It was, like all mills, immensely dusty. As the sun’s rays slanted inside, each window created a bright shaft of whiteness, a cone filled with tiny motes moving in the warmth. Baldwin’s passage took him down the longer side of the room, walking away from the doorway, disappearing as soon as he was beyond the second window, hidden by the whiteness. Then he slowly returned, and Roger saw his shape form like that of a wraith, walking in the shadows between light-shafts, reappearing as he stepped into sunlight.
Serlo’s body lay sprawled, mostly upon the floor, arms loose, his head resting upon the wheel of his great toothed cog.
Behind him, Roger heard the quiet, ‘Christ Jesus!’ as Simon took in the sight.
Roger couldn’t blame the man. It was enough to make even him gulp. Serlo’s head had been caught by the teeth of the cog, and pulled around until the teeth from the vertical wheel above, driven by the water wheel outside, had met it. As soon as the hardwood teeth had found his skull, they had crushed it. The right side of his head was gone. A bloody mess had exploded against the machinery and over the floor where his brains had been expelled, and his eyes were forced from their sockets. One dangled by a cord about his cheek near his wide-open mouth.
Jules had entered quickly, and now he left at the same speed. There was a dry swallowing from Simon as he took in the scene, but Roger was glad to see that the Keeper merely stood back from the corpse with a pensive frown. He made no move to touch the body, but stood with his chin cupped in one hand, the other arm around his breast, the hand under his armpit.
‘Roger, can you see his throat?’
‘It’s been cut, has it not?’
‘The cause of the blood outside?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And then his body brought in here – for why? What possible reason could someone have for leaving his body here in this state?’
‘My Christ! Serlo? Serlo? SERLO!’
And Roger found himself thrust aside as Alexander barged into the room, his mouth wide in dismay, and sank to his knees sobbing beside his dead brother, scrabbling at the body as though trying to pull Serlo from the machine.
Simon grimaced as he helped Roger to remove Alexander from the room. The man had fallen into the pool of gore about Serlo’s body, and he was covered in a bloody mess.
‘He was my brother, my only brother! I loved him! Who could do this to poor Serlo? He was an innocent! Poor boy! I had to look after him from when he was a baby, you know. I washed him and cleaned him and helped feed him – and all for what? So a madman could come here and kill him! Oh, my poor brother! Oh God, why Serlo?’
There was much more in the same vein, but Simon ignored it. The blood all over the man’s tunic and shirt was mingled with streaks of flour, forming a repellent dough, and the Bailiff wanted to get away and wash his hands in the stream. In any case, there was no time for such maunderings: Simon had a duty to see whether he could learn anything from the man. ‘Your brother: did he have any enemies who could have sought his death?’
‘There are always people who’ll moan about the miller,’ Alex said, sniffing back the tears. ‘Of course there are! But who would do this?’
‘Why should people always complain?’ Jules asked. He had rejoined them, but was looking queasy and stood with his head averted from Alexander, as though the mere sight of so much blood would make him vomit once more.
Simon explained. ‘Because of the multure, the portion of flour paid for the use of the mill. People are often jealous of the miller’s tenth.’
‘Yes. Just as they hate me for keeping the farm of the baking ovens.’
Roger nodded. This was the usual way of things. The lord built, or allowed to be built, the tools which his peasants needed, and in return they paid for the use of them. It seemed as though the two brothers had a near monopoly of the bread-making process, a sensible venture for forward-thinking men.
Alexander was sobbing again. ‘To kill him like Dan, that’s sick!’
‘Who’s Dan?’ Simon demanded.
Perhaps it was the sharpness in his tone, but Alexander looked up at him, and in his eyes there was fear. ‘Serlo had an apprentice called Dan. Last year, Dan tripped and fell into the machine, just as Serlo has there.’
‘Perhaps someone blamed Serlo?’ Simon guessed. ‘Was he a local boy?’
Alex looked away. ‘Serlo took him in to teach him a trade. I don’t think he had any family.’
‘No father, no brother to avenge him? Not even a sister?’
‘No. When his mother Matty died, Serlo was the only family he knew, poor devil. Poor Serlo! He did all he could to help the fellow, and look at what’s happened!’
‘What of others? Can you think of anybody at all who might have wished to hurt Serlo?’
‘Who would want to hurt him? He was a good man,’ Alexander said.
Simon watched him closely. There was a strange frown on Alexander’s face, as though he was unsure of himself. He reminded Simon of witnesses who had said too much. And then there came into his eyes a curious intensity, like a man who realised that something at the edge of his memory could have a bearing.
Then Alexander’s face broke again and he wept, his whole body shuddering. ‘No! I can’t think anyone would hate my brother enough to do that to him. The poor fool!’
Simon was glad when Baldwin and Roger appeared in the doorway, pulling it shut behind them. The Coroner had gone off to sit on a tree stump, his head in his hands. Simon instantly thought that he had been throwing up again, but then he saw that the Coroner was perfectly well. He just looked sad, like a man who was struck by the fact that he must suffer whatever trials were thrown at him. From Simon’s perspective, all he knew was that he would have been violently sick, had he been forced to go nearer the body in the mill, and that he had never missed his wife and family more than he now did. God knows how that poor wife of Serlo’s had reacted on hearing this news. What with the death of her baby, and the grievous wound on her head, it was enough to kill the woman.
It was Baldwin who spoke first. ‘Coroner, that man was murdered. His throat was cut, and he was stabbed several times beforehand.’
‘Stabbed and his throat cut,’ Jules repeated and shook his head. ‘Tut! What is a man to make of something like this? In God’s name, I can understand someone taking a dislike to the fellow – I could see yesterday that he was a rough, brawling sort of churl – but to slaughter him like a Moor and then savage his skull in this way … That is pure evil.’
‘Or proof of a man’s hatred,’ Baldwin said.
Simon interrupted. ‘Alexander here says that a boy was killed in that machine a year ago – a lad called Dan. But he was an orphan, so there’s no one to avenge him.’
‘There is always someone,’ Baldwin said.
‘Richer!’ Alexander breathed. At first, Simon wasn’t sure he’d spoken, but then he spoke louder. ‘Richer atte Brooke! He always hated Serlo. From when they were children, they loathed each other. Richer could have wanted to do this. He did do this! It must have been him.’
They sent Roger to the castle to fetch men to carry this fifth body to the church, Baldwin thinking it would be better for them to wait at the mill with Alexander, rather than let him spread wild allegations. It was bad enough that the place was riven with suspicion after the death of Athelina, without having a man in a frenzy of grief accusing men-at-arms at the castle of murder. There were easier ways of causing a breach of the King’s Peace, Baldwin considered, but not many.
Jules still sat staring at the ground as though in a state of shock. Baldwin had seen men react in this way before, especially in war. They sometimes lost all reason, lost that detachment which is essential for anyone who must lead others into battle. Some, when the weight of decisions grew, would lose themselves in actions which they could comprehend: a man who had been trained as a knight would leave the command of the battlefield to ride in combat himself, risking his own life and the lives of those who fought for him; others of a religious be
nt might retire from the field and find a welcoming altar at which to pray. There were many kinds of breakdown for a man who was unused to power, or to the appalling turns of circumstance.
Baldwin could feel sympathy for Jules. The post of Coroner was one for which he was neither intellectually nor emotionally suited, in Baldwin’s opinion. As for Roger – now there was a man who could be an influence for good!
‘There is so much to do!’ Jules said with a note of despair. ‘I had more deaths to view before ever I left Bodmin to come here, and now look! I’ve found me another damned corpse!’
‘You had other bodies to go to?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then send a message to Bodmin, and have a man go to the places where you were due to visit. Better, have a message sent to another Coroner. You can be sure there are none who will be so engaged as you today. When you have done that, you can concentrate on these killings.’
Jules glanced at him. ‘What of Mortimer? I’m ordered to raise the Hue and Cry.’
‘I know who’s responsible for these murders, Coroner.’ Alexander’s face was impassive, but the eyes moved about the area like a frighted stag’s. ‘It was that poxed cur, Richer. He came back here after many years away, and within a few weeks, here we have the death of my brother, whom he detested, the death of the woman whom he lusted after, and her children – the remaining insult to him since they were sired by another on the woman he had thought was his own. Richer atte Brooke, he’s done all this. No one else.’
‘Why do you say he hated your brother?’ Simon asked. ‘What reason did he have?’
‘I don’t know. My brother was a decent, hardworking man. Why should anyone have anything against him?’ Alexander demanded, turning his red-rimmed eyes upon Simon.
Simon couldn’t answer while confronted by the brother’s grief. It would have to wait a little while. ‘Was this apprentice Dan related to Richer?’
When Alexander shook his head, Baldwin said, ‘Simon is right, Coroner. You should be here to resolve these matters. A messenger can go to the Sheriff and raise the posse against Mortimer while you remain.’
‘Very well. I shall do so – then perhaps we can complete the inquest into the woman, and Serlo as well.’
Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look. Before they could speak, however, Alexander was on his feet, his face suddenly red with rage.
‘What? You think you can dispose of my brother’s murder like some whore’s death? You think I’ll let you rush through some decision just so that you can leave the matter and our vill and get on with investigating some other death which is more lucrative, or interesting to you? What is it? You have too many wealthy men dying, do you? Can’t spare time for the likes of us, is that it?’
Sir Jules held up a hand, his face darkening. ‘No, not at all, but there’s no reason to hold me here if there’s a simple answer.’
‘Simple? Yes, it’s simple enough. Arrest Richer atte Brooke and order him to be held until the Justices get here.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘It’s what I meant!’ Alexander spat.
Simon stepped between the two. ‘Wait! Alexander, we won’t achieve much if you spend your time insulting the Coroner. Coroner, I think it might be best if you were to delay the inquests until we have conducted some more enquiries. First, we have to learn whether there actually was anyone who had a reason to attack Serlo …’ He paused when Alexander drew breath. ‘Constable, I know what you’re going to say, but I for one am not convinced. You can raise trouble if you wish, but if you really want to find your brother’s killer, leave the matter to us. We’re used to investigating murder.’
Baldwin nodded behind Alexander, and Simon was grateful at least for that, although his own words depressed him. He wasn’t of a mood to seek out another killer. Already in the last few months he had sought murderers in Gidleigh, in Galicia, and in Ennor. All he wanted was to be able to return to his home, far from the air of menace that seemed to permeate the vill of Cardinham. This mill in particular felt evil. It wasn’t only the body in the millhouse itself, it was something about the whole place, as though the soil itself was tainted. As it was, he told himself. The soil was polluted with the man’s blood, while the mill had been the instrument of his body’s desecration.
All he wanted right now was to be home again, his beloved Meg cradled in his arms, and to be far from death and hatred. But his own words had already condemned him to remaining here for at least a little while longer.
Chapter Nineteen
Baldwin was interested in the period between Serlo’s leaving the tavern the previous evening and his actual murder. When Roger returned with a cart and some of the men from the castle to take the body back to the vill, Ivo was with him. He immediately walked over to Baldwin.
‘Sir Baldwin, I thought you ought to know—’ he began.
‘Not now, man. I am busy,’ Baldwin said without turning.
‘This is only quick: rumour is, Athelina was having it away with a rich man, and she is dead because he dumped her. She’d been trying to get him back, see. Maybe he was angry that she kept pestering him.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘No. Julia didn’t tell me that.’
Baldwin thanked him and filed the information away for later. Soon the cart was rumbling back towards the vill, Roger going with it to guard the body, Alexander bringing up the rear. When they were alone again, Baldwin suggested that they might sensibly begin their investigation into Serlo’s death at the tavern.
‘What of the dead child?’ Jules asked with a frown. ‘At least we could dispose of that inquest swiftly enough before looking into this latest murder.’
‘I think not,’ Baldwin said with a short sigh. ‘The child is a straightforward matter, but you still need witnesses.’
‘Yes.’
‘There are two: his four-year-old brother, and his mother Muriel who is not only distraught at losing her son, but also has a debilitating injury. Now she has lost her husband as well. I feel it would be too unkind to impose a Coroner’s court on a woman in such affliction.’
Jules grimaced. ‘Perhaps it would be a little unfair – yet I should seek to close at least one case.’
Baldwin nodded. Then he peered at Jules from the corner of his eye. ‘Of course, it’s possible that the murders weren’t committed by the same man.’
‘Unless Alexander’s right,’ Simon mused. ‘And Richer was responsible for all.’
‘You really think he could be guilty?’ Jules scoffed.
‘I consider it entirely unlikely, but possible,’ Baldwin said briskly. ‘Which is why I think that we should speak to Richer urgently, as soon as we are done at the tavern. If Simon can imagine Alexander being right, you may be assured that others in the vill will feel the same, and that could lead to more violence.’
Jules nodded, and soon they were walking back towards the vill.
On the way, Simon couldn’t help but notice Alexander. He stood outside the last home at this side of the vill, and on seeing the three, he quickly withdrew. Simon was sure that it was his own house, and he studied it with interest.
The Constable’s dwelling was much in the style of a large Devon longhouse, but with more outbuildings, as befitted a wealthy man. And it was no surprise that he was wealthy, Simon thought. Money grew money; Alexander had helped Serlo buy the mill, so the two controlled all the flour used in the vill; the Farm of the Ovens was owned by Alexander, so every loaf baked brought in more money. Every loaf baked meant payments to Serlo and Alexander. That was surely a cause for bitter resentment.
Comparing Alexander’s wealth to the general poverty all about, Simon wondered whether jealousies had sprung up between the Constable and his neighbours. Perhaps that was why Serlo had been so arrogant, because he felt secure while his brother ran the place – and if that was so, maybe someone had attacked and killed Serlo in order to get back at Alex. It was astonishing the lengths to which some men w
ould go in order to gain revenge on another. Simon decided he should mention it to Baldwin later.
The tavern was a welcome sight. As soon as Simon saw it, and smelled the odour of pies and meat, he recalled that he had not yet broken his fast. He shot a look at Baldwin, but his friend was peering down at the ground before him like a man who was about to launch himself on the most important journey of his life and who doubted whether he would ever see these stones and pebbles again. There was an air of anxiety about him which Simon had not noticed before, and the sight gave him pause for thought. If the murders here were enough to make Baldwin pensive, Simon was justified in being worried.
‘Wine!’ Jules shouted rudely as soon as they entered.
Susan glanced at them with a frown. Sighing without pleasure, she crossed the floor to them. This early in the morning, the place was empty, apart from two grim-looking customers at the bar, to whom she had been talking.
‘You don’t have to shout, and a little politeness would cost you nothing, my lords,’ she said stiffly.
Baldwin smiled up at her. ‘Susan, could we prevail upon you for three goodly jugs of your finest wine, as well as a little bread and meat?’
‘Yes, of course, Sir Baldwin,’ she said with a glance at Jules that could have frozen an ocean, and left them to fetch their order.
Ignoring her, the Coroner said, ‘What is your opinion, Sir Baldwin?’
‘I say that we should question all about Richer’s dispute with Serlo, and see whether there could be some link between him and these deaths, if only to prove that Alexander’s accusations are false.’
‘Why should we bother wasting time on such matters?’ Jules snapped. ‘We should only trouble ourselves with those issues which have a direct bearing upon the murders, surely?’
The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) Page 21