The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17)

by Michael Jecks

  Susan the alewife it was who appeared at her door, her face drawn and anxious. ‘Letty, there’s been a terrible accident.’

  ‘Who?’

  She was already pulling on a shawl as she listened intently. There was no point in rushing off and then arriving without the necessary tools; better by far that she waited until she knew what was needed. There was satisfaction in being prepared; just a few moments of her time could make the difference between a person suffering and surviving.

  ‘It’s poor Muriel,’ Susan said breathlessly. ‘She’s been run down – by the Coroner of all people!’

  ‘Poor Muriel,’ Letitia echoed, appalled. ‘Is she dead?’

  ‘She lives, but her head is cut open. She heard the horses and sheltered her sons. They were playing in the road.’

  ‘She would.’ Letitia nodded approvingly. ‘We can only hope that she isn’t too badly hurt. Head wounds can be so dangerous.’

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ Susan guessed. ‘The skull looks unharmed, but her flesh is cut away.’

  Letitia nodded. She could wash out the wound with some oil, and then put on a poultice to draw out the evil humours. ‘And there are the boys, of course?’

  ‘Yes. You’ll have to look after them. Serlo won’t be capable on his own.’

  ‘Huh! Not that arse!’

  ‘Aha! What has your marvellous brother-in-law done this time?’

  There was always a comfort in talking to Susan. She was a confident, sensible woman, independent and bright. Although she was a tavernkeeper, she could hold her tongue when asked. Not that there was anything secret in this. It was woman’s talk. ‘He came to our house last night. Told us that Athelina was little better than a slut because she had two children in as many years. Surely he knows Alexander and I have been trying …’

  ‘It’ll come for you surely, Letty,’ Susan said, patting her hand consolingly. ‘It’s just some folks find it takes longer than others.’

  ‘The way he spoke of her! You’d think he hated all women, especially those with children.’

  ‘He’s just a fool,’ Susan said. ‘I’ll refuse to serve him in my alehouse if he’s not more polite.’

  ‘Do that and you’ll lose all your profits,’ Letty joked. ‘I can’t help thinking that he despises all women – perhaps because he never knew a mother when he was a child. All he knew was Alexander.’

  Susan smiled but there was nothing to say.

  Soon Letty sniffed, wiped her nose, and stood. ‘Right!’ she said briskly. ‘Is Muriel at her home?’

  ‘Yes. We didn’t want to move her after the accident. But the boys …’

  ‘They can come here, and so can she. I can look after them, although I don’t know how we’ll cope with Serlo as well. That would be too much.’

  They were soon done. Letitia packed her bag, hesitated over the basket of eggs, and then selected the freshest she could find. Muriel deserved careful protection and egg-whites could help clean deeper cuts. Ready, she led the way at a fast trot to the mill.

  Outside were a pair of dark brown mounts, one a large rounsey, the second a smaller pony with a splatter of light brown coat on his flank. Letitia scarcely gave them a glance, but instead shoved at the door and walked into Serlo and Muriel’s house.

  It was a small, rather noisome place, filled with the odours of a home: a baby’s excrement, sour milk, vomit, and the smell of sheep from the small fold at the farther end of the long, narrow cottage. The fire sat in the middle of the earthen floor on a hard clay base, and it had been carefully tended, Letitia saw with an approving nod. A clerk squatted at its side, a doleful little man with a pasty face washed free of any semblance of cheer. He glanced up. There was a sombre look about him, as though he was waiting to be accused of murder, and Letitia assumed he was the rider who had struck Muriel.

  Muriel’s bed was a low wooden frame with a thin mattress stuffed with fragrant herbs and hay, and she lay on it with her head flung back like a corpse. Her eyes were closed and her face dreadfully pallid, so much so that Letitia wondered immediately whether she had dallied too long and was here to witness the death of her sister-in-law. Yet even as she turned to whisper to Susan, Muriel’s eyes opened. For all that they were dull and had bruises beneath them, there was none of Athelina’s despair or madness in them.

  That at least was a relief. Letitia crossed the floor and squatted beside her. ‘This is not going to hurt too much,’ she said, and Muriel smiled faintly up at her, as though recognising the dishonesty of the statement. Then she closed them tightly as Letitia began to examine the wound.

  Later, when she had cleaned it and rinsed it first with oil, then with a little egg-white, she wrapped a clean linen towel about her head. Only then did Letitia glance at Susan. ‘Where are the boys?’

  ‘They’re out with their father,’ said a deeper voice. A man in a faded grey tunic appeared from the darkness near the doorway. He was young, with olive skin, of slender build for a knight, but he wore the spurs and belt like a man born to the noble class. He stepped forward until he was close to Letitia. His eyes were dark as soot, set rather close together about a hawk-like nose. Now he looked unutterably sad. ‘I ordered that the miller should come and collect them while their mother was seen to. Will she be all right?’

  ‘She should live, unless she’s unlucky,’ Letitia said, holding Muriel’s hand gently. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you? Godspeed, Muriel. Sleep well. I’ll look after your sons.’

  There was a subtle reciprocation of pressure on her fingers, and then she put Muriel’s hand back down on the blanket.

  ‘So your clerk managed to knock her down? He must have been riding very fast,’ she said accusingly, staring at the whey-faced fellow by the hearth. ‘I hope you will compensate this woman for her suffering.’

  The man glanced at his clerk, then turned back to her with a little grimace. ‘It wasn’t him, I fear.’

  ‘It was you. Always the same: it’s the wealthy and careless who inflict pain on others,’ she said uncompromisingly.

  ‘In this case, it wasn’t frivolous, madam. I was hurrying to another body. A woman who died in the vill here?’

  She looked at him. ‘You are the Coroner?’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘You think me too young?’

  ‘I do not care about your age, sir, but I fear the inexperience of a man who might cause one death while investigating another.’

  He winced, she was glad to see, and apologised. ‘It was this summons, madam. I had to come and view the body, but I also have two other suspicious deaths to investigate. I was in a great hurry … and now, because of my haste, I could have killed a young mother protecting her children. It is a miserable man you see before you, madam.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ she said, glancing once more at Muriel. ‘You may also have made a widower of her husband and taken away the mother of two sons.’ I have seen what that loss can do to a man, she thought to herself, and was vaguely disquieted by the reflection. There was nothing wrong with her man, nothing wrong with Alex. The only one who had grown ill-favoured and unpleasant was Serlo.

  ‘My apologies. I only hope she recovers. In the meantime …’ The Coroner reached into his purse, pulled out a few coins and studied them carefully, the coins close to his nose, his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Here.’ He handed her one.

  She could feel by its weight that it was a valuable coin and thought she should give it to Serlo, but then rejected the idea. That would be madness indeed, giving that wastrel and spendthrift money – she might as well pass it straight to Susan. No, she must keep it safe, she thought.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. Then: ‘Susan, I must see to the boys. Can you remain here until I have fetched Jan from home?’

  ‘God’s blood! Of course I can wait to help poor Muriel. I’ve got to get back before too long, though. There’ll be the harvesters arriving.’

  ‘Good. Do you remain here then, and I shall send my maid to take over shortly.’


  ‘We should be continuing our journey, then,’ the knight said. ‘Come, Roger, we have to go and view this body.’

  Julia, the young woman who acted as housekeeper for Father Adam, had woken later than usual this morning. The death yesterday had shocked her, but she knew that she must continue as though nothing was altered; otherwise the priest might notice and wonder. When he returned after his services, she had to hurry to prepare his food; her thoughts had been so tangled, caught up with Athelina and her miserable end, that she hadn’t noticed the passing time. Mind, she had time to consider the new fellow – Ivo, the lad with the winning grin, the smutty sense of humour and strong frame. If she were ever in danger, this fellow might rescue her.

  ‘I’ll have an egg today, Julia,’ came the call from the little hall, and Julia leaped to her feet, startled, before setting her child on the floor and hurtling about the room. She readied a platter, cutting bread into rindless sheets, and set a pot of dripping beside it on a tray. Going out to the nesting place of the irascible white hen, who shot off angrily to the other side of the yard after pecking viciously at her hand, she rescued the egg and took her prize back into the house, only to see the baby crawling off through the doorway into the parlour. Hurrying, she gathered up the tray with the bread, a wooden board and knife, and carried them to the priest’s main room.

  It wasn’t large, but at least it smelled wholesome in there. He didn’t have a dog so his reeds weren’t infested with bones and shit, and Julia was happy that her boy was safe in there, although when she had set the tray on the table by Adam, she heard his swift intake of breath, and spun round to see her son crawling towards the fire. She swept him up and set him back on her hip. ‘You little bugger, you’ll be the death of me,’ she said with exasperation.

  ‘You shouldn’t swear at him,’ Adam remonstrated, but she gave the priest a glare.

  ‘What else can I do? He’s into everything right now, and I can’t do anything but smack him to warn him.’

  ‘He’d be happier with a little gentle persuasion, I expect.’

  ‘Father, you stick to what you know and I’ll look after this one. He’s a little animal, just like any other, and he needs training.’ She chucked the fellow under the chin. ‘In’t that right, Ned? So keep off the fire, you little devil, or I’ll tan your hide for you.’

  She plonked him down again and fetched a griddle, sitting it straight on the embers. There would be enough heat to cook Father Adam’s egg. She broke it onto the warm disk, and waited until it was whitened through, the yolk a pale yellow in its midst, and then picked the griddle from the fire and brought it to him, using a knife to prise the egg from the metal and slide it onto his platter. Then she sat on his bench and watched him eat.

  He was an odd fellow, this young priest. When he’d asked her if she’d like to cook for him, she assumed he was after her body, thinking she was a typical desperate woman who would be prepared to turn harlot to satisfy his whims. Well, at the time she wasn’t! She was a young mother, but her man was happy to support her, so he said, and the last thing she needed was a randy vicar trying to get into her skirts. No, thank you! But her man told her not to be daft, the priest was helping them, and she ought to go cook for him.

  And so she did. But more recently, when she learned that her lover, the father of her child, had lost interest in her and their boy, she suddenly had no means of supporting herself, and then of course she was glad of her place here in the priest’s house. It didn’t matter if he’d wanted to bed her then – she’d have accepted him as she would accept any man who might protect her. He gave her food and shelter – who was she to refuse his advances if he needed something in return? No mother could turn her nose up at food and a warm bed for herself and her child.

  But early on it became obvious that her lover had been right: Father Adam showed no interest in her. He knew of her lover, and was content to let her come and go as she wanted. Perfect. Yes, and her man could visit, too, out in her room, so they were all happy.

  She’d never forget that first day. Adam had offered her a job in his home, but there was no unsubtle hint about his virility or her beauty such as she had anticipated. Instead, on her first night, he had directed her to the little haybarn beside his house.

  ‘Bring hay from there and we’ll make you a palliasse.’

  As good as his word, when she brought in an armful of hay, he had already put a blanket on the floor. He spread her hay on it, then draped a second blanket on top. He himself was to sleep in his chamber, a tiny room constructed high in the roof.

  Once, much later, when her lover had grown bored with her and moved to his next woman, she had watched Father Adam climb the ladder to his own bed, and then, from gratitude but also with some curiosity and in acknowledgement of her debt to him, she followed him. When she reached the top, she began to untie the thongs that held her thin dress about her, but he put a hand up and shook his head.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said softly. ‘You may return to your own bed.’

  And, vaguely confused, she had done so. She huddled in her cold bed with a strange sense of discomfort. No man had ever rejected her before, and the experience of first her lover and now this priest refusing her was not pleasant. She found herself touching her arms, feeling her waist, cupping her breasts, reassuring herself that there was nothing wrong with her. No, all seemed well. And if that lad yesterday was anything to go by, men could still fancy her. He, Ivo, had sat at the table and watched her as she went about her cleaning and tidying, at last offering to help when she had to fill the bucket from the well. As she filled it and he bent to pick it up, his hand touched her breast, then her thigh, and he grinned at her when she drew away, slapping at his hand. He had no shame, that much was certain. But he had a nice smile.

  Her life at Father Adam’s house had been smooth and easy, and it was only now, with the death of Athelina, that there was an undercurrent. Julia had felt it as she entered the room yesterday with those two strangers here, before she’d even heard of Athelina’s death. The tall knight, he’d been suspicious. She’d seen it in his eyes as soon as he caught sight of her. Thought she was some mare with an itch in her tail for a priest. Well, he could think all he wanted, but as far as Julia was concerned, at last she’d found some peace and she wasn’t going to give it up just because some stranger got the wrong idea. Although she wouldn’t want him to think badly of Adam. That wouldn’t be fair. No reason for the priest to suffer just because he’d been kind to her.

  Poor Athelina. Adam was pained by her death, she saw. It wasn’t right to kill her poor sons – she shouldn’t have done that. Christ, the thought of killing her own little Ned … it was just unthinkable, a nightmare. No, she loved her little boy. Didn’t matter that his father was a shit and bastard, who had refused to marry her. She’d lost her reputation already, sleeping with a man who wasn’t yet her husband and then, when she began to show the pregnancy, she lost her home too. Father John, the priest at Temple where she used to live, had told her that there was no place in his flock for a fornicator, and said she should leave – go to the parish where her child’s father lived. So here she’d come, and Adam had taken her in.

  Athelina had asked for no help from him. She had her house already anyway, somewhere to put her head. But she was widowed, and her lover had abandoned her. Perhaps that was why she felt so bad. She’d got used to having a man in her life, and when he left, that was that so far as Athelina knew. There was nothing now but the steady, unrelenting demands of motherhood.

  Julia could all too easily understand that desperation, that loneliness. She had to – it was she, after all, who had stolen Athelina’s man from her; it was she who had enjoyed his money for that little while. Yet now, that too had dried up. It was fortunate that Adam seemed to like having her in his house to keep it clean and warm.

  Yes, Julia would have liked to comfort poor Father Adam, but she knew, after that last time, that any approach by her would be misconstrued. Best to leave well
alone.

  Anyway, why bother the priest when there was a happy-go-lucky ostler at a loose end? Ivo was a good name, she decided, and she wondered idly what his surname was.

  Letitia found the mill operating slowly; the wheel and the stones graunching together, making a steady, rhythmic din that she could only assume emanated straight from Hell. It took the fourth bellow of ‘Serlo!’ to attract his attention, and at last he peered down at her from a trapdoor in the ceiling, his face smeared with flour, his hair prematurely grey from the fine dust that permeated the entire building.

  ‘What?’

  She coughed from the mist that seemed to clog her nostrils and throat. ‘Come down here! I can’t bellow at you all the time. Where are the boys? I’ve come to take them back to my house. You can’t look after them here.’

  He disappeared for a while, then reappeared and clambered heavily down the ladder. At her insistence, they left the mill to talk, and once outside he grunted, ‘They’re fine. I’ll see to them.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool! You can’t keep an eye on them here. You’ll end up with them getting hurt as well.’ At least here in the open the noise was dulled to a thumping and shaking that she was sure she could feel through the soles of her feet.

  ‘My wife ought to be looking after them. That bladder of pus who knocked her down, he ought to pay,’ Serlo blustered. ‘He could have killed her! Fucking Coroners!’

  ‘Yes, well, fine, but what about the boys? You can’t keep them in there with you. Where are they?’

  ‘I left them outside so they’d be safe. Didn’t want them falling into the machine, like the silly fool of an apprentice I used to have.’

  ‘Where outside?’

  ‘Over near the logs.’

  Letitia stared at him. ‘You mean by the leat? What if one falls in?’ In her mind she had a vision of the great paddles on the wheel beating Aumery’s head into a froth of red bubbles at the water’s surface. She fled to the leat and could only gasp in relief to see them both playing with old snail shells and nuts at the edge of the woods.