She stared at the bailiff and the knight, who had caught his sleeve with an urgent warning, but too late. ‘Anney’s son…’ she repeated, and looked at her maid with horror.
Anney met her gaze with an almost amused sneer. She had thought Simon would accuse someone else – she’d hoped the bailiff would find the priest guilty – but now her last hope was gone and there was no further alternative. With a loud sniff, Anney stepped forward with a dignified mien. ‘What of it? Why shouldn’t a son protect his mother?’
‘What are you saying, Anney?’ asked Baldwin quietly.
Lady Katharine saw Anney smile. It looked like a mask of pure evil. Her face was as white as that of a witch or a ghost. The heart beat twice as fast in Lady Katharine’s breast as she heard her maid gleefully announce, ‘I’m saying that I killed Herbert! And I’d do it again.’
And then Lady Katharine screamed once, and fell senseless.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Instantly all was bustle as the women went to the lady’s side to try to assist, and the men stood fidgeting, wondering what should be done. Daniel pushed through them all and picked his mistress up, lifting her as easily as if she were a mere child herself. Saying nothing, he turned and walked to a large bench near the fire, laying her down gently.
‘Petronilla?’ Baldwin called. ‘Fetch feathers.’ The girl gave an understanding nod. Burning feathers beneath a fainting person’s nose would waken them. Only when she had gone did Baldwin look for Anney.
She stood at the back of those who crowded around, the smile still fixed to her face, as if she was pleased with the result of her words. Seeing him watching, she raised an eyebrow in polite enquiry, and gestured towards the door. Nodding, Baldwin followed her out and into the yard behind, Edgar at his side.
‘You know why, of course,’ she began. ‘It was because the fool allowed my son to drown.’
‘I had heard of that,’ he agreed. ‘But why should you demand his life as well? He was no more than a baby of three years old when that happened. Wasn’t it enough that you had seen one child killed unnecessarily, without demanding the death of another?’
‘If he had called out, done anything, my Tom would be alive now,’ she hissed. ‘You expect me to forget that? To be grateful that I have a position here in the manor, looking after her who gave birth to the boy who killed my son?’
‘This murder won’t bring your boy back.’
‘No, but the revenge warms me, Sir Knight! Haven’t you ever wanted to hurt someone, or even kill them, to avenge an awful wrong?’
He couldn’t meet her eyes; he was himself tainted with a murder he had committed as retribution against one of those who had destroyed his Order.
‘I see you have,’ she crowed. ‘Well, then, don’t condemn me, Sir Knight, for doing the same.’
‘But why wait so long? Why kill the child now, so soon after his father died?’
She faltered for a moment, but then the cold sparkle returned. ‘I had lost my husband when my boy died. Why should she be protected when I had lost everything, eh?’
‘You had not,’ he reminded her. ‘You may have lost a husband and a son, but you had Alan still. He was there to care for you, and yet you killed Lady Katharine’s child just when she was at her most defenceless. That was truly wicked.’
‘Perhaps – but he killed my Tom, and I could never forgive him that. Why should I? Herbert deserved his death.’
‘How can you suggest such a thing? He was a boy, not a murderer or felon, just five years old!’
‘Well, I see I shan’t convince you,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But remember, I was prepared to kill to avenge my boy, and I’d be happy to do it again.’
He nodded. There didn’t seem much more to say. He told Edgar to take Anney to the storeroom and to lock her inside. As an afterthought, he instructed Edgar to release Edmund, and to bring the farmer to the hall. Then, sighing, and with a sense of deep despondency, Baldwin made his way back indoors.
Edmund was sunk in a gloomy reverie when he heard the steps approach, and the door rattled to the sound of the bolts being shot back. The night had been hellish. He had only been given a jug of ale, no more, with his pottage, and he hadn’t slept well. Tired, fearful, his mind filled with visions of what might await him, he cringed as the door opened to show only Edgar and Anney.
‘Come on, Edmund – out. You’re free.’
He gaped at them while Anney gave him a mocking smile. ‘What, Ed, you want to stay here in my place?’
‘Your place?‘
Edgar sighed irritably. ‘This woman has confessed to killing Herbert. That means you are released, all right? If you wish, I can lock you back in here, but if I do, I won’t be in a hurry to let you out next time. Come on! Out!’‘
Edmund stumbled forward, but as he passed Anney, he stopped and stared. He couldn’t understand it. She hadn’t been there on the moor, she’d just set out on the road as he approached the manor.
‘Go on, fool!’ Anney said quietly. ‘Get out while you still can!’
He walked slowly and feebly through the sunlight. The yard was filled with noise. A cart had arrived and butts of fresh and salted fish were being unloaded and dropped onto the paved court before being rolled noisily to the storage sheds near his cell. Horses trotted past, their shoes ringing loudly on the stone, men marched with a regular snapping sound as their leather soles struck the ground, and all around people shouted, sang, or whistled as they got on with the day’s work.
It was disorientating, and suddenly the man couldn’t go any further. He stood in the midst of the bustle and stared about him with an almost panicked air.
Edgar saw his perplexity, and although he didn’t know what caused it, he knew a spell in a gaol could be disorientating. He took the farmer’s arm, and gently led him up to the hall. ‘Come along. We’ll get you a quart of strong ale before you go home. You need some form of compensation for your stay in the cell.’
Edmund obediently followed where Edgar took him, although at the door to the hall, he stopped, and stared at Edgar with a witless fear in his eyes.
Edgar smiled reassuringly, although he was rapidly becoming impatient, and helped the farmer through the door and into the buttery.
‘Oh, no!’ Edgar said despairingly. Draped over one of the smaller barrels he saw Wat. Nearby was Alan, who snored quietly on the floor, a broken pot at his side; Jordan lay near the wall, a beatific smile on his face.
Edgar walked in and kicked the cattleman’s boy. Wat gave a short, hiccuping cry, flailed at the air, and disappeared over the other side of the barrel. Alan instantly snapped awake with a snort and a shake of his head. Jordan remained blissfully asleep.
‘Up, Wat! And find me some good ale, if you don’t want a cuff round your head!’
‘Ow, that hurt,’ said the boy, reappearing rubbing at his head. He burped and sulkily fetched a jug, filling it from the butt he had been sleeping on.
Edgar shook his head in disgust, passed the jug to Edmund and led Wat from the room. Once outside, he took Wat by the sideburn and pulled up, twisting it, until the boy was on his tiptoes. ‘You are not to enter that room again, understood? I can’t trust you, and I won’t have you embarrassing your master with your drunkenness. You won’t go inside the buttery again while we are here.’
‘Oh – ow! All right, sir, I won’t go in there.’
‘Now get into the hall and wait!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And take your drunken friends with you.’
So saying, Edgar hauled Alan to his feet and shoved him out, and then went to Jordan and pulled the semi-comatose lad up. Jordan opened his eyes Wearily and smiled inanely at his father. ‘You’re free!’ he blurted, and hiccuped.
Edgar thought Edmund looked like an ox patiently waiting for the goad. He stood quietly, apparently oblivious to the presence of his son. His imprisonment, even for so short a time, had affected him badly, and now he shuffled slowly and aimlessly gazed about him like
a dazed old man with fuddled wits.
Jordan belched winey fumes in Edgar’s face, and the servant winced in disgust. He thrust the boy towards Wat and Alan, who each took an arm and half-carried, half-dragged their friend to the hall. Meanwhile Edgar refilled Edmund’s jug and asked the farmer to follow him again.
Jordan blinked and gazed about him with the dull-witted slowness of an old man. After the relative gloom of the buttery, this hall, with its sconces and candles and roaring fire, was almost painful on his eyes. All he wanted to do was sit next to his dad in a dimly-lit corner and doze again, but he daren’t. Not with the people in here.
Baldwin had returned, and now sat next to the fire with his wife, holding her hand. His friend Simon was standing in front of the fire, and his face was gloomy, like Baldwin’s, although he looked positively cheerful compared with Thomas, the new master. He sat by himself, avoiding everybody.
Daniel wasn’t about, which was some relief. Jordan knew that the steward wielded vast power, and he was always scared of him. He was also secretly glad to see that the mistress was nowhere to be seen. Then he went cold as he saw Petronilla sitting on a bench, her face held in her hands, and Stephen behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
Wat quietly walked with his charges over to a bench and all three sat just as Edgar and the farmer entered.
Baldwin glanced up; Jordan thought he looked exhausted. It was odd to see a rich man showing that kind of fatigue. Usually it was only their staff who looked tired, at least in Jordan’s experience. While the peasants all toiled and slaved to keep the lands fruitful and the storerooms filled, Squire Roger for instance had spent his time in pleasurable pursuits: hunting, riding, playing with his weapons.
But Jordan’s attention was soon diverted to his father. Edmund stumbled in like an old man. His face was pale and drawn, as though he had been incarcerated for years, and Jordan felt the drunkenness fall away as his fear rose. He didn’t realise his father was freed; to the boy it looked as if the knight and bailiff were about to pronounce sentence upon him.
The knight glanced up. ‘Ah, Edmund, please come here, near the fire. You must be cold.’ He watched as the farmer slowly shuffled forwards and held his hands out to the flames. ‘Edmund, I am sorry that you have been so ill-served,’ he continued. ‘I can only hope that in future your life will become easier.’
It was at this moment that Daniel appeared in the doorway. At his side was a thin, smiling, ruddy-faced man, with a face much scarred by the pox, who glanced about him with a casual interest.
‘Sir Baldwin,’ Daniel said. ‘You wanted to speak to the fishcarter.’
‘You are the carter who was here on the day that Master Herbert died?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Yes, sir. I was here that day’
‘You know that the boy was killed and his body dumped on the road. Did you see him?’
The carter gave him a pitying look. ‘Sir, if I’d seen the lad lying hurt or dead I’d have put him on my cart and brought him back here. I have a boy his age myself, and wouldn’t expect a man to leave my boy in the road.’
‘Did you see anyone else that day?’ Simon asked.
‘Him, sir,’ he said, pointing at Edmund. ‘He was on his cart riding over here, although he was some ways back. I saw two gentlemen on horses, out near the stream – oh, and Anney, of course.’
‘Where was she – up on the hill?’
He glanced at the bailiff. ‘On the hill? No, she was on the road, some way from the house here.’
Baldwin’s head snapped around, and his face had lost its dark scowl. He peered closely at the fishmonger. ‘Are you quite sure? We thought that by the time you passed along the road, she must already have left the track to go up the hill.’
‘I don’t know about that, sir – all I can say is, she was on the road, and I passed her within a few minutes of leaving the manor. Just after that I started to drop down the hill and saw the two gentlemen on their horses at the bottom. I passed by them, and a little way on I saw Thomas here, and his man.’
‘Did you see anyone else?’
‘Up there? Only a boy, staring out at me. That one,’ he said, pointing at Alan.
‘Alan, Jordan – come here,’ Baldwin said, and the two slowly climbed to their feet and, exchanging a glance, went forward.
‘We have had someone confess to the murder of your friend,’ said the knight. ‘I am sorry, Alan, but your mother admits it.’
The boy gaped, then stared at Jordan. ‘But she wasn’t even up there!’
‘No, but you and I know who was, don’t we?’ said Baldwin. He gave Alan a steady look, and Simon felt a cold horror wash down his spine even before Baldwin spoke.
‘Everyone here should study these two. There can be no doubt what happened, I think. I have gone over it time and time again in my mind, and I can see no other solution. Anney was nowhere near the scene of the crime when Herbert died; when she confessed, it was because she wanted to protect the true murderers. Edmund knew nothing about the killing either. At first perhaps he honestly did think that he might have run the boy down, and the shock was made all the more hideous for him because he truly believed for a moment that he had killed his own son.
‘Then we have poor Petronilla. I can conceive of no woman less likely to be able to murder than one who is just about to become a mother for the first time, especially one who feels so alone and desperate as this girl, with no man she can legally claim as husband. As for the priest, Stephen, who was so keen to thrash his charge at every opportunity, and who received a stinging shot on his backside while he was… busy – well, he caught Herbert and beat him – but murder? If Stephen had murdered the child, surely he would have beaten him to death then and there – only he didn’t, because Petronilla was with him, and she declared that he returned to her, and that she heard Herbert when Stephen had rejoined her.
‘Then we have Thomas, who was down at the road. Yet how could one think that he might have captured a boy? He is not fleet of foot. Nor is there anything to suggest that the Fleming or his servant rode away from the place where they had been for so long. Edmund saw them, still lounging, probably waiting for Thomas to return so that they could go back to their negotiations, only he never reappeared. Instead they were passed by a fishmonger, and then by a carter going home after the market. They became bored and went home the longer way, hoping again to pass Thomas.
‘But two fellows were always up there, unaccounted for: Alan and Jordan. Two who always appeared to be above suspicion because they are young, and because so many others had good reasons to want to see Herbert dead.
‘We can assume that Herbert saw the priest making love with Petronilla, that Herbert’s sense of fun made him shoot Stephen in a painful and unfortunate part of his anatomy, but Jordan and Alan had no idea Petronilla was there. That was why they felt safe in fabricating the priest’s rape of their friend. They had no idea that he had an alibi – and I have to say, it was most fortunate that he saw fit to own up to it.
‘What reason could these two have for killing the boy, eh? One had the same motive as his mother, didn’t you, Alan? You wanted to avenge the death of your brother. What of you, though, Jordan? Why did you want him dead?’
Jordan flinched as the knight’s eyes met his. It felt as if Sir Baldwin was boring into him. ‘Sir, I…’
‘Shut up, you fool! Remember what I told you!’ Alan hissed.
Jordan blinked, then screwed his eyes tight shut with the effort of not crying.
Baldwin walked to him and took hold of his shoulders, softly pulling the unwilling boy towards him. He put a hand under Jordan’s chin and raised his head. ‘Look at me, child. You will not risk the rope if you tell me what happened.’
‘It’s not fair!’ Jordan snivelled. His alcohol-induced confidence had fled, and now he knew he was found out. ‘We thought the priest would never dare confess to covering Petronilla – he always said it was a sin, so how could he admit to that? He shouldn’t have told you. We’d b
e all right if he hadn’t told you!’
Edmund stood staring open-mouthed, and now he strode forward. ‘Jordan, tell him you had nothing to do with it. Go on, tell him!’
‘I didn’t want to, sir,’ Jordan said, sniffing. ‘He wasn’t supposed to die. It just happened.’
‘What did?’ pressed the knight.
‘Sir, Alan and me found him, and he was all cross with Alan, because it was Alan who fired at the priest…’
‘No, I didn’t, it was you?’ Alan protested aghast.
‘… but Herbert wasn’t as good as us at hiding in the bushes, and the priest saw Herbert and beat him instead. And when Herbert saw us, he was crying, and said he’d tell his mother and make sure the priest knew, and then Alan would get lashed as well, and Alan told him he’d kill him if he did, and…’
Alan kicked Jordan, and the knight had to sweep the younger lad out of the way while Edgar took Alan’s arm and pulled him aside. The boy pointed at Jordan and sneered: ‘He’s lying. Or maybe it’s because he’s drunk. He’s been drinking all the ale in the buttery.’
‘Alan,’ Simon said quietly. ‘Your mother has admitted to killing Herbert. Either she is telling the truth and must be burned at the stake for petty treason, or she is lying – lying to protect someone.’
The youth stared at him with fury. ‘He’s going to say it was all me, but it wasn’t! He hit Herbert too. I wasn’t alone up there, and it was Jordan who held him down while I hit his head with the rock.’
‘Is this true?’ Baldwin asked the boy in his arms.
Jordan no longer cared. The last few days had been a nightmare. Knowing his father was innocent, but unable to get him freed without admitting his own guilt; realising that the shoe, the one lost by the priest while he made love to his woman, would be enough to ensure that the hated man should be blamed instead – this had given him hope for a while, but then the plan had gone wrong, and now here they all were, and he had admitted what he had done. Jordan broke down and wept, even as Alan at his side sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes.
Squire Throwleigh’s Heir aktm-7 Page 30