Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,35

know but how

do

you

stand

so

high in the King’s

estimation that you should know as well?" said de Tourney.

"I do not," said Jervis, with a smile. "I listen."

"Where?" said Madeleine, curiously.

"At mealtimes, out hunting, during ceremonial gatherings," said Jervis, shrugging.

"Squires are often ignored so thoroughly that their masters forget they exist. We may have the knack of standing still, but we are not blind and deaf, too."

"But surely de Warenne and his friends are more discreet than to discuss such matters at table?" said Madeleine. "I have never heard such conversation."

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"There are meals and occasions when ladies aren’t present, or welcome," said de Tourney. "Then the talk is far from discreet and as the wine flows, the tongues loosen."

"Especially after a hard day’s hunting," said Jervis.

"I thought such conversations were more bawdy than anything else," said Madeleine, lightly.

Jervis remained serious.

"At first it is," he said. "But remarks are dropped into the conversation, or two men will start their own mutterings, their heads close together. Stand near enough, and you can catch what’s being said without making your eavesdropping too obvious."

"You speak as one well-practised in the art," said de Tourney, thoughtfully.

Jervis bowed and grinned at him.

"As you say, sir," he said, mischievously.

"Hmmm!" said de Tourney, gruffly. He thought back, uneasily, to occasions when he might have said something less than discreet himself, and within range of Jervis FitzHugh’s sharp ears. The youth gave the impression that he was privy to some secret that he, de Tourney, would not wish to be put about. He decided to question him more closely, when they were next alone.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Judith woke clawing frantically against the hand clamped firmly over her mouth and nose.

"When I take my hand away, no noise, unless you want your throat slit!" hissed a voice.

She nodded, willing to promise anything for the sake of being able to breathe again.

The hand was removed, and she took in great gulps of air. The cabin was only dimly lit, but she could make out the figure of the man who had almost suffocated her. He was tall and strongly built, dressed in the rough clothes of one of the crew. His face was so close to hers that she could see the stubble on his chin, and smell his rank breath. His teeth gleamed in the dim light, as he grinned maliciously at her. A movement behind him showed where another man waited in silence.

The ship was no longer moving ahead, she noticed, but was rocking gently in the swell.

They must have crossed the Channel as she slept and anchored somewhere off the English coast.

"Now," said the man leaning over her, in the same whisper. "We’re leaving this ship and you’re coming with us ’young master’."

There was heavy sarcasm in the last two words. The two men had either been in the cabin long enough to realise that she was no man, or they already knew her identity.

As if reading her mind, the voice went on.

"Prior Foville will wait for you in vain, wench. There’s someone else who wishes to meet you."

The man reached forward and pulled her roughly off the couch. She struggled with him and he grunted as her knee came up into his groin and found its target. Staggering back, bent over and retching with the pain, he gestured to the other man, already stepping forward, ready to spring to his companion’s defence. Judith darted to one side and ran across the cabin to the door, but she was not quick enough. A blow on the side of her head made her reel, then another knocked her to the floor. The cabin seemed to grow darker still and she lost consciousness.

The man who had struck her swore softly to himself as he looked down at her. The other, recovering rapidly from Judith’s attack, limped across the floor and stood beside him.

"Women’s skulls are softer than I realised," said her assailant.

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The other man shrugged.

"At least the bitch’ll keep quiet now!" he said. "Pick her up and let’s go. Pierre will have the boat over the side by now. It’s time we left, before some nosy swine comes to investigate the noise."

His partner hoisted Judith over his shoulder. She hung, head down his back, a dead weight. His companion opened the door cautiously and looked out. Apparently, the scuffle had disturbed no-one. Together, they crept forward along the deck, the man carrying Judith breathing heavily with the effort. Half-way along, the rope ladder hung over the side. At the bottom,