The Leper's Return by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page A

masks.
    Yet when he had opened his door and taken possession of his room, when he stood leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed as he surveyed his estate, he could not help a small frown worrying at his brow. It was not the men around him; his thoughts were not now with the misshapen creatures of the camp.
    Ralph was only young, but he had looked after enough ill and dying men in his time to recognize the expression he had seen on Godfrey’s face, and that face kept coming back to him: it held a wary sadness—as if Godfrey had been nursing an infinity of despair.
    3
    S tepping out of the butcher’s, John of Irelaunde stood a while leaning against the wall, watching the people pass by. As a young woman caught his eye, he would grin, whether or not she noticed him, and keep his attention fixed on her until she was swallowed up by the crowd. Every so often a girl would realize she was being observed, and it was in order to see how she might react that he stood glancing over the crowd.
    There were some, the youngest, who ducked their heads in embarrassment as though seeking sanctuary behind another anonymous person. A few were fetching young women who knew nothing of how to cope with a man’s interest, and these he would gaze at longingly—not to offend, but because he wanted to recall their innocence. He knew well that such shy maidenly blushes wouldn’t last; all too soon they would inevitably be replaced by knowing smiles.
    Then there were the older women who reddened with anger. Often they were married ladies of some status in the town—which was why John assaulted them with his gaze. When he found a woman who haughtily stared back while going crimson with irritation, he would give her a deliberate leer. It was delightful to fan her anger. Women like this had made his life harder, or had tried to, and their impotence in the face of his insultingly lecherous grin was balm to his soul.
    He liked the pretty girls, the fresh young women who met his look boldly. They were worth searching for. It was always a delight to assess how much of their confidence was bravado. They offered the potential for delightful speculation, not that he would dare try his luck with them. Even if he didn’t already have a woman who had stolen his affection, these were too hazardous; he would be tempting fate, dallying with young women who might have a wealthy father or brother who could wish to seek him out for revenge. Young girls could imagine themselves in love too easily, and were prone to seek satisfaction at the point of a sibling’s sword when rejected.
    The last category was the other wives—the ones who didn’t toss their heads haughtily or purse their lips on seeing him. They were the pretty ladies wedded to older men, women who wanted excitement without risk to their social standing. In a place like Crediton there wasn’t an inexhaustible supply of them, but there were enough for those who knew how to look. He monitored them as he surveyed the street, noting them with the eye of an expert cattleman checking stock. These women would meet his glance bravely, brazening him out, whether with their husbands or alone; they wouldn’t flush with shame or rage, but would return his pensive stare, and sometimes their eyes made unspoken offers.
    That had always been the delight for him, he reflected as he at last pushed away from the wall and made his slow progress to his house, scanning the street for familiar or new faces. It was the thrill of the chase. He knew that the women would have heard of him; it wasn’t as if he had hidden himself. John of Irelaunde liked women. He enjoyed their company, liked giving them gifts—nothing too expensive, but something that involved thought—and he loved loving them without the risk of financial involvement. That was his reputation.
    And that was why so many of them had sought his company. John was safe. He was known to be no threat for a woman who wanted the chance of a fling without her