He waved a cheerful hand at Alan and Saul, both of whom sat hunched over their reins like men who wanted to ignore those who rode along behind them. Like children, they appeared to think that if they ignored the Coroner, he might disappear.
The Coroner wasn’t alone. With him were two servants and a cleric called Arthur, who was there to record the details of his inquests. Simon could not help but notice how well the Coroner got on with his cleric. It was very different from Baldwin and Roger Scut.
‘What were they saying?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘That it was better to leave a murderer and let him go free, rather than capture him. They said this wasn’t their vill, after all, and it was nothing to do with them.’
‘Do you think they realise that aiding a murderer’s escape is a serious offence?’ Baldwin asked, and Simon had to look away to hide his smile. He recognised Baldwin’s mock-stern voice.
‘I doubt it. I don’t think they have one good brain between them,’ the Coroner said dismissively.
‘We couldn’t do much to stop him, could we? He caught us,’ Alan said sulkily.
‘So you admit to seeing the murder? And what happened to the body?’
Alan said, ‘We didn’t see what happened. They took us away.’
‘Where did it happen?’ Coroner Roger asked.
‘Up on the road on our way here.’
‘Your companion’s body was found but now it’s gone,’ Baldwin said. ‘So you will have to be arrested and held until we can verify your stories and make sure you’ll turn up to the next Keeper’s court, and then to the Justices when they eventually get here.’
‘But all we did was get attacked and have our stuff stolen! Where’s the fairness in that?’
‘This has nothing to do with fairness, lad, this is all down to the law,’ the Coroner intoned gravely. ‘A man was murdered and you were with him. Perhaps you two killed him.’
‘Christ Jesus!’
‘And if you use profane language, you will suffer further,’ Baldwin said.
‘How much more can we suffer?’ Saul demanded bitterly. ‘We have been taken and held against our will, left under guard, had our goods ransacked and some of them stolen, been beaten, and now we can’t even go to our homes because a Coroner has taken us and wants us to accuse our attacker. Apart from him taking us prisoner again, maybe ransoming us to the value of all we own, or maybe just killing us, how can things get any worse for us?’
‘They could well have been worse,’ Baldwin said. ‘You have been taken by the King’s Keeper and a Coroner. You are witnesses to a crime, not the men who committed it.’
They rode on in silence, creaking and rattling along until they reached the place where the attack had taken place. There the carters sat sullenly, reluctant to speak, while Baldwin and Simon surveyed the land once more.
‘Come! Tell us what happened,’ Simon said. ‘The sooner you get that over with, the sooner you can be away.’
Saul and Alan exchanged a look, and then Saul hawked and spat. ‘All right. We were travelling past here, part of a small group on the way to Chagford. We knew that there was a risk that Sir Ralph’s men could try to rob us. It’s happened to loads of others all the time up here. Not this far north, though. This is right on the South Tawton boundary, and the lord there is quick to take offence on his lands. We thought we were safe enough here.’
‘You were caught in the open?’ Baldwin said, gazing about him at the hill, the roadway, and then the wall down the slope.
‘Yes. The bastards appeared from nowhere, shrieking and howling, riding up along the slope, then spurring their damned horses straight at us, apart from one or two who went behind us. There was nothing we could do. Those who could, whipped up to come down here, but the wall stopped us all. And it was here Wylkyn got it, I reckon.’
‘What happened to him? Was he at the front?’ Baldwin asked keenly.
‘No, he was near the back. Soon as the shouting started, he hurried down to the wall. Most of us just surrendered. After all, this lot were after money, not lives. But we never saw him again, and you say he was found dead.’
‘No other man tried to protect his cart?’ Baldwin pressed him.
Saul looked at Alan.
It was Alan who responded. ‘Some did, yes, but they had their weapons knocked away.’
‘I see. What then?’
‘It was–’
‘Alan!’ Saul rasped.
Simon moved languidly, a hand grasping Saul’s tunic and pulling. With a short squeak, Saul fell from the cart. In a moment he was up, hot indignation making him blind to the Bailiff’s position. He made to try to punch Simon, but the Bailiff knocked his fist wide, yanked at his arm and pulled him backwards. His forearm went about Saul’s throat and he said mildly, ‘If you dare try anything else, I’ll have you imprisoned for assault on a Stannary Bailiff while he’s trying to do his duty. Understand?’
Saul nodded, his anger dissipating quickly as he struggled to breathe. Simon released him and turned back to Alan. ‘“It was”, you were going to say?’
‘Sir Ralph’s son Esmon led the men,’ Alan said after throwing an anguished look at Saul. ‘He hared off after Wylkyn, and caught up with us all further on. If anyone killed Wylkyn, it was him. He had blood on his face and tunic.’
‘What then?’
‘They took us to the castle, where they demanded money and goods before leaving us locked overnight in a grotty little room near the gatehouse.’
‘The body, though: did they drag it behind them, throw it onto a cart – what?’ Baldwin demanded. Piers had said the body had been left, but he could have lied.
‘No. We didn’t see it.’
‘But the body has disappeared?’ Coroner Roger said. ‘Who could have taken it?’
‘I was hoping that one of these could tell us,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But they seem to have little idea. No more than you or I.’
‘Hmm.’ The Coroner’s face was bleak. ‘I have had too much experience of fools trying to conceal bodies in the last few years.’
‘Well, let us see if even now we can’t find his resting place,’ Baldwin said firmly.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Flora was about to call to Osbert when she saw the figure ahead. With a small gasp of relief, for she had been pushing through these woods for a while without seeing any sign of him, she stepped forward into a clearing.
Instantly she saw her mistake. It wasn’t Os, it was Esmon, and as soon as she stepped out into the open, he turned and saw her.
‘Ah – you’ve saved me a journey!’ he said. ‘I was just coming to see you.’
‘What did you want with me?’
Esmon grinned crookedly, and she felt a stab at her heart as he said, ‘I was hoping to talk to you for a time. How are you since your sister’s death?’
Flora cast a look behind her. There were too many brambles for her to escape quickly, for her long skirts would snag and tangle in the thorns. There was no sign of Os, either. Suddenly Flora felt very lonely – and threatened – a feeling which grew as Esmon took another step or two towards her.
‘Flora, I was very sorry that your sister died.’
She looked at him, but now there was a faint narrowing of her eyes. There had been an odd tone to his voice. ‘We all were,’ she said quietly, her head averted.
‘Yes, but she was so…’
Flora was anxious and took a step away from Esmon.
‘Don’t be scared, maid,’ he said soothingly.
‘I have to go.’
‘Where?’ He saw her confusion. ‘Come, maid, let me calm you. Why don’t we sit down here?’
‘After you tried to rape me?’
‘I?’
‘On your horse. Thank God your father protected me!’
‘Oh, that!’ he grinned. ‘That wasn’t meant to scare you, it was only a little fun! Did I scare you? Come here, let me calm you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, maid.’
Flora retreated slow
ly as he advanced, but now she felt a tree at her back.
‘Please, Flora, give me your hand that I might kiss it.’
‘Leave me! Please, just leave me!’ she burst out. All her fears and sorrow seemed to rip from her breast, and she felt sick and dizzy, as though she was about to faint. There was a real sense of nausea, but then it went. He reached out to her, and she saw his hand hovering as though to grab at her breast, and that was enough. There was an explosion of fury in her mind, and she ran at him, screaming, beating at his face and chest with her clenched fists in futile rage.
He caught her wrists, raised her arms easily, and gazed down the length of her body. ‘Christ Jesus, but you’re lovely, aren’t you?’
That was when she shrieked, a high, thin, keening noise like a rabbit in a trap. She jabbed with a knee, but he dodged, and she caught only his thigh. She felt Esmon forcing her to her knees, she was being pulled over his leg, she couldn’t stay upright, she was held only by his hands on her wrists and he was setting her down. Then she grew aware of a man in among the trees. As Esmon gave a low chuckle, she saw a face: it was Os, and as she cast him a look, she saw Os step forward, an axe in his hands.
‘Os, Os – help me!’ she screamed.
‘What do you want now, peasant?’ Esmon demanded, angry at being discovered, and jerking Flora to her feet again. ‘I was here first.’
‘I’m here last,’ Os said firmly. He set his feet a shoulder’s width apart and hefted his axe. ‘She doesn’t want you here. Leave her.’
‘I’ll stand or go by my own will, not by your leave!’
‘I’ll say no more. Go.’
Flora was reluctant to speak. It was against her natural instinct to try to talk to Esmon. He was son to a knight, one of the most powerful men in the country, and as such he was fearsome enough, but with his propensity for violence and rape, Flora found it hard to say anything in his presence. ‘Please…’ she began, but the two men ignored her.
‘Leave her,’ Os said again, gripping his axe more firmly.
‘Go from here, peasant, before I teach you not to be insubordinate in front of your master,’ Esmon responded, but he was hampered by his grip on Flora. He let one of her arms go, trying to grab at his sword, but he was unbalanced and Flora tried to dart away, almost pulling him over. ‘Keep still, bitch!’
Suddenly Os lifted the axe and sprang forward. It was so quick that Flora scarcely had time to open her mouth to take a swift intake of breath, and then she saw that he had moved to Esmon’s side, and as the knight’s son reached for his sword, the flat of the axe-head slapped his hand aside, giving a harsh, cracking noise in the stillness of the woods. Instantly Esmon gave a muffled cry, falling back and releasing Flora. She stumbled and fell on her arse.
Esmon could scarcely believe the pain. ‘You bastard! You’ll pay for this!’
Os said nothing, but slid his hand along the axe-haft, raising it ready to strike. There was no compunction in his eyes, only determination.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ Esmon sobbed, cradling his hand at his breast. The breath was rasping in his throat. ‘This will cost you your life, churl! I’ll not see you live after this! You think you can attack me? I’ll soon be back, and I’ll bring men!’
Osbert eyed him without speaking. It was as though all his contempt for Esmon and Esmon’s family was concentrated in that one brief glance; as though a lifetime’s loathing and hatred were comingled and, under his glance, Esmon felt devastated. Never in his life had he experienced such withering disgust. He felt like a worm or a slug being surveyed by a gardener.
‘Bring as many as you want.’
Flora watched in horror and despair as Esmon turned and made his way from the clearing, nursing his hand tenderly as though every step cost him a sharp agony.
‘Os, you have to get away, as far away as you can!’
‘Where would I go?’
‘I don’t know, but as soon as he gets back to the castle, he’ll tell his father, and they’ll come to kill you. You don’t want that, do you?’
‘I’ll go nowhere.’
‘What of his father?’
‘I don’t fear him.’
‘He’ll have you killed!’
Osbert didn’t answer. He still held his axe, but now he glanced at it as though scarcely recognising what it was, and then he let it fall to the ground. He stood with his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw set, his eyes flitting everywhere. When she lifted her hand to touch his face, he gave a loud groan and reached for it, taking it and raising it to his mouth. His other arm encircled her waist, and he kissed her warmly, and she responded with all of her heart.
There had been nothing to learn in the greasy turf by the wall where the two carters confirmed that the miner had lain after the attack, although as Simon and Baldwin had already observed, the blood more than adequately confirmed that. Neither carter was comfortable about accusing the killer, but that was unnecessary now. Baldwin was interested more in where the body had been taken than in interrogating the two.
‘Leave them for now, Coroner. If we can find this corpse and learn why someone should conceal it, perhaps that will prove who killed him.’
‘You speak for yourself, Sir Baldwin,’ Coroner Roger stated with gruff amusement. I need the evidence of these two idiots.’
‘If you ask them to give their evidence in court, all that you shall have is two men standing before a strong lord and making an accusation. If we can find the body, we shall have a more compelling reason for his arrest.’
‘And I can take him to Lydford,’ Simon nodded, ‘to the gaol where he belongs. At least we can make sure that he pays compensation for his crime, if we can show he was guilty of this murder.’
Coroner Roger shrugged. ‘Very well. What of these two?’
Baldwin eyed them. They were an unprepossessing pair, the older man with a perpetually running nose, the younger with the scrawny appearance of a starved cockerel. ‘You two can go to the inn we passed on the way here. If you aren’t there when we get back, I shall order your arrest and shall have you fined. Is that clear?’
‘Oh, aye, Master Knight,’ Saul sniffed, adding with heavy irony, ‘if we do anything, like trying to save ourselves from being murdered, then you’ll see us thrown into the good Bailiff’s gaol, where we’ll most likely die from starvation. Oh, I thank you, Master. It’s good to know we’ll be treated so well.’
‘Be off with you, and don’t decide to run away!’ Baldwin said sternly. ‘Go!’
‘And bear in mind,’ the Coroner said with a grim smile, ‘that my two servants are with you. They won’t let you out of their sight.’
Simon grinned as the two carters grumbled to themselves, eyeing the Coroner’s guards without enthusiasm, snapping their reins and lumbering away. Baldwin was smiling too, and Simon could tell his friend was tickled by them. Often Baldwin would have a curious, or so it seemed to most others, affection for the peasants with whom he came into contact, and Simon could see that these two had delighted him, the younger because of his apparent fear, starting at every noise, while the older man was so stolid and unimpressed with the rank and importance of the men who held him here. His sole apparent concern was his cold and how much longer it would last.
As the sound of the horses rattling on their way gradually faded into the distance, Simon stared after them. He was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding; a black mood swept over him, as though the devil had sent a grim presentiment of doom through his soul, but then he blinked, and in a moment it was gone.
‘Come along, Simon!’ Baldwin called, and he followed his friend to the wall. Even as he did so, he couldn’t help but cast a glance over his shoulder, and as he caught sight of the two carts, the sense of foreboding returned.
Esmon seethed with anger, even as his fist throbbed with pain. How dare a mere churl like Osbert attack him – him! – the son of a knight, a man of status and fortune. It was incomprehensible. That sort of behaviour led to insurrection and mutiny. He wo
uldn’t stand for it… he couldn’t stand for it.
Leaning against a tree, he saw one of his men at the entrance to the mill’s lane. The man grinned and called out: ‘Master, the monk escaped last night.’
‘How on–’
‘Your father’s gone to the moor to seek him with many men, but there’s been a draw-latch at work in a farm north of here. Food taken.’
Esmon chewed his lip. He first of all wanted to make Os pay for his attack. His hand still hurt and his soul smarted at the insult to his dignity, but he knew he must also try to capture the priest if he could. ‘How could he have escaped? This is pathetic! It will bring ridicule upon our heads if it gets out that a cretin of a priest can escape from our gaol! God in Heaven! I suppose we must try to find him.’ But if Mark was robbing farms northwards, Esmon could ride out east first and teach Os to attack him. He was itching for revenge.
‘Find Brian! Fetch men and horses and have the men arm themselves!’ he bellowed.
His man gave a short nod and went to obey his commands. Meanwhile Esmon stood looking up at the castle’s keep. He should warn his father what he intended, but since the girl’s death his old man had indeed grown old. No longer the courageous man of war, he was now apparently shrunken in mind and in spirit. Look at the way he’d stopped Esmon from taking Flora before. Sir Ralph had no right to prevent him from raping her – other than the customary right of ownership, of course. She was one of his serfs. It was probably merely the possessive streak in him. Well, Esmon had had enough of his caprices. Esmon wanted her, and he’d have her, just as soon as he’d dealt with Osbert. That son of an adder deserved death for standing in his way, and what he’d worked so hard to earn, Esmon would be pleased to deliver.
The man-at-arms was soon back with five more, and Esmon, wincing, clambered atop his mount. ‘Follow me!’ he roared, thrusting his hand beneath his armpit to protect it, snatching at his reins, and cantering off along the lane to where he had met Osbert. However, when he reached the clearing, there was no sign of Osbert, but for the axe which still lay on the ground. Gesturing to it, Esmon ordered one of the men to collect it, and then led the way back along the lane to another track. He went into it, scarcely aware of the men behind him. This way led more directly to Osbert’s house, he knew, and he was keen to get to him. The mad toad’s spawn would surely be walking up this lane, or perhaps he was already at his home. He could have gone straight there after the altercation at the clearing, filled with terror and remorse at his action. Perhaps that was why he’d dropped his axe, because he was so petrified with horror at his actions?
The Mad Monk of Gidleigh Page 33