B00B9BL6TI EBOK (15 page)

They had seen her. Quickly, she tried to look unconcerned and hoped they hadn’t realised they’d been overheard. She wanted to walk on, but now they’d greeted her she would have to stop or it would be taken as a gross incivility.

As she turned, they both hurried over. She tried to look pleasant as they oozed compassion, but it was hard going. Irritated, she decided to strike back, and asked them innocently what they had been speaking of. She was rewarded by a look of some guilt from Peter of the Bridge, but Peter of the Bail merely smiled and said they had been discussing the sudden appearance from nowhere of William’s nephew.

Peter of the Bridge took the opportunity of the change of subject and waded straight in. ‘And do you not fancy, Miss Alys, that there is something strange about that?’

She ventured no opinion, feeling sorry for the young man who had made her heart beat a little faster the previous day. But it didn’t stop the diatribe. They seemed really riled – perhaps she shouldn’t have goaded them in such a way, for the poor stranger was sure to suffer if they took against him.

‘Can he really be William’s nephew? He doesn’t look like a wool merchant’s son to me – did you see the state of that tunic?’

Peter of the Bail threw up his hands in horror. ‘The fabric! I can scarcely credit that anyone would sell that. It almost looks homespun.’

Peter of the Bridge sniggered. ‘But perhaps they make their own clothes out of what nobody will buy?’

Alys pitied the young man even more. ‘Is it not possible that he simply put on such a tunic for travelling, so that he should not be too conspicuous on the road?’

They were silent for a moment. Then Peter of the Bridge continued. ‘Well, in any case, I intend to test him. If he is a merchant’s son then he will have knowledge of different fabrics and their names, qualities and costs. If that young man has ever worked in a shop I shall – I shall eat my hood!’

They giggled, and then Peter of the Bail nudged his companion. ‘But look – here they come. Let us go over to the stall there and intercept them.’

Both men started scurrying, and Alys trailed along behind them, hoping to be able to limit the damage, and drawn to the man who was about to be tested.

As they reached the stall she examined the contents of it. Poor stuff, certainly – nothing like what her father traded in. Or what she traded in, she supposed she should say now, at least until either Thomas or Nick came back, or until such time as she married. Married? Why had that thought leaped into her head all of a sudden? It wasn’t surprising that it should be at the back of her mind, of course, as with anyone her age, but it certainly hadn’t been to the fore for a good number of weeks. She felt herself blushing and examined the fabrics more closely as William and his nephew approached.

The stallholder, facing hardship but now presumably thinking that his luck was in, expounded on the number and quality of wares he had available even in these difficult times.

As the two newcomers were greeted, Peter of the Bridge began to speak in an unnecessarily loud voice. ‘So, fellow, how much is that sarsenet there?’

‘Sevenpence the yard, sir, and a finer you will not find …’

Peter of the Bail cut him off with a wave. ‘Yes, yes, but look, Peter, at the cambric. Would that not do for some new hangings in your chamber?’

Alys looked under her eyelashes at the young man – Edwin – as Peter haggled the man down to one shilling the yard for the cambric, and started another discussion about needing some cheaper burel to make new clothing for his servants. He wasn’t looking at her, but she got the feeling that he might have been a moment ago.

The Peters were finally coming to the point. ‘So, let me see, I have perhaps a mark of silver available, and I may want eight yards of the burel at fourpence the yard, four yards of the sarsenet at sevenpence, and – now, if the cambric is for hangings I will want five ells, but at a shilling the yard …’ they were giggling together like a couple of apprentices, but as they turned smugly towards their victim, he interjected before they could draw breath.

His voice was amiable. ‘Eleven shillings and threepence, Master Peter, so you would have two shillings and a penny left from your mark.’

Alys had to put her hand over her mouth to stifle a smile. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone deflate so quickly. Both Peters were completely speechless, a sight she certainly hadn’t seen before. William, unaware of the undercurrents in the conversation, was congratulating his nephew.

‘Well done, Edwin. My sister and goodbrother have taught you well – I have never known anyone reckon so quickly. A real merchant’s son.’

Peter of the Bail was looking spitefully at Edwin, and Alys realised he hadn’t finished the test yet.

‘Yes, a fine calculation, young man. Perhaps you would be kind enough to pass me the bolt of cambric so that I may inspect it more closely?’

Edwin agreed, but Alys saw the slightest hesitation as he looked over the stall. She was not going to let the Peters win their nasty game.

‘Here, let me help you, you won’t be able to reach across me from there.’ Smoothly she picked up the fine white linen and passed it over to him. Their eyes met, and she caught a glimpse of his relief before he dropped his gaze.

The Peters didn’t look too happy at being bested, but they hadn’t seen what she had seen, and were content to take Edwin at face value. The stallholder was looking hopefully at Peter of the Bridge, perhaps unable to believe that nearly a whole mark of silver was about to come his way. He was right, it wasn’t: Peter turned on his heel and strode off, followed shortly by his companion, leaving the man staring after them. He spat disgustedly on the ground and looked pointedly at the rest of them until they moved on. William was asking her if they could assist her in any way, but before she could reply, the gaunt figure of Master Michael stalked up to them.

He took her hand. ‘Alys. My dear girl. I wanted to speak to you yesterday after your poor father’s funeral but didn’t have the leisure as I had to return here straight away. I haven’t asked you about his final moments – was he shriven? Was he in the Lord’s grace?’

She assured him that this was the case, hoping he would drop the subject, but he seemed particularly keen to continue it, probing further.

‘And did he never recover consciousness before he died? You weren’t able to speak with him?’

She was on her guard immediately. What business of his was it whether he had regained his wits? And why did everyone seem so interested? Of course, there was one obvious answer to that question, but it didn’t mean that she was about to go telling the whole marketplace. How could she know whom to trust?

Aid came to her in the form of the young man she now knew was not a wool merchant’s son. ‘Mistress, you look so pale all of a sudden. Are you quite all right?’ He stepped forward in concern.

She took the hint, raising one arm wearily to her head and agreeing that yes, everything had taken a toll on her, and she would like to go home and rest.

Master Michael looked as though he might press the point, or even offer to walk with her, but again Edwin forestalled him, encouraging William to take her arm and lead her off. There was no arguing with that – if the mayor wanted to walk her home then she could not be in better hands. She would be glad to escape.

Edwin hoped he’d done the right thing. People just wouldn’t leave her alone, and she needed some peace. But he was forestalled in his efforts, for the man whose name he hadn’t learned had appeared again, and he looked agitated. As he approached he took off his cap, and he stood screwing it in his hands. He opened his mouth but seemed unable to speak.

Everyone stopped and looked at him as he stammered. It was Alys who finally broke the silence. ‘Yes, Ralf, what is it?’

Ralf – aha, finally – blushed a deep red. ‘I – mistress, there’s something I have to tell you.’ He looked around him. ‘Perhaps we could speak privately?’

Alys seemed about to answer, but one of the Peters stepped forward with a smirk on his face. Edwin wanted to hit him. No doubt he wanted to hear whatever gossip it was, hoping it would be hurtful to someone. ‘For shame, man, do you think we will let you walk off with an unescorted young woman? If you have something to say, say it to all of us.’

Ralf was in an agony of awkwardness, almost hopping up and down. He addressed Alys alone, pleading with her. ‘Please, miss, please. It’s about your father. I need to tell you what he was doing the night he was struck down.’

Alys had turned as white as an altar cloth. Edwin was in a dilemma: he desperately wanted to spare her any pain, wanted to whisk her away so she could speak to the man in peace, but he needed to hear what was going to come next.

Once Ralf had spoken the words in public, though, it seemed there was no turning back. All the men were crowding round him, demanding that he say more.

He screwed his cap even more between his hands and spoke to Alys again. ‘You see miss – I’m worried about his soul. He was a good master, the best I’ve ever had, and yet he was sinning, and I’m not sure he will be allowed into heaven. And I need to tell you what I’ve done – I can’t keep quiet any longer!’

There was a deep silence. Ralf took a gasping breath and plunged in further. ‘I would see him, often, leaving the house. As I was locking up the weaving shed. I knew it was none of my business, but I wondered where he was going. So one night, as it was getting dark, I saw him slipping out of the alley between the houses and up the street, and I couldn’t help myself – I followed him.’

Edwin realised he was holding his breath. He looked around him to see that every eye, Alys’s included, was riveted on the weaver. She was holding one hand out as though she really did want to guide him to a quiet corner now to speak privately, but it was too late.

Ralf was continuing. ‘I followed him all the way up through town – I couldn’t think where he might be going. He went right past the place where all those houses had been knocked down, and kept going up to the northern part of the town. I saw him knock on a door and go in.’

He stopped, looking straight at Alys. Peter of the Bridge couldn’t contain himself, and burst out. ‘But whose house? Damn it, man, tell us more!’

Ralf’s eyes never left Alys. ‘It was the widow Gunnilda’s house.’

Edwin had absolutely no idea who this woman was, or why the mention of the name should have such an effect on everyone round him. He looked at them in turn. Both Peters had a look of cruel triumph, though one of them was gloating more than the other. Master Michael was unreadable. William merely looked sad, a little disappointed. And Alys – well, there were so many emotions on her face that he couldn’t hope to read them all. There was definitely surprise, and a huge anger.

Everyone now looked at her, William offering his arm as a support. But she wasn’t weak – she was furious.

‘How dare you! How
dare
you say such things about my father, with him hardly cold in his grave!’

The words tumbled out of Ralf as he backed away from such anger. ‘Mistress, I – I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I’ve been so sorry since I found out, I didn’t know how to tell you, or whether to say anything to him …’

She was almost spitting. ‘Lies! My father would never go out to see another woman at night. Never! He loved my mother.’

William tried to placate her, laying a hand on her arm. ‘My dear, you know, your mother has been dead a very long time, and men do need … female company.’ He cleared his throat.

Alys rounded on him. ‘So now you know my father better than me? I’m telling you, he wouldn’t go to see another woman, and that is
not
what he was doing.’ Her voice broke and she started to sob. Belatedly all the men became more gallant, but Edwin managed to get himself between them and her, so that only William was offering support. He kept the others at bay until William and Alys had walked off. Ralf began to slink off in the other direction, and Edwin left Master Michael and the Peters to themselves. He didn’t care what they spoke of – he just needed some time to think.

Of course, in such a large city there was not likely to be a quiet place anywhere, not like at home, and he found himself surrounded by people on all sides. He became agitated, bumping into the people who crowded him, and receiving evil looks and a few shoves in reply. This was no good; he needed some space and some peace. He needed to calm down. Eventually he took his eyes off the hurly-burly around him and looked up. Of course! There would be quiet and somewhere to think in there. He made his way into the cathedral.

As he entered the great stone building he felt the cool air and the space, the high vaults soaring to the heavens. Footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, but there were fewer people in here, and the sound was not intrusive. He stopped and inhaled the aroma of the incense which remained from a previous service. He forced himself to remain, breathing, until his heart had stilled a little, and then he looked around him. Finding a corner, he moved to it and knelt in prayer – firstly, for the souls of those dear to him whom he had lost, and secondly, for some divine guidance as to what he should do next. He was clueless. He’d been so sure that Nicholas had been the key, that he’d been trying to find his way to the castle when he was attacked, and now it seemed that this wasn’t the case. He’d wasted his precious time on a thread which turned out not to be part of the weaving, and if he didn’t come up with something else within the next few hours, all would be lost. If he had ever needed to pray, it was now.

As he knelt and offered up his desperate supplications to the Lord the cathedral emptied, and stillness reigned. There were a few others here and there, perhaps praying for the safety of loved ones, but they were as silent as he, and he was able to shut them out as he drew closer into his own thoughts. He stayed on his knees as he tried to empty his mind. If the Lord wanted him to find out the truth, he would help him in some way. Here in this holy place He would guide the thoughts of His humble servant. Edwin clasped his hands and prayed for salvation.