Matilda leaned back in her seat and cast an eye over her. ‘What are you doing here? Are you here to enjoy my grief? Do you want to wallow in my despair? Is it pleasing for you to witness my misery?’
‘Oh, mistress, how could I wish someone else the same misery I myself feel?’ Avicia gasped.
‘You can know nothing of my feelings,’ Matilda said shortly. ‘I have lost the life I created, the last remaining link with the husband I loved. You can know nothing of my loss.’
Felicity sneered, ‘And you cared so much for your first husband, so much for your only daughter that you will ignore the facts. He killed your daughter to keep her silent. You know it is true.’
‘You’re a liar! You were thrown from this house…’
‘Yes. He ruined my life. Luckily he didn’t need to kill me – but with your daughter he felt he had no choice. If she told her lover about his drunken fumblings beneath her skirts, then Philip Dyne could have attacked him. Ask Rose again; ask Clarice – ask any of the other girls you employ. You know it’s true.’
‘No,’ Matilda said, but her voice was losing its force. Andrew had been most peculiar that night. And Rose had admitted his attentions to her had begun just after Joan’s death… A spark of loyalty – or maybe it was pure defiance? – made her square her shoulders. ‘No, that’s rubbish.’
The whore stepped forward. ‘This girl is like me, like Joan. She’s a victim of your husband’s passions. She deserves the same consideration as I do, that Rose does, that your Joan would have.’
‘You think to claim that you deserve my sympathy?’ Matilda asked, her tone rising to a shriek. ‘After this? Go! In God’s name, leave me! And don’t return!’
Baldwin and Simon took seats at a bench while Nicholas toyed with a tankard of wine opposite them. Rather than enter the tavern, they had chosen to sit outside in a shaded part of the alehouse’s yard. Here Simon gratefully stretched his legs while Baldwin radiated discomfort.
His hangover had returned: his body was heavy, slow and hot; he felt sweaty in the sunlight and his hands wanted to shake. He had to keep flexing them to stop them from clenching into claws – and all the time his belly bubbled and spat bile up into his throat.
To forget his ill-ease, he turned his attention to Nicholas. The merchant had long fingers, he noticed, with carefully cleaned nails and almost perfect smooth skin which showed no calluses or warts. He was the image of the wealthy, well-to-do merchant.
‘Well, Sir Baldwin. What do you want from me?’
‘First, where were you on the night before last?’
‘Me?’ Nicholas was unsettled by the knight’s pale, angry-looking glower and short manner. ‘I was here in the tavern. Ask the landlord.’
‘I will. You know that Sir Gilbert’s man was killed that night?’
‘I had heard.’
‘Did you know him?’ Simon pressed.
‘I don’t believe so, no.’
‘We have heard that you met with Sir Gilbert the night before he died,’ Baldwin said. ‘I want to know how you knew him and what you found to talk about.’
‘I have met many people in my life. Some I have met about Exeter, others further afield while I travelled.’
‘And Sir Gilbert?’
Nicholas stared into his pot. ‘I knew him many years ago when he and I lived far from here. When we saw each other in the tavern, was it surprising that he and I should speak?’
‘I don’t know. That depends upon how you last separated.’
Nicholas’s eyes rose to meet Baldwin’s steady gaze. ‘We separated as honourable friends, men who had done many things together, and who had experienced hardship and privations.’
‘You’re wearing a sword today,’ Simon commented.
‘Should a merchant go undefended? Why should I not wear a sword?’
‘I’ve not seen you with one before.’
‘There’s not been much need for one.’
‘And you feel there is now?’ Baldwin pressed.
Nicholas snapped, ‘What do you think after the news from London?’
Baldwin could not disagree with that. He continued more mildly, ‘What did Sir Gilbert speak to you about?’
‘He was happy. He’d come to speak to Lord Hugh and had seen an old friend, Father Benedict, the cleric at Templeton.’ Nicholas drained his pot. ‘He wanted to know all about the politics of the town. Who supported whom, who could be bribed, how expensive such men would be. Especially Sir Peregrine, whether he could be bought.’
‘I see. And you were able to help him?’
‘I have some experience, Sir Baldwin.’
‘I expect you have. What did you tell him about Lord Hugh?’
‘He wasn’t interested in our lord. He wanted to know about other folks, especially those who supported Earl Thomas of Lancaster.’
Baldwin frowned slightly. ‘Why?’
‘To be honest I think he was himself wondering whether to look for a new master. Despenser is exiled and Sir Gilbert didn’t want to follow him.’
‘I see. How long was he with you?’
‘A good hour – perhaps more.’
‘And then he left to go in which direction?’
‘Down the hill. I thought he was heading towards the stables near the castle.’
‘That would make sense,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Did he give you any clue as to his reasons for being here?’
‘He made no bones about it. The Younger Despenser had sent him to try to sound out Lord Hugh and the townspeople. And if possible bribe them to support the Despensers’ return.’
Simon interrupted. ‘With what?’
‘Eh?’ Nicholas hesitated.
‘I said: “with what?” The man had nothing on him.’
‘His purse was stolen by that little shit Dyne, yes, but he must have had more.’
‘Where is it, then? There was nothing on him or at his camp.’
Nicholas turned his hands palm-up in a gesture of indifference. ‘How should I know where it is?’
Simon said slowly, ‘You are the first person to have hinted that Sir Gilbert had any money with him. Yet there isn’t any.’
‘Do you mean to suggest that I stole his money?’
‘No,’ Simon said after a moment’s consideration. ‘Not then, because his man, William, said that Sir Gilbert returned from town cheerful. I suppose that was because he had seen you, and he was more confident of succeeding in his mission to help the Despensers. So you didn’t take his money then. And although you met up with him later, when Sir Gilbert followed you into the woods and died, William must have had the gold with him in the camp.’
Baldwin scowled thoughtfully at the table. ‘Unless the gold had gone the day before.’
‘Eh?’ Simon drained his pot and held it up to a serving-girl.
‘You want more?’ Baldwin cried disbelievingly. ‘Ah, your belly must be made of leather!’ He watched with near disbelief as the jug was brought and Simon served. It was with an effort that he brought his mind back to the present. ‘What I wondered was, whether Sir Gilbert could have disposed of the money before he came here.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Nicholas asked doubtfully.
Simon took Baldwin’s point. ‘He wouldn’t want to leave temptation in the way of his servant, a man he scarcely knew if William’s evidence was honest, and yet who would want to wander around a town like this, alone, with a fortune on his back? It would have meant selecting the lesser of two evil courses. Of course he might have brought the money into town and delivered it to someone for safe-keeping…’
Nicholas paled with anger. ‘So you do mean to insult me? I could have you indicted for this kind of villainous talk.’
‘No, no, Nicholas,’ Baldwin murmured dismissively. ‘The fact that from all we have heard Sir Gilbert didn’t know anyone to speak to in Tiverton means he would hardly have brought the money with him. He had not expected to meet you.’
‘Well, if it’s not here and it’s not at his
camp, where is it?’
Neither answered. After a moment Simon asked, ‘It was the day after you saw him here that the felon abjured, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, shooting him a curious look, wondering what new avenue of questioning he was being led down.
‘Was the Coroner keen to let him escape? Not all felons are permitted to abjure.’
‘Andrew and I offered money.’
‘Why?’
‘Bailiff, if it was your niece, your daughter, wouldn’t you want a chance to win justice? I went to the priest and gave him a large purse for the Coroner…’
‘Why go through the priest?’ pressed Baldwin.
‘Father Abraham is fond of winning rewards here as well as in Heaven.’
Baldwin nodded and motioned for him to continue.
‘The Father agreed to ensure that Dyne was released to go and seek exile. It was all Andrew and I wanted. We were there when he was freed, with a few men from alehouses, but the Coroner stopped us killing him there and then. He said we’d have to leave him alone, the hypocrite! All he meant was, we’d have to wait until he was outside the town.’
‘And as soon as he’d gone, you rode off after him,’ Simon continued.
‘Yes. We gave him a while, then cantered down the road to Exeter. And there he was. We almost killed him on the spot. It would’ve been so easy, just a knife and that was that, but a group of fools were on the road and could see us. I pulled Andrew off him, and forced him to keep on going. We went down some way, keeping an eye on the travellers wending their way to the Fair. As soon as there was a good gap, we cantered on a way. It was late, and I think most people had decided to halt at the last inn, so we had a clear field.
‘We rode back but Dyne had left the road. We came up to Sir Gilbert and his man, but we’d agreed the night before that we shouldn’t admit to knowing each other. So I simply said we were hunting a felon, and while I spoke William pointed to where he’d just seen a face. It was all we needed.’
‘It could have been anyone,’ pointed out Simon. Baldwin was silent.
‘Yes, it could,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘But we were sure it was him, and we were right. We rode straight for the point William had indicated, and then on. After a while we came to a glade, and there we separated. Andrew blundered off right, I kept on straight ahead.
‘It was hard to gauge how long it was since Dyne saw us, so I couldn’t tell how far he might have run. And with the gathering dusk it became hard to see. I knew we’d missed him when we came to a road. We turned back into the woods and that was where we met my sister.
‘She screamed at the sight of us. Probably thought we were outlaws! I calmed her and she agreed to go home. Meanwhile we turned back into the woods. The horses didn’t like it, I can tell you. Neither did I, for riding like that, when you have little idea what might be underfoot, is damned dangerous, and a knight should always look to his mount. Branches threatened to knock us from our saddles.’
‘I know,’ said Simon ruefully. Baldwin didn’t laugh but peered all the more intently at Nicholas.
‘Some short way in, there was a loud crashing, and I saw Sir Gilbert riding towards me. He told me that if this was a genuine felon it was his duty to aid us. Well, I thanked him and he rode off to my left, widening our area still further.’
Baldwin was still peering intently at him. ‘How long did it take you to find the fellow?’
‘I couldn’t say. Andrew found him. He told me he rode back some way without luck but when the moon came out, he lurched into a clearing and there before him was Dyne. Andrew spurred round to cut him off, and shouted for me, but I didn’t hear at first, what with the sound of twigs breaking and so on. So Andrew blocked his escape and bellowed for me.’
‘What did you find when you got there?’
‘The boy was on the ground and Andrew was kicking him.’
‘Poor devil,’ Baldwin muttered.
‘It wasn’t your niece he raped and strangled,’ Nicholas said hotly. ‘I picked him up by the shoulders and held him kneeling. Andrew took up his sword. I think the boy realised what was happening, because he gave an awful, shrill scream as Andrew swung, and… well, that was that.’
‘There is one thing that I am convinced of, then,’ Baldwin said.
‘That he was far from the road when we saw him? I tell you this, he was breaking the law and his oath long before we saw him.’
‘Not that,’ Baldwin said irritably, resting a hand on his belly. ‘I meant Sir Gilbert must already have hidden his money somewhere if he was prepared to leave his camp in William’s hands.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
At her house Cecily Sherman walked sedately into her hall. Inside were several men with their wives, all gripping pots of wine and talking. Cecily smiled at faces she recognised and inclined her head to others when they made her welcome. It was easy for her to be friendly with several of the men here, for two of them had been her lovers and one in particular she had earmarked for when Harlewin lost his lustre.
Only one man appeared to be unimpressed with her entrance. John, her husband, stood with his back to the fire and glowered as she walked in. She approached him with her head a little downcast and halted before him, curtseying. ‘My Lord.’
‘I was expecting you earlier,’ he grated. ‘After you couldn’t join us last night, I thought you would sleep so well that you would be able to be punctual this morning.’
She met his gaze innocently. ‘But my Lord, didn’t you receive my message? I sent to let you know that I would be delayed because I had stopped at the church.’
‘You “went to church?” ’ he mimicked cruelly. ‘What time was this, my dear?’
‘Before dawn, Husband,’ she said, permitting a faint tone of hurt to creep into her voice.
‘Truly! What a religious wife I have, to be sure. I had no idea.’
‘I was so unwell last night that I prayed to be cured, and it worked: I slept. When I woke this morning I went straight to church to celebrate Mass and give confession in gratitude, Husband,’ she said, her voice registering still more pain.
He smiled, but without humour. ‘Oh, well perhaps I shall go and thank the priest myself later. And I can get myself shriven at the same time, can’t I?’
‘You can thank him now, good my Lord,’ she said.
‘How? Do you expect me to leave all our guests to gallivant about the town? He might well not be there.’
‘He isn’t, Husband. He walked back with me,’ she smiled and stood back to introduce Father Abraham.
It was a shame, Jeanne felt, that her husband was once more investigating crimes when she wanted him with her to help select goods for the house.
Jeanne was no shrew but she would have liked to have had her husband’s company a little while in this new town, especially since he knew that they needed new linen and cushions. Not that he would have been able to help much, she considered as she led Edgar and Petronilla through the narrow alleys between stalls. Edgar was more interested in clothing and fashion and he had an infinitely better eye for detail than Baldwin.
She adored her husband but she would never have described him as fashion conscious. That was a modern fad: men with particoloured hose, or velvet jackets with expensive linings, cut carefully to show a man’s figure. They spent more time primping and preening than womenfolk, Jeanne sometimes thought. It must be a reflection of the time and the King’s own habits.
Every so often she glanced around, and twice she thought she caught a slightly odd expression in Edgar’s eyes. It was when he had been looking to his right, as though watching Petronilla – but he wouldn’t, surely… Jeanne scolded herself for trying to see love, admiration, lust, whatever, wherever she looked. It was all too easy to imagine that others were feeling the same urges as she, her love for Baldwin was so strong. It almost made her want to cry out for sheer pleasure.
She took a right turn down an alley she had missed the day before. Here she saw a gorgeous scar
let, a bolt of bright red cloth that shimmered in the sunlight from fine metallic threads woven into the material. ‘Oh, look!’ she gasped, and glanced at Petronilla.
The girl’s face was a picture. Petronilla was not so adept an actor as Edgar, and her features, turned towards him, radiated affection of the most obvious and intense kind.
‘Oh-oh,’ Jeanne breathed. ‘That will delight Baldwin; just what he needed to round off the perfect trip to Tiverton. A servant who’s about to break his engagement vow, and a woman about to take his manservant to her bed.’
Toker waited at the street corner. There was only the one entrance to the tavern and he had three men with him – Owen he had left in the castle; the Welshman didn’t fill him with confidence when it came to fighting, he was too much Sir Peregrine’s man. All the escapes were blocked: that was the good thing about having a small company of men to command. They could ambush even the most determined of victims.
Picking his nose, he wiped the solid residue on the house’s wall behind him and snorted, then hawked and spat. Before long, if Sir Peregrine was right, they would be at war again. Then towns like this had better be wary! If he could, he’d love to break in and have a look around a place like Sherman’s or Carter’s. Both had nooks and crannies filled with rich stuff, silver and pewter plates, gold-chased cups, no doubt, and lots of spoons. When he had been in the service of Lady Maud, he had seen her spoons. She had more than twenty; he had often dreamed about owning such wonderful pieces of craftsmanship himself.
It was war that gave opportunities for a man to get rich. Only in war could a man prove his valour. And once he’d done so, he might be allowed his own chevauchée – a licence to ride out over nearby territory to see what could be won: gold, silver, wine, women – whatever. That was the life! Better by far than standing idle in a shit-stricken dump like this and hoping to remove some knight who’d become a threat.
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