hallway, his hand grasping her buttock, trying to force her to kiss him. It was only for a moment, and his thick-lipped face had been so close, slobbering like a great dog inches from her.
‘Come on, pretty little maid, give me a kiss or later you might regret it!’
Petronilla was revolted. She had turned her head away, and before he could do more than grope her breast and backside, Edgar had appeared. He quickly stepped close and the Coroner hastily fell back. ‘Yes?’
Edgar instantly moved between them. With a muttered prayer of relief she had fled back into the buttery. At the door she had glanced back. The Coroner had looked angry, but before he could say anything there was a call: Simon and Baldwin had arrived with their horses. The Coroner stalked out.
Now Petronilla was determined to remain close to Edgar. He would protect her. He was like that: kind and generous.
Jeanne was unaware of the anguish in Petronilla’s face. All she saw, she thought, was petulance, as if Petronilla resented having to help serve guests in another household. ‘Edgar, take Petronilla out and see if you can help in the kitchen or the buttery.’
Nodding, he led the way. As she left, Petronilla threw Jeanne a look of immense gratitude, which Jeanne recognised but couldn’t understand. Musings as to her maid’s feelings were cut short as Sir Peregrine called loudly: ‘My Lords and Ladies, Lord Hugh de Courtenay.’
Baldwin’s cry of warning reached Simon a second before his chest struck
‘Look at him! Fat, foolish, a sluggard . . . what would you think?’
‘I would think we’ve arrived,’ Simon said.
The Coroner was waving to the baker, and Piers kicked his little pony forward, pointing in among the trees. Baldwin wrenched his horse’s head around after a struggle; Simon’s was still more recalcitrant. It obstinately tugged at the grasses and flowers at the side of the river, and Simon had to kick it hard, swearing, to make it obey. It turned, and then, for no apparent reason, bolted. Caught off-balance, Simon clung to the reins even as his feet flew from the stirrups. He could feel himself gradually toppling backwards but by fighting he managed to remain in his seat and, as he passed Baldwin, who was ambling along gently, he turned and called, ‘My beast has more fire than yours, anyway!’
‘
Simon
!’
He saw Baldwin’s anguished expression and turned just in time to see the branch.
Jeanne had felt the mood of the hall lighten after Simon and Baldwin left with Harlewin. It was as if the presence of the Coroner had put a blight upon the proceedings.
Petronilla had gone to a quiet room to feed Stephen as soon as they had arrived, agreeing to come and help the servants in the hall as soon as her child was sleeping. A maid in the castle also had a young child and had agreed to look after Stephen while Petronilla helped her mistress. Now Jeanne saw Petronilla enter carrying pots of wine for guests and sent Edgar over to help her – and to ask where Wat had got to. Jeanne was always nervous if the cattleman’s son disappeared when there was ale or wine available. Wat enjoyed alcohol and was often to be found snoring in a hidden corner of a buttery when left to his own devices.
‘It’s all right, my Lady,’ Petronilla said quietly. ‘He’s in the dairy. I sent him there to help since so many of the maids are in the kitchens.’
‘Well done,’ Jeanne said. If Wat was occupied there was less chance he could embarrass her or her husband. Glancing up, Jeanne saw Petronilla move away from a passing man. ‘Are you well?’
Petronilla nodded, but didn’t speak for fear of shaming herself. It was daunting in here, with knights, bannarets, even lords and their ladies. Some might think the same as the Coroner.
Horrible man, she thought, shuddering. All greasy and slimy, like a fat reptile. As he’d gone out, he’d put his arm around her in the hallway, his hand grasping her buttock, trying to force her to kiss him. It was only for a moment, and his thick-lipped face had been so close, slobbering like a great dog inches from her.
‘Come on, pretty little maid, give me a kiss or later you might regret it!’
Petronilla was revolted. She had turned her head away, and before he could do more than grope her breast and backside, Edgar had appeared. He quickly stepped close and the Coroner hastily fell back. ‘Yes?’
Edgar instantly moved between them. With a muttered prayer of relief she had fled back into the buttery. At the door she had glanced back. The Coroner had looked angry, but before he could say anything there was a call: Simon and Baldwin had arrived with their horses. The Coroner stalked out.
Now Petronilla was determined to remain close to Edgar. He would protect her. He was like that: kind and generous.
Jeanne was unaware of the anguish in Petronilla’s face. All she saw, she thought, was petulance, as if Petronilla resented having to help serve guests in another household. ‘Edgar, take Petronilla out and see if you can help in the kitchen or the buttery.’
Nodding, he led the way. As she left, Petronilla threw Jeanne a look of immense gratitude, which Jeanne recognised but couldn’t understand. Musings as to her maid’s feelings were cut short as Sir Peregrine called loudly: ‘My Lords and Ladies, Lord Hugh de Courtenay.’
Baldwin’s cry of warning reached Simon a second before his chest struck
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