‘I realised that I was being foolish. I saw that it would be better by far for me to take Mark back to Exeter with me. I went to his cell, and found it unguarded, the hatch open, and the prisoner released. I looked about the castle for a while, but in the dark I feared that I should only alert other guards to his disappearance so I returned to my bed, and that was that. Yes, I did desire his chapel, but no, I am not evil enough to have seen it through. Especially when I realised that Sir Ralph actively sought Mark’s death. That would have been quite wrong.’
Baldwin eyed him with contempt. ‘I think Esmon said enough to make you realise that he was more unbalanced than you had realised. You told us how he suggested you should support his bid to depose his father. That scared you, didn’t it? Until then you were prepared to sacrifice Mark just for your own greed!’
Baldwin stopped. He had to take a deep breath to control the shaking rage that was overtaking him. This man was the same as the clerks in France who were prepared to see the destruction of the Knights Templar, to see religious men tortured and consumed in the flames, just because it suited the purpose of their masters at the time.
‘Scut, if I can, I shall ruin you. I shall not permit you to clerk for me again. You are evil and repellent.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mark shivered with fear as he looked at the fence. It was a scant fifteen yards from him, and he could see a place where the stakes were rough and notched. Even he should be able to climb up and over the top.
It was a terrifying prospect. He knew that as he crossed the wide strip of bare grass to the wall, he would be in full view of anyone on top of the wall or the keep, especially in this bright moon- and starlight. It might not be a full moon, but the light it gave was nonetheless clear for that and Mark fancied he would be able to see a mouse scurrying across the expanse.
‘Please God, give me strength,’ he prayed. The place was still. Occasional bursts of laughter came from the hall, but that was all. The guards appeared to be elsewhere again, just as they had been last night when he escaped the place.
Only one day ago. And now he was desperate to get back in, to avenge Huward and his family, to avenge so many deaths. He would wait here until much later, when even the guards would be nodding at their posts, and then he would slip inside, and if he could, he would strike one blow at Sir Ralph that would forever end his raping and murdering.
After all, Sir Ralph had destroyed Mark’s own life. He had made a filthy criminal of him. Mark was polluted, and all because of his damned father.
Baldwin walked away from his conversation with the cleric with a deep sense of disgust. It was hideous to think of a man of God willingly lying to put a comrade into danger, just to satisfy his own lust for wealth and property. There were many clerks and monks who would be pleased to emulate Roger Scut, Baldwin knew. Since the Pope had moved to Avignon to escape the risk of living with the outraged Roman populace, the Church was filled with men who were actively seeking to enrich themselves.
He walked about the yard and spoke to the gatekeeper, asking whether he had seen Esmon.
‘He’s in the buttery, I think. Haven’t you bothered to look there?’
Baldwin bit back the response that was on the tip of his tongue. As a knight, he was unused to being answered in so rude a manner. It was enough to make him grab a sword and teach a lesson in manners but he thought better of it.
He walked to the buttery in a contemplative mood. This castle felt as though it was about to burst into flames like Huward’s mill. Men of all stations were sullen, responded badly to commands, and were slow to obey. It had all the atmosphere of a place that was expecting the figurehead to disappear at any time soon. Baldwin had seen it in other places over the years. When a warrior-group was about to change their leader, there was a period of anticipation and fear beforehand. Pretenders to the power would jostle and bicker for position in the affections of the rank and file men, and as the leader became gradually divorced from them, the men would imperceptibly change their allegiances until the new leader felt his time was ripe.
That was the impression Baldwin got, even in his exhausted state. This castle was shortly to change hands again. Sir Ralph was to be replaced, and by whom else than his own son? There was nothing so potent as the disloyalty of a son who craved power.
The buttery was a smallish room for so large a hall. A broad plank had been set upon two barrels, and Ralph’s son Esmon stood at it, sipping meditatively from a pot of wine. As his eyes lit upon Baldwin, his face lost all mobility. Baldwin had found a frozen man once, up on a high mountain pass while he was travelling on behalf of his Order. The body had a curious potency about it, as though at any time when he warmed, he might leap into life. Baldwin knew that the same was true for Esmon.
‘May I join you?’ he asked.
‘You want wine? You should have asked a servant to draw some for you,’ Esmon replied insolently.
‘You should remember your manners, young sir. The castle is not yet yours.’
‘What does that mean?’
Baldwin was too tired to bother to explain. ‘You killed the miner Wylkyn. Where were you when the girl Mary was murdered?’
‘I was out. Why, do you seek to accuse me of another murder?’
‘I seek only to learn who killed the girl – and to discover where the body of the miner has been hidden.’
‘I have no idea where his corpse is buried.’
‘Buried?’
‘How else could it have been hidden?’
‘A good question,’ Baldwin said. He saw no reason to let Esmon know that he was sure he already knew where the body lay. ‘You haven’t answered my question: where were you when the girl died?’
‘I was hunting with Father. We told you.’
‘And then you came back here together, you said.’
‘Aha. Yes, well, that wasn’t quite true. He left before me. I waited a while before setting off. I was helping some friends empty a wineskin.’
‘Where did he go?’
Esmon smiled. ‘Out on the road where that poor girl was found.’
Baldwin felt physically sick. This boy was deliberately pushing his father forward as the primary suspect. ‘You mean he might have passed that road?’
Esmon seemed to lose interest in the matter. He sipped more wine and stared at the wall. ‘Don’t take my word for it. Ask Elias, the ploughman. He must have seen my father. And the serf Osbert.’
‘I have – and yes, they did see him. They also saw you, at the bottom of the lane.’
‘I didn’t ride along that lane,’ Esmon said immediately. ‘I came up from the tavern. I was there with some of the men, emptying the skin. If you’ve been told I was on Deave Lane, then whoever said that was lying. And one other thing: you don’t like me. I don’t care – but I shall own this castle one day, and when I do, I shall be a powerful man in my own right. Don’t try to thwart me, Sir Baldwin. I could be a bad enemy.’
Baldwin let his amusement show. ‘You try to threaten me? You, a mere child, seek to scare me? I suppose you think that your friends the Despensers will come and save you from any man who dares to stand in your way?’
His laughter stopped and he stepped forward. ‘Remember this, boy. I have been a knight for many years, and I have killed many men, but always in fair combat. I have never needed a party behind me to attack a poor miner on a moorland road. That is the act of a coward.’
He left Esmon, seething with anger that the younger man should have dared to threaten him again, but as he entered the hall, he found his mood changing. He saw Simon and Hugh sitting side by side on benches, both drinking happily enough and joining in with the chorus of a bawdy song sung by a very drunk man-at-arms.
Baldwin sat with them, regretting now, as he glanced about him, that he had roused Esmon to anger. A man like him could be a dangerous adversary in a place like this, filled with his own paid men. Any one of the men in this hall could be watching him even now with a speculative ey
e, waiting until he was asleep so that he could slip a knife in between Baldwin’s shoulder-blades.
A cheery thought. He leaned back against the wall, fixing the men in the room with a suspicious glower, but saw no shame or quick embarrassment. Whoever might have been told to kill him was a good actor – or perhaps no one had been told. Maybe he was simply paranoid, seeing enemies wherever he looked, or maybe he was being sensible. He should stay awake all night just in case, to guard himself and the others.
It was no good. His tiredness was overwhelming. He allowed his eyes to close for just a moment’s peace. Surely that could not be dangerous. Perhaps he could catnap as he used to when he was a young warrior in Acre. Then he could sleep for a half hour and wake refreshed and ready for guard duty. Yes, he would close his eyes for a while, he thought. It could do no harm…
He slept like a man who was practising for death.
It was with a great shock of alarm that he awoke. Like a man who has been startled to full wakefulness in an instant, he jerked upright.
The fire in the middle of the floor was still glowing gently. No one had thought to douse it overnight. Often they would not bother in a great hall like this; there were so many men asleep in here, servants and men-at-arms, that any hazard should be minimal. Now the glowing embers were gleaming.
Baldwin heard a creak, and he turned to the heavy tapestries along the wall, but then he heard another creak. It came from the screens, and he listened carefully. All through the room there were loud snores and grunts and whistles from men who had eaten and drunk too much before collapsing where they sat or lay. Snuffing the air, Baldwin was sure that he must be the only man in the room who was not inebriated. The odour of sour breath reeking with wine and ale was pervasive, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, but as he did so, he caught a whiff of clean, fresh air.
Rising quickly, he rested his hand on his sword and stepped quietly to the screens. Peering around the frame, he looked at the main doors in the cross passage. The door to the court was slightly open, squeaking gently on its hinges, and Baldwin, having convinced himself that there was no assassin concealed there, went to the door. He opened it and took a deep breath of the clean night air. From the sky, he thought that it was the very last hours of the night. In the morning he would regret this, he told himself. He would be all the more tired for having woken in the middle of the night.
As he shut the door quietly and made his way back to the hall, he had no idea how accurate his forecast was to prove.
True to his gloomy prediction, he woke late, with eyes gritty and his senses dulled from the unwarranted disturbance during the night. He was snappish to Hugh and Simon, both of whom appeared to have thrived on their excesses of the night before. It was a rare occurrence for Simon to be so happy and refreshed after drinking; if Simon were to wake so cheerfully every morning, Baldwin would probably have murdered him by now.
‘Come on, Baldwin. Time we were up.’
‘Leave me in peace,’ he groaned. The room had not yet woken and men lay snoring all about. Most were the castle’s servants, but there were some eleven men-at-arms as well, lying in one corner all together, as though they were huddled for security away from the rest of the castle’s staff. One man was stirring.
‘We have to get a move on.’
‘There’s no hurry.’
‘You’ve forgotten?’
‘Forgotten what?’
‘Baldwin, wake up, in God’s name! The Coroner, remember? He’s collecting the posse of the county to come here.’
‘My God!’
‘I thought that might stir you,’ Simon said with grim satisfaction. ‘He’ll more than likely think we’re being held hostage for ransom. We should collect ourselves and leave before things get out of hand.’
Baldwin nodded and dressed himself as swiftly as he could. His sword he hung on his belt, and with the comfortable weight dangling at his hip he immediately felt much stronger and safer. It was curious, this sense of power and authority that a mere hunk of steel could confer. Baldwin knew that his was an awesome weapon, capable of removing a man’s head in one blow, but that did not alter the fact that here, in this castle, with so many men-at-arms in the pay of Sir Ralph and his son, he was not safe. Any feeling of security that he won by donning his belt was false. Safety lay outside, with Coroner Roger and the men he was gathering.
Hugh had already collected up their small packs and stood with them bound to the long staff he always carried, their weight carefully balanced to be comfortable on his shoulder. He paid no attention to the men all about them, but stood chewing his inner lip like a man who was deep in thought. At least he was no longer suffering from the after-effects of Esmon’s attack.
‘We had best leave now,’ Simon said. He had the same lack of faith in their host. ‘We can break our fast at the inn with the Coroner.’
‘That suits me very well,’ Baldwin said, but even as he and Simon made to walk to the door, Esmon entered. Baldwin saw Hugh’s eyes narrow, and his stance subtly alter, as though he was ready to strike at the knight’s son.
‘You aren’t leaving us already, my lords? Food is on the way, and you would be better served by eating your fill first.’
‘We are seeking your father to thank him for his hospitality,’ Baldwin said.
‘He is in the solar. Would you wish me to call him for you?’
‘No. No, there’s no need to wake him,’ Simon said hurriedly.
‘But you must see him before you leave. Wait until you have broken your fast, for then he shall be risen and ready to wish you Godspeed,’ Esmon said, smiling coldly. ‘You will be safe here,’ he added.
There was little that Simon and Baldwin could do in the face of his polite insistence. Explaining the reason for their departure would hardly be courteous, Baldwin thought, and yet waiting until the posse comitatus arrived was scarcely a better option. They must simply eat quickly, and be gone.
With that resolve, he returned with Simon and Hugh to their bench and waited, but Baldwin noticed that Hugh carefully removed their packs from his staff and set the length of timber well within his reach.
Before very long, servants arrived in the hall and they began to set out the trestles and place the long board tables on top, giving three long rows perpendicular to the great table on the dais where Sir Ralph would sit with his family. Men brought in cloths which they draped over the tables, then more men appeared with bread trenchers. A panter went to the Lord’s table and set out his knives, while another, little more than a boy, took up a bowl and towel and stood waiting, and the steward stood and watched them all with a serious expression on his face, as though daring them to misbehave in his master’s hall. Baldwin was sure that he spent much of his time glaring at the men-at-arms in the corner. They were still all there, standing or sitting, laughing at jokes, a few playing dice.
Obviously feeling that it was no good and must be given up as a bad job, the steward shook his head in apparent disgust, and then twitched aside the tapestry that covered the door to the solar, opening the door and disappearing. A few moments later, he reappeared in the hall, and walked to the corner of the table. There he nodded to a lad who waited at the door to the screens, and Simon saw him walk out.
This was a part of the routine of the place, he knew. The boy would go to the little bell out at the doorway and strike it to call all the servants in to eat or serve. There were always shifts of servants at halls like this one. One group would eat while the other served them, and then there would be a change so that the servers could themselves eat. All perfectly normal, and Simon paid little attention as the bell was sounded and all the men from the castle came in. They went to their places as though all the seats were already allotted, a fact borne out by the way three men stood muttering darkly on seeing Baldwin, Simon and Hugh sitting.
There was one other man whom Simon could not help but hear. He was an older man, thin and unwell in appearance, as though he had suffered from a fever recently, and he wa
s glowering at his neighbours.
‘It was my old dad’s, that knife. One of you thieving bastards has it, and you can just give it me back. Think it’s a sodding joke, don’t you?’
‘Come on, it’s just fallen from your belt somewhere. You’ll find it soon enough.’
‘It was on my belt last night when I went to sleep. Think I’ve lost my mind because of a bit of a cold? I can remember where I put it: same as always, right by my hand in case any of those mad buggers over there decide to try something,’ he said, throwing a ferocious scowl towards the men-at-arms.
‘Well, it’s not there now.’
‘Maybe one of them took it off you?’ another man laughed, but Simon paid them little attention as he smelled the scent of fresh baked bread and heard the welcoming sound of ale pouring into jugs. His mouth filled with saliva and he gazed hopefully at the door to the screens.
Baldwin was more interested in the door to the solar. Now that all his men were in the room, he was sure that the knight would soon arrive, and sure enough, when all the benches and stools were filled, the steward returned to the door, moving the tapestry once more, and tapped on it. Shortly afterwards, Ben and Flora entered, Flora as pale as a sheet of vellum where her face was not burned. The left side of her face was a weeping, raw wound, and she moved slowly as though in great sadness and pain. At her side was Ben, but the lad had lost his strutting mien. His hair was all but burned away, and there was a great sore on the point of his skull, while his cheeks were cracked and bleeding. He moved as though terrified that he would attract attention to himself, as if he could trust no one. Perhaps, Baldwin thought, someone who had seen his own father try to murder him, would be marked forever afterwards with that kind of fear.
The steward led them to the side of the main table and seated them with great care, setting a jug of wine before Flora and selecting an apple from a pile for her. Ben sat shivering, hardly even glancing at the food set out before him.
The Mad Monk of Gidleigh Page 40