Free The Traitor of St. Giles by Michael Jecks Page A

was clear above the trees lining the far riverbank ahead and she surveyed it with interest.
    The castle was a massive grey building; the town huddled south-east of it in the gap between the Rivers Lowman and Exe, an accumulation of limewashed, timber-built places which sprawled haphazardly up the hillside, with gardens, orchards and burgage plots radiating out. Thin fields lay further down the hill, as did pastures and meadows: cattle and horses, sheep and lambs could be seen browsing or dozing in the warm summer sunlight.
    They clattered over the timber bridge to the main street leading up to the castle, and Jeanne began to feel the strength and power of the place. It would be strange to live beneath such a massive symbol of a lord’s power, she thought. Strange and intimidating.
    Baldwin turned to her as if reading her mind. For a moment he appeared to have forgotten his loss, and he gave her a broad smile. ‘Does it look a glum place to you?’
    ‘I have no idea how you guessed that was what I was thinking, but yes. It doesn’t appeal to me.’
    ‘It’s not so dreadful inside,’ he said. ‘My Lord de Courtenay enjoys a comfortable life.’
    ‘But imagine living beneath these walls all the time,’ she said, shivering as they rode towards the great gatehouse. ‘I heard once of the King’s castle at London, and how the tall walls and towers threatened any who came near. I begin to understand how people must feel when their whole lives are lived in the shadows of a place like this’.
    Baldwin cast her a sympathetic glance. Although she had lived in Bordeaux during her youth, she had spent most of her life in England in places where there appeared little need for strong defences. Devon was not like the Scottish or Welsh marches where warfare was a way of life. ‘Didn’t you feel the same at Bordeaux?’
    ‘Bordeaux? No, of course not! The whole town was enclosed and protected. The castle was only for the last resort, there to protect the King’s subjects.’
    Baldwin nodded but wasn’t convinced. The King’s father, Edward I, was perfectly capable of bullying his people into submission, and a place like Bordeaux was protected because it made sense to look after the citizens so that their wealth could be defended and saved for the King himself, rather than handing it to his enemies. No king was truly altruistic.
    He glanced up at the castle walls. Strong, solid, unblemished, they looked impregnable – yet he wondered how they would cope with the might of the King’s artillery pounding them. The walls of Bristol had not survived long in 1316 when the King had exercised his will over the townspeople, raising the whole posse of the county against the rebellious folks who would not obey his will . . .
    But his reverie was halted by a cry.
    ‘Baldwin! About time!’
    He spun in his saddle and then smiled as he recognised his old friend Simon. ‘Bailiff Puttock, did they invite you as well? I thought it was to be a select gathering!’
    ‘Is Margaret with you?’ Jeanne asked as she and her husband dropped gratefully from their mounts.
    ‘No,’ Simon said, and there was a reticence in his manner. ‘You know she has often miscarried? The midwife told her to stay at home and rest in her bed to prevent another, and I agreed.’
    ‘What of Hugh?’ Baldwin asked. They were inside the great hall now, sipping drinks, and Baldwin was surprised not to see Simon’s truculent servant making a nuisance of himself among the castle’s own men.
    ‘Er, no,’ Simon said. ‘Hugh has decided to stay and help Constance with her garden.’
    Baldwin’s eyebrows shot heavenwards. He had no idea what sort of woman would want so morose a companion.
    ‘There’s no need to look like that, Baldwin. Hugh can work well enough.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘When he wants to, yes.’
    ‘Does he ever want to?’ Baldwin enquired.
    ‘He’s loyal.’
    ‘Ah!’
    Seeing his expression Simon added defensively, ‘I gave him