Richer stood back, appalled, and then cried once for his mother. He was about to dart forwards, when strong hands grabbed him. It was Iwan, the smith, who held him back, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘You’d never make it, lad. No. You can’t go.’
He had tried, he’d clenched a fist and swung it, but Iwan was faster, and caught the fist in his palm. He gripped his fingers tight, in a hand that used a three-pound hammer for hour after hour every day, and there was nothing Richer could do. He wept as he watched his home burn; he continued weeping as the roof caved in with an almighty gust of hot air like the Devil’s exhalation; he wept as the walls fell in, as the sparks were flung higher, as the timbers glowed pale in the night air, and he continued weeping long after.
They found the bodies three days later. It took that long for the fires to cool sufficiently. His parents’ skulls were easily discernible, although those of his brothers were difficult to find. His sister was reduced to two hipbones and her jaw. All other sign of her had been crushed or burned away. It was only a few days afterwards that the first of his migraines had begun.
‘Master, we met last night at the castle.’
The strong voice brought him back to the present with a jerk. He squinted up. ‘Who is that?’
‘I am Sir Baldwin of Furnshill. This is the Coroner, Sir Jules of Fowey, and my companion Simon Puttock.’
‘Sir Knight, I have a dreadful ache in my skull – it is hard to see anyone or anything today.’
‘Friend, I know others who suffer from the same sick headaches. You have my sympathy. Tell me, do you know this area well? You said you were born here, but have been away many years.’
‘I can recall it all tolerably well. I’ve been back a few weeks now.’
‘You knew this Athelina?’ Jules asked.
‘She was my first love,’ Richer said sadly. ‘But I left this place fifteen years ago, and only returned this summer.’
‘You were a free man?’ Baldwin said.
‘No. But I lived free in Exeter and then London, and I’ve returned a free man.’
Baldwin nodded. That was the law. If a peasant could run away and find himself a job for a year and a day, he was considered free from then on. ‘You were a man-at-arms?’
‘Yes. I have fought with the King’s host.’
‘Under whose banner?’
‘My lord Sir Henry of Cardinham’s. He took me on when I told him who I was.’
Simon frowned in surprise. ‘It’s not usual for a lord to take on his own runaway peasant as a man-at-arms, is it?’
‘Perhaps not all lords would have done so, but Sir Henry is a fair man. He took me, and now I live in the castle.’
‘This woman Athelina – do you know of anyone who had cause to wish her harm?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘We believe that her suicide may have been faked. It’s possible that she was murdered, and her children too,’ Baldwin explained.
Richer squeezed his eyes tight shut as another wave of pain forced its way through his head. ‘That’s impossible. No one could have held so much hatred for her!’
‘Yet you have not known her for fifteen years,’ Baldwin pointed out. ‘A woman can change a great deal in that time. She gained children, she wedded and lost a husband. Perhaps she won an enemy.’
‘I refuse to believe it.’ Richer’s voice was hoarse. ‘She was a kind girl, generous-hearted and warm. No one could have wished to kill her. I still find it hard to believe that she is dead, let alone murdered. Dear God – who could do such a thing?’
‘I am afraid there is no doubt,’ Baldwin said gently. ‘There were marks upon her neck which show that she was murdered.’ He stopped because the man-at-arms before him suddenly dropped his head into both hands.
Richer pressed hard with his palms against his temples. Athelina murdered! It was impossible! She had done no harm to anyone in all her life … He had doubted from the first moment that she could have killed her children, though. It simply didn’t ring true. A despair terrible enough to kill herself was possible, but not to kill those whom she adored the most. Never.
‘I knew her well. I wanted to marry her, but there was a fire at my parents’ home and my family was burned to death. I left soon after. When I returned here after many years of wandering, it was like becoming young again just to see her smile at me. She was my first love, and I don’t think I ever lost my adoration for her.’
Baldwin smiled understandingly. ‘It can be difficult to meet again with an old lover. Sometimes they can wish to renew a former relationship.’
‘She didn’t,’ Richer said sadly, but then he stared up at the serious-faced knight. ‘You mean, did I want to jump upon her at once and she refused me, so I killed her! If you believe that, you are a cretin, Sir Knight.’
‘Not many men speak thus to a knight,’ Sir Jules growled, his face hardening.
‘I doubt whether you accuse many men of murder and rape in the same breath,’ Richer replied equally harshly. ‘If you don’t wish to make enemies, you should pick your words more cautiously.’
‘We are investigating a murder,’ Baldwin said.
‘Leave it to the Coroner. It’s his job.’
‘It is the job of all to seek justice,’ Baldwin stated flatly, a hand touching the Coroner’s arm. Gradually Sir Jules allowed his temper to cool.
‘Then seek justice for me! I’ve lost my parents, my siblings, and now my love! You tell me you seek justice – who will seek justice for them, eh?’
‘I am sorry about your loss,’ Baldwin said more softly. ‘But my priority has to be this woman and her children. She was a widow, I hear?’
‘Yes. Her husband Hob was a good man. I used to know him.’
‘Did he leave her much money?’
‘What! Do you now accuse me …’
‘I accuse you of nothing, but a thief could break in to steal from her and commit murder if she discovered him. Calm yourself, Richer.’
‘I apologise. My head … Very well. She was left nothing, so far as I know. He died a good while ago, so she told me.’
‘How long?’
‘She’d been widowed more than nine years.’
‘And since then?’ Simon asked. ‘It’s a long time for a woman to be alone. How did she survive?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps she had a lover – I didn’t ask. You heard that Serlo demanded more money for rent, and I know that worried her. I offered to help, but she said another should pay. Maybe that’s what she meant – a lover.’
‘Did anyone try to stop him demanding more?’
‘I was attempting to. You know of his behaviour with the tolls? I told him to leave Athelina alone, or I’d bring the matter of the tolls to Nicholas’s attention.’
‘He tried to charge me for crossing his bridge,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘I persuaded him against the idea.’
‘So did I. I think he was trying to get money together to pay for his fines. He owes a lot of money for his apprentice’s death.’ Richer was still a moment, and then he raised his head, his face white. ‘My Christ in Heaven! Do you think that he would have dared to kill her to get back at me? He has always hated me.’
Baldwin studied the ravaged features before him, and slowly shook his head. ‘No. I think that whoever the murderer was, he killed her for his own motives. If he was attempting to implicate you for some reason, he would have made your guilt obvious. This crime was concealed.’
‘The bastard!’ Richer sobbed.
‘Friend Richer, please sit,’ Baldwin said, putting a hand on his shoulder and persuading him to rest again. ‘You have no evidence against Serlo, and if you go to him now, you will be guilty of murder yourself. Leave the affair to us. We can investigate the matter.’
‘Yes, very well,’ Richer said, but he was scarcely listening. Another thought had struck him, a memory from over the long years since the death of his parents. The voice which had first raised the alarm – it had been Serlo’s sur
ely, the voice of a man who was coming from the vill to the field, as though he had seen the fire and was rushing to fetch help to put it out.
Yet it could have been the voice of the man who had himself started the fire, he now realised.
Letitia left the body of Hamelin soon after Adam returned from his meal. He stood silently over Muriel, like a broody hen contemplating a warm pebble, the fool! The man always irritated her, but rarely so much as now, with his jargon and his fake sympathy.
Letty could dimly comprehend Muriel’s devastation; she had always wanted children of her own, but she was barren. Whether it was her fault or her husband’s, she didn’t know, nor did she care particularly.
For now, she was only worried about one thing: her nephew Aumery. The poor fellow had seen his mother almost killed, and witnessed his brother’s hideous death. She took his hand and pulled him away from Muriel. He started to wail, but she picked him up and he rammed his face into the corner of her shoulder, sobbing. She carried him out to the lane, and started down the road to her home. She was concerned for Muriel, her state of mind and her debility, but the woman needed to sit out the vigil.
Already the shadows were lengthening, the air growing cooler as the sun slipped behind the trees. Letitia shivered at the thought of the night to come. It was long past summer, and although the fruit and vegetables had been stored carefully, the beans and peas dried, the grain packed away, even so, she hated this time of year. It was the period of plenty, with the curse of hunger to come as winter gripped the land in a frozen embrace.
Come now, she told herself. There’s no starvation in the vill now, and hasn’t been for seven years since the disaster of the rains, and Alex has been successful. Even Serlo had achieved much, although Letitia felt no equivalent pride for him as she felt for her husband. Especially after today.
Why the fool hadn’t agreed to let her look after his sons, she would never know nor comprehend. Jan had come back to Letty’s when Serlo told her she could go, never dreaming that the man would clear off to the mill, leaving a sleeping wife, a pot simmering over the fire, two unsupervised children and a pig with her sty gate open. It was an accident waiting to happen! Just another example of the stupidity of the man. He was responsible for his younger son’s death. Yet he’d probably convince himself that it was all Muriel’s fault and, knowing her, the poor mouse, she’d agree. As usual. There was no man in the world so certain of the correctness of his own opinions than Serlo. Letitia always thought it was a sign of a defective mind, the inability to appreciate when it was wrong.
She reached her front door and pushed it open, kicking it closed behind her. Poor Aumery was almost asleep in her arms, and she murmured kind words to him as she took him up to her little chamber. At her bed she pulled the blanket across and kneeled gingerly, aware of the child’s weight. She laid him down on the blanket and wrapped another over him to keep him warm, then pulled the string to raise the shutter in its runners, hooking it over the peg in the wall above, and softly walked from the room.
Downstairs again, she built up the fire and got it going. It took some while, and when she had a good blaze, she set her tripod over it and hung her pot dangling from the chain. She was standing and stirring the pot when Alexander arrived home.
‘What would I do without you?’ he sighed. ‘Already preparing food, even after a day like this one.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘A little,’ he lied. The sight of Muriel and poor Hamelin had quite ruined his appetite. A death so close to a man’s own family was devastating.
He’d tried to seek out his brother to offer his condolences, but Serlo was so far gone, he scarcely knew Alexander. He just apologised drunkenly for stealing so much money in tolls, and went on to curse the slut Athelina for not paying up on time. ‘It was all that bitch’s fault,’ he had said, weeping.
Alexander rubbed a hand over his head. There was a pain behind his eyes. Another child dead, just like the other. Poor, poor little Danny. Serlo should have been more careful, but he was so taken up with his own problems, he forgot his duties to others. And he never took responsibility for his actions. It was always someone else’s fault.
Looking at him, Letty saw the tears in his eyes. ‘Oh, my love, I am so sorry!’
‘How can God take away a lad like him? Only a matter of months old, and he’s gone. It’s … oh, dear Lord!’
She knew that he had been going to say ‘unfair’, but that was a word they both avoided. Life wasn’t fair – they knew that. Yet there was no denying that Letty would dearly have liked God to have given her Hamelin. She could have taken him in and protected him. There was no need to snatch him away so cruelly.
‘Thank God,’ she said, ‘the poor boy was baptised.’
‘Yes. At least that will be a comfort to poor Muriel.’
‘Darling heart, don’t trouble yourself,’ she said kindly. ‘There is nothing we can do in such matters but pray for his soul, and for Muriel’s recovery, and help her to continue life. We don’t want another suicide.’
‘Hadn’t you heard?’ he asked sharply. ‘They are saying that Athelina’s death wasn’t suicide at all. They think she was murdered.’
She could feel his eyes on her as she returned to the pot and stirred it. After a while she asked: ‘And do they know who did it?’
‘No.’
She nodded, but when she looked up, she could see his face, and knew what he was thinking. He was sure he knew who had killed poor Athelina, she thought to herself sadly.
They both did: Serlo.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Do you think Richer will do something stupid?’ Simon asked Baldwin as they walked away with Sir Jules.
‘He is in no fit state to hurt Serlo,’ Baldwin said. ‘In fact, in his present condition, I would expect the miller to thrash him.’
‘Would you care for some food?’ Sir Jules said.
‘Perhaps later,’ Baldwin said pensively.
‘That means at some time when he realises he hasn’t eaten for a month or more,’ Simon said caustically. ‘For my part, I’d enjoy some cuts of meat with bread.’
‘There is so much to do,’ Baldwin objected. ‘We have to speak to as many people here in the vill as possible, then perhaps go to the castle and question the men there. We should also travel to Temple to interview the priest there, find out what he thinks of Adam.’
‘You don’t believe him?’ Sir Jules asked. His young face was already troubled, but on hearing this his eyebrows shot up almost under his unkempt hair.
‘I don’t disbelieve him yet,’ Baldwin corrected him. ‘But in a situation like this, with a woman murdered, it’s first necessary to hear what people have to say about the matter, and then pass their evidence through the most effective sieve available – the mind. If one man says a thing is so, you trust him until you hear a second say that it is not so; then you ask a third, and see what he says.’
‘And if two men say a thing is so, and the third doesn’t, you assume the latter is the liar, so he’s the killer,’ Sir Jules said dismissively. If this was the sum of intelligence that these two could bring, then they were little more use than himself, he reckoned.
‘No. Then you find others and learn why any of them could have lied, whether they hate each other, so that two were putting the blame on one innocent, or whether all were wrong and were giving evidence based on bigotry or stupidity,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘There is rarely an easy path to the truth with a murder of this type. It is always a matter of balancing facts and using intuition. But one way in which to gain knowledge and base intuition upon fact, is to ask all the people you may about the folk involved.’
‘And then ask more,’ Simon said, adding, ‘but we can plan who we need to speak to over ale and pie.’
‘You are incorrigible, Bailiff,’ Baldwin said, but he chuckled. ‘Let us find our way to the alehouse.’
‘It’s this way,’ Sir Jules said. He was still confused. ‘What would you hope to learn fr
om the priest at Temple, though? The man here appeared honest enough to me.’
‘And to me,’ Baldwin acknowledged. ‘Yet his evidence should be tested, just as Richer’s must be. Why, for example, did Father John evict the girl Julia, who now lives happily with Father Adam? Was it bigotry, or was there another reason? We have to find others in the vill who can vouch for him.’
They had reached a long, low cottage with three unglazed, barred windows open to the road. From inside came the smell of good clean woodsmoke and sour ale. ‘Shall we try our fortune here?’ Baldwin asked tentatively. There was a bush tied to a pole beside the doorway, which proved that there was ale ready to be consumed, but Baldwin couldn’t help but reflect on the semi-poisonous brews he had been sold in the past. With a sigh he recalled the strong wines of Galicia, the sweeter and more refreshing wines of Portugal, and the delicious black olives. They were a delight of which few men or women of England could have dreamed, and he knew that he was now spoiled for ever.
The others had entered, and reluctantly he ducked below the lintel and followed them.
Lady Anne was happy to see her husband return, even though he was late for their usual meal. ‘My love, are you hungry?’
‘I am ravenous.’
She kissed him, then called for the servants to bring the food. Like a good wife, she had not eaten while he was out, and she was glad to see the plates of meat arrive with a loaf ready sliced, the crusts removed by her panter. Nicholas said grace, and then the two set themselves to their task.
Anne herself was voraciously hungry, and it was only after she had taken the edge off her appetite that she could pay attention to her man. It was often the way, she had heard: sickly and repelled by food all morning, then starving and vexed all afternoon. At least her appetite had not been altered by pregnancy. One friend had told her that she desired only bloody pork, eaten raw, while another discovered the delights of charcoal. ‘Charcoal?’ Anne had demanded. ‘You’re joking!’
The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) Page 17