The Manor of Death (46 page)

The sight of Nesta sitting so close to her new man at what had always been 'their table' eventually drove him away, and after a warm kiss on the cheek from her, he stalked out into the night. Gwyn thought of going after him, but in a rare moment of sensitivity he decided to let him go alone. Five minutes later, he slid away himself and went to the Crown Inn in High Street for a final quart before the East Gate was closed at the evening curfew. Then he went home to Avisa to confirm to her that her new life would soon be a reality, but at the same time he wondered what the future had in store for him.

Two weeks later, on a bright morning in early May, a farewell party assembled in Idle Lane, outside the front door of the Bush.

A score of the inn's regular patrons formed a large half-circle, inside which Edwin and the two maids were going round with jugs of ale, topping up the pots and cups with which the crowd was toasting the health and happiness of Nesta and Owain.

The stonemason was already seated on his horse, a grey mare which had been recovered after his ambush and housed ever since in the farrier's stable in Martin's Lane. Owain looked flushed and slightly embarrassed at the unexpected celebration that was attending their departure, but happy that he was going home with such a comely bride-to-be.'

Gabriel, a frequent customer of the tavern, held the bridle of Nesta's mount, a sleek rounsey that de Wolfe had bought her for the journey. Brought up outside a small village in Gwent, she was an expert rider, having sat bareback on Welsh mountain ponies since she was old enough to walk. Now, she stood for the last time with Gwyn, Thomas and John, in a tight little group alongside her saddle. The little clerk was openly crying, as she hugged him close and gave him kisses on both cheeks.

'May Jesus and his Blessed Mother keep you safe and happy, Nesta,' he gulped, pressing into her hand a parting gift. It was a small ivory crucifix, one of his few prized possessions. She kissed him again, tears in her own eyes, then moved into the bear-like hug of Gwyn, another of her devoted admirers. He kissed her enthusiastically on the lips, his great moustaches tickling her face and neck.

'Look after yourself, good girl!' he boomed in his version of Welsh. He gave her a small eating knife, in a wooden sheath that he had carved himself. 'If that bloody man doesn't treat you well, stick this into him!' he added with a great laugh that softened his advice.

Lastly, Nesta moved to John, standing silently near her horse's rump. Crying unashamedly now, she reached up and put her arms around his neck to kiss him farewell, oblivious of her husband-to-be sitting on his horse a few yards away.

The kiss lingered, then her face moved to his shoulder as she whispered into his ear. 'I will always love you,
cariad
- but this has to be the best way!'

All he could manage when she slipped out of his arms was a rasping noise in his throat as he watched her through a blur as she went to Gwyn, who lifted her on to her side-saddle as if she were a doll.

'We must be off!' called Owain, raising his hand in the air. 'Or we'll miss our company at the East Gate.' They had arranged to travel, as far as Taunton with a group of merchants and pilgrims for safety against the threat of robbers on the highways.

With a noisy chorus of well-wishing, the circle opened to let them through and the two riders clopped away, their few possessions, mainly clothes and Owain's tools, packed securely behind the high cantles of their saddles. With final shouts and waves, they reached the junction with Priest Street. As they turned, John's eyes were fixed on the figure of his lover, her green cloak flowing over the palfrey's back, the linen of her cover-chief bright in the morning sun. His last sight of Nesta was of her raising a hand to her lips and throwing a kiss to him - then she was gone.

As the throng broke up, many of them vanishing back into the tavern where Gwyn's wife bustled around to serve them, John felt as if all his blood had been sucked out of his body. He went to the wall of the Bush and slumped down on the bench, a plank laid across two logs. Gwyn came and sat on one side and Thomas on the other.

'That's that, then,' he muttered. 'She's gone and may God take good care of her!'

Gwyn did his best to console him, in his bluff and hearty manner. 'We'll see her again, never fear, Crowner! By what you told me, this new job of ours will take us all over the country. William the Marshal's castle of Chepstow is bound to be visited sooner or later - and the other Welsh Marches, like Hereford, are not far distant.'

'That young man Owain is a good and devout fellow, master,' said Thomas through his sniffles. 'He will be kind and gentle with her, never fear.'

De Wolfe was grateful for his faithful servants' efforts to raise his spirit, but he wanted to be alone for a while, to come to terms with this wrench in the ordered pattern of his existence. He stood up and stretched his back and his arms, as if he had just awoken from a deep sleep.

'I think I'll walk Odin back up to the farrier and then pester Mary for an early dinner,' he said slowly. 'Maybe there'll be some message from my wife, for we have only two days now before we leave for London.'

His words had an immediate effect on Thomas, who went pale and smote his forehead with a hand. 'Forgive me, sir, I quite forgot, with all this sad excitement of Nesta leaving.' He scrabbled in the pouch on the belt of his shabby cassock and produced a small square of parchment. 'This was brought to me after early Mass by a servant from Polsloe. It is a note written by Sister Madge.'

De Wolfe snatched it from him, then handed it back. 'Read it for me, Thomas, I beg you!' he commanded.

'It says: Written at Matilda de Wolfe's behest. She wishes to inform her husband that she needs more time to contemplate her future life and to arrive at a decision between her earnest desire to remain in the company of God or to return to the state of matrimony, whether in London or elsewhere. '

Thomas handed the parchment back to John with an apologetic look. 'That's all it says, master, I'm afraid.' He backed away when he saw the thunderous look on the coroner's face as he leapt up from the bench.

'The bloody woman!' he roared. 'She's doing this on purpose, keeping me dangling on a string! Why the hell can't she make her mind up one way or the other?' He pushed Thomas aside and strode towards the side of the Bush, where Odin was tethered to a rail, contentedly cropping at the rough grass. His officer and clerk followed him, bemused at his sudden change in mood. John grabbed the reins to untie them, then put a foot in a stirrup. As he swung himself up on to the destrier's back, he let rip another blast of invective.

'She's torn between God and the prospect of being wife of the Coroner to the Royal Court, that's what it is!' he shouted angrily. Pulling Odin's head around, he touched his flank with his heels.

'Are you going up to Polsloe, Crowner?' called Gwyn.
 

De Wolfe looked down from the stallion's back. 'No, I'm bloody well not!' he shouted. 'I'm off to Dawlish, where I have unfinished business!'