The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘You are a Coroner,’ Baldwin said mildly, ‘and must focus on the discovery of the killer so that the Justices know whom to execute, as well as keeping a track of all the fines and forfeits for the law. I am a Keeper of the King’s Peace. I am keen to prevent further bloodshed; that is my focus. If we find the killer, but do not prove that Richer was innocent, we shall be leaving trouble behind when we depart, and that will mean Alex or Richer may soon die, and you will return. I trust you do not wish that?’ he added with gentle sarcasm.

  ‘In the name of my mother’s sire, no!’ Jules stated.

  ‘Then we should learn all we can about this enmity,’ Baldwin said, and leaned back against the wall as he awaited Susan’s return.

  As soon as she had served them a platter piled with cold meats from the previous day’s cooking and a pair of loaves fresh from the oven at their side, Baldwin asked her to fetch a cup for herself.

  ‘I don’t have time for wine at this time of day, Sir Knight,’ she said pleasantly enough.

  ‘Today you do,’ Baldwin said, a hint of steel in his voice.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Simon answered her. ‘You were discussing the reason why over there with those two men, weren’t you? This is about Serlo.’

  ‘There are others you can ask.’

  ‘I suppose this bread came from his brother’s oven?’ Simon enquired.

  ‘Not his, no! The lord’s! Alex just takes our money to use it,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Would someone kill Serlo because of Alexander’s Farm of the Ovens?’ Simon pressed. ‘Or would they kill him because of his own farm – the mill?’

  ‘Why would someone kill him for that?’ she demanded with a twist of her lip.

  ‘If he was taking more multure than he should, people might have rebelled,’ Simon guessed. ‘Someone could have grown hot-headed.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about Serlo’s death,’ she said, and would have turned away, had not Baldwin gripped her forearm, not harshly, but tightly enough to keep her there.

  ‘Maid, we have to ask questions about his death. You know that, and you know why: to stop unrest in the vill. Please help us.’

  She stood with her chin high, but then gave a slight nod and accepted the space on the bench which Simon indicated for her.

  ‘Serlo was here last night,’ Baldwin continued when she was seated. ‘Did he leave here alone?’

  ‘No, he went with Angot,’ she said. ‘I told Angot to get him home safely, because he wouldn’t make it there on his own.’

  ‘Angot is here?’ Baldwin enquired, looking at the two at the bar.

  ‘Yes. He’s there.’ She pointed.

  Baldwin beckoned the man, and soon Angot was behind Susan, standing nervously with a pot in his hand. ‘You helped Serlo home?’

  ‘Yes, I took him home.’

  ‘All the way to his door?’

  ‘Nearly,’ Angot admitted. He was terrified as he spoke, knowing that he was the last man to see Serlo. He briefly explained why he had left Serlo on the way to the mill. ‘He didn’t want my help any more. He was bitter. Turned very nasty.’

  ‘How was Serlo when he left here?’ Baldwin asked Susan.

  ‘Very drunk, but what else would you expect? His son was dead.’

  ‘Whom do you know who might wish to kill Serlo?’ Simon asked Angot outright, waiting to hear Richer’s name.

  The man shrugged. ‘He was a miller; always took his tenth of the grain, and sometimes, when the customer wasn’t watching, he took more. That didn’t exactly make him popular.’

  Simon nodded. ‘What of the tolls? He was taking gifts from travellers, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He was always short of cash lately.’ Angot pulled a face. ‘Since Dan’s death, he’d been hit hard with costs. He had the deodand to pay, and the funeral, as well as replacing broken bits of his machine. It’s all expensive.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘I see. In your opinion, is there anyone in particular who might have wished to see him dead?’

  Angot laughed shortly. ‘He managed to insult loads of people over the years.’

  Susan chipped in: ‘He took his brother’s position seriously. If a man insulted Serlo, he insulted Constable Alexander. Serlo was so used to being related to the most powerful man here, he thought he could get away with anything. And Alex saw to it that he did, generally.’

  ‘It’s not just that,’ Angot said, gaining confidence now. ‘He put on a bold front, but he wasn’t brave himself. He was a younger brother, you see. Alexander was his hero, he looked up to him all the time, and he wanted to prove himself to Alex. The trouble was, anything Alex touched turned to gold, while everything Serlo tried failed. All he could do was mill. Everything else was a disaster.’

  ‘Alexander alleges that Richer atte Brooke could have been responsible. What do you know of that?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Richer?’ Susan said, and she began to smile disbelievingly, but then she recalled Serlo’s words the previous day and the smile died on her lips.

  ‘What?’ Baldwin pressed. ‘You have remembered something. What is it?’

  ‘It was something Serlo said yesterday. Richer came in, but when he saw Serlo, he turned to leave; said he’d go, to save Serlo further grief. But Serlo said something … I can’t recall exactly, but it was something about he’d only lost one boy, while Richer had lost all his family. It made Richer go quite pale as he walked out. Did you hear that, Angot?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was drunk.’

  ‘What did you think Serlo meant?’ Baldwin enquired.

  ‘He was implying that he might have had something to do with Richer’s family’s death. I don’t believe it, but there was something in Serlo’s voice as he saw Richer going: cruelty, you know? And there have been rumours for a while now.’

  ‘Rumours of what?’

  ‘That Serlo was up near Richer’s house on the night of the fire. It was long ago, and I was only a child. But I can remember Iwan telling someone about seeing Serlo up there on that night.’

  ‘So he could have been guilty of arson; he could have killed all Richer’s family?’ Simon breathed.

  ‘No!’ Angot protested. ‘He could bully to get his own way, but kill a whole family? Never. Anyway, I think it was him went to the field to call the rest to help with the fire. Why’d he do that if he was the arsonist?’

  ‘We cannot ask him now,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘Susan, if you’re right, do you think Richer could have heard him and guessed what he … wait!’ The sight of Richer, sitting with his head in his hands came back to him, and he knew that the question was unnecessary. ‘This was mid-afternoon? A little before we came in?’

  ‘Yes. Quite early in the afternoon.’

  Baldwin stood. ‘I think we should go and seek Richer.’

  Simon looked down at the plate of meats. ‘Yes. In a moment.’

  ‘No, now, while the scent is still fresh,’ Baldwin said, and started towards the door.

  ‘Fine. You go, I’ll have some food first.’

  ‘Can’t you get something later?’ Baldwin asked, a trace of peevishness in his tone.

  ‘No,’ Simon said bluntly, taking up a slice of meat and studying it with satisfaction. ‘And neither can the good Coroner, so sit down again and wait a short while. Susan, you cook a good piece of beef!’

  Richer was sitting outside the castle’s hall on an old saw-horse which the grooms used to polish the saddles.

  He had tried to eat, but his belly was too weakly today. His humours were all unbalanced since hearing of the death of Athelina. It still seemed incomprehensible to him that she had been taken away just at the time when he was hoping to marry her at last. Most of the time he had little fragments of thoughts, things he would like to talk to her about, half-born ideas that he squashed. He was used to death, God knew, but he couldn’t really believe that she was gone. She was so vital, so vivid …

  ‘Richer.’

  He opened his eyes, to find h
imself confronted by the Coroner, the Keeper and the Bailiff. The elderly clerk was standing behind them.

  ‘Godspeed, friends,’ he said without pleasure.

  ‘We have some questions for you. Have you heard the news?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Yes. It’s … um …’ Almost too late he realised that he should say nothing that could show his personal allegiance. ‘Astonishing.’

  ‘What do you know of it?’ Coroner Jules said quickly, like a man who was determined to get a word in before others took over the conversation.

  Richer was irritated by his manner. He had better things to consider, today of all days. ‘The same as you, I suppose. Why?’

  ‘We’ve heard you may have been responsible.’

  Richer almost smiled, thinking this was some form of pleasantry at his expense, but it faded when he saw that they were all watching him with unreserved gravity. ‘How could I have been involved? I’ve been in the castle for a few weeks now. It would take an age to ride to London and back.’

  Simon blinked, then looked at Baldwin, and suddenly gave a laugh. ‘We are fools! We came here asking about news, and all friend Richer can think of is the escape of Lord Mortimer from the Tower! No, Richer,’ he continued, his smile disappearing like the first waft of smoke from an open fire on the moors. ‘We wanted to hear about Serlo. What did he have to do with you?’

  ‘Serlo?’

  ‘He was murdered last night. Stabbed, and then his head thrust into his machine and crushed,’ Baldwin said bluntly. ‘We have heard that he suggested last afternoon that he was in part at least responsible for the death of your family.’

  ‘Surely not!’

  ‘He said so as you walked from the tavern, did he not?’

  ‘Was that it? He did say something as I left. I paid him no heed.’

  ‘Yet a short while later I saw you, and you had suddenly developed a bad migraine. That is a strange coincidence – a man hints that he killed your entire family in an arson attack, and although you didn’t hear him, you nonetheless have a terrible head only a short while afterwards.’

  Richer closed his eyes. There was a prickle of pain behind his right eye, at the very back of the socket. Christ Jesus, he hoped it wasn’t another damned migraine coming on! ‘Sir Baldwin, I know you are right to be suspicious, but I walked from the alehouse in order to avoid a fight with Serlo. He made some comments as I left, but I chose not to pick a dispute with a man who had just lost his son. He had his grief, and I had mine from losing Athelina. I left the tavern and a short while later, as you say, I had a terrible migraine. Perhaps it is a coincidence that the two should have been unrelated, but I cannot help that. I cannot change facts. I deny having had any part in that man’s death. Why, I knew nothing of it until you informed me just now!’

  ‘You were at daggers drawn with him when you lived here?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Richer growled. ‘But that was a long time ago. I confess that I hated him for what he did to others. He was a bully, but that doesn’t mean I wanted his death.’

  ‘If Serlo had committed arson upon that house,’ Baldwin said, ‘you would have had double the reason to detest him, wouldn’t you: for killing your family, and for losing you your chance at marriage. Is that what you thought last night?’

  ‘I told you I had nothing to do with his death. I couldn’t. My head was too bad. Can you imagine a man with a migraine being capable of attacking another? It’s ridiculous.’

  Simon, whose ruddy face spoke of his own rude health, said, ‘Why? It’s only a headache, isn’t it?’

  Richer stared at him with disbelief.

  Roger had been quiet, but now he looked at Jules and Baldwin, and said, ‘I do not understand why the miller should be thrown into the machine after he was already dead.’

  Richer shrugged. ‘He was a miller – maybe the murderer thought it would look like an accident.’

  ‘Hardly. He had already all but cut Serlo’s head from his shoulders,’ the Coroner said, shuddering at the memory.

  ‘We have heard that a boy fell into his machinery in a similar way,’ Baldwin said. ‘Over a year ago, that was. Have you heard about this?’

  ‘A boy falling into the mill?’ Richer shook his head.

  ‘It was a lad called Dan,’ Baldwin prompted him.

  ‘I’ve been away for fifteen years. If he was apprenticed to Serlo, he was likely born after I left here,’ Richer pointed out reasonably.

  ‘Sir Baldwin! Ah, I am glad to find you.’

  Baldwin’s eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘Ivo,’ he said, attempting a false heartiness. ‘How pleasing to see you again.’

  ‘You know, I’ve got to get home before too long, Sir Baldwin,’ Ivo said. ‘I didn’t agree to stay with you all year, only for a journey to Lydford. I didn’t think I’d be stuck here like this.’

  ‘You will be compensated,’ Baldwin said.

  Simon grinned. Baldwin sounded like a man about to grind his teeth. The thought of Ivo rambling on with his foul stories all the weary way from here to his home clearly pained him deeply. Lydford, he thought. Where his wife and daughter and son all waited for him. Suddenly the loneliness of separation attacked him with renewed savagery. It seemed as though the nearer he came to his home, the longer this journey took.

  His mind was on his wife as Baldwin told Roger all they had learned about Dan the apprentice from Alexander. Afterwards Roger stared up at the hall, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps there is a hint there. The boy Dan had a mother, Matefrid or Matty, but no father.’

  ‘What of it?’ Simon asked, still thinking of Meg.

  He felt slow on the uptake when Baldwin nodded thoughtfully and said, ‘You may have a point, Roger. That is another avenue we should investigate. And meantime,’ he continued, looking at Richer, ‘I should remain here at the castle, if I were you.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Richer demanded.

  ‘No, but at present Serlo’s brother is convinced that you murdered his brother, and if you go to the vill, your life will be worth very little. Stay here, or run the risk of death!’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘So what did you mean?’ Simon asked as they watched Richer angrily stamping towards the hall’s bar.

  Baldwin glanced at him. ‘We know of Athelina, widowed but supported by a man who has now deserted her; Adam’s maid, with child but without a husband – presumably her lover deserted her; now we hear of this third woman, Dan’s mother, again with no one knowing who her son’s father was. A string of coincidences.’

  ‘There are some women who never marry,’ Roger said.

  Simon shot him a look. ‘You mean she was the local …’

  ‘No,’ Roger smiled, guessing where his mind had already led him. ‘I mean she could be one of those unfortunate women who believed her lover when he swore marriage to her. She was given the word of a man who was less than honest, and became pregnant only to learn that her sworn husband decided to deny his oaths, or ran from his responsibilities.’

  ‘Or he was a wealthy man in the area,’ Baldwin mused, ‘who could afford to risk her enmity. A man who might still be here.’

  ‘Well, if you put it like that,’ Simon said, ‘the father could just have been a rapist who took her without her consent then denied it. Perhaps she didn’t even dare to accuse him. When she realised she’d got herself in pup she didn’t know what to do. Happens often enough.’

  ‘A rapist or a deceiver; and a man who fled or a man who remains,’ Baldwin breathed. ‘Who can enlighten us?’

  ‘At the inquest there was an elderly smith called Iwan,’ Simon said. ‘A smith would know all the rumours from the area going back many years. Might he know of Dan’s father?’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He was eyeing the man-at-arms called Warin, who stood at the stable, hands on hips, watching his mount being groomed.

  ‘He’s Richer’s master,’ Ivo said.

  Baldwin didn’t speak, but remained gazing fixedly at the squire. ‘He
is a dangerous man, that one,’ he said at last, but wouldn’t explain himself.

  Iwan stood and stretched with a grunt of satisfaction. He had been taking a welcome rest from harvesting the oats. The sun was high, and he could feel the tingle of burning on his shoulders.

  The sun was like a good forge, he thought, all concentrated power when you wanted it, in the summer. It made the crops grow, and put men in mind of a lithe and welcoming maid. All natural stuff. As far as he was concerned, sunshine was the essence of life. It worked on all animals, humans and plants, just as it did on metal.

  He had a smith’s beliefs. A priest could warble on about God and Christ and all the saints, but then he had never stood day after day beating steel into shape. He had no idea of the malleability of a solid bar when treated the right way. Metal reacted to heat just as men would, and just as a man and a woman would come together to form a child, so pieces of steel could be joined to create something new. It all came from the smith and his own abilities, just as God had used His own arts to form man. Iwan knew that in order to create, both men and God Himself must put something of themselves into the task. To Iwan, as to all good smiths, there had been given a certain ability. It made him more than an ordinary man, as though God had touched him and taught him his craft.

  Yes, smiths were a race apart. And here, watching the oats swaying in the breeze, while young Maud lay sweating after being covered by her man near the great oak, he knew that the warmth was forging new creatures. It was the natural way of things.

  He swept the stone along the blade of his scythe with smooth, rhythmic strokes, top to bottom, top to bottom … only stopping when he heard the hooves.

  ‘Master Smith?’

  ‘I was,’ Iwan said. He had watched this man during the inquest, and rather liked the serious expression in those dark eyes. ‘You’re the knight.’

  ‘I am Sir Baldwin. This is Coroner Jules and his clerk Roger, and my friend, Bailiff Puttock of Lydford. Smith, do you have a little time to talk with us?’

  ‘Would I have any choice?’

  ‘A man of your age does not need to ask a question like that,’ Baldwin smiled.