The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17)

by Michael Jecks

Alexander’s voice was taut with emotion, his face pale, but although he held out his hands in appeal to the men about him, they didn’t return his gaze. There was some shuffling in the dirt of the floor. Two more men left the crowd, joining the first, who now stood at the doorway. The three exchanged a look, and then darted out. The door slamming made more men glance about them, and some noticed the gaps and looked more anxious.

  ‘He didn’t get on with Serlo. Like I said, many didn’t,’ Iwan agreed. ‘That’s no reason to murder.’

  ‘Serlo told him,’ Alex said quietly but venomously.

  Iwan cocked his head. ‘Aye?’

  ‘Told him that it was he who had fired his house: Serlo burned it, killed Richer’s family. He told him in this very tavern. You heard him!’ he demanded, pointing at two men. They both looked away.

  ‘That true?’ Iwan said to Richer.

  ‘No! I didn’t hear him say that. I left the place when I saw him here, to save his grief.’

  Iwan studied him intently for a few moments. ‘It’d be good reason for a killing, if you had, but I don’t reckon there’s enough anger in you even now to do something like that. You might accuse him in front of witnesses, maybe even catch him and call on him to pull a sword – but not more than that. No, Richer’s no murderer.’

  ‘Out of my way!’ Alexander snarled, and gripped Iwan’s upper arm to shove him aside.

  Warin saw it all, and it still astonished him, many years later. The older man’s face emptied, as though all emotion had fled, and his left hand whipped around his body, pulling Alexander’s hand away from his biceps. At the same time, his right hand snaked forward, grabbing the Constable’s throat and pushing with all the force of his body behind his hand. Alexander was thrust back between Richer and Warin, against the wall, the air exploding from his lungs in a gasp of pain, and then he found himself inches from the ground, staring down at Iwan’s face.

  ‘Constable, I’ll thank you not to push me around.’ The smith smiled without humour. ‘You could hurt a poor old man. Besides,’ he added, ‘you wouldn’t want to tempt the vill to rise against the Lord’s own son, would you?’

  ‘What do you mean, the Lord’s own son?’ Alexander managed, trying to breathe. Iwan’s fingers felt like talons of iron and he was growing light-headed.

  ‘This man Warin. Take a good look at him, Constable. He’s Sir Henry’s boy.’

  Anne saw Simon and Baldwin leaving her husband at the solar door when she entered the hall, and she could see Nicholas’s tension as he stood there watching them go. Then, slowly, like a man who had aged ten years in as many minutes, he returned to the solar.

  There was a fluttering in her breast at the sight. It made her realise just how fragile was his spirit nowadays, how fragile was her own security, and her hand went to her womb in a gesture that was growing habitual.

  He had always been so confident in his power and position, and now that was fading. In some measure she felt it was his memories which plagued him still. They were growing in virulence recently, and there seemed nothing she could do about them; if anything, they appeared to grow worse when she was with him, as though her presence was a cause of shame and anguish, rather than a balm easing his pain.

  He had been so happy to hear she was with child, yet more recently he had lost his vigour, especially since Athelina’s death. In the last few days Nicholas had grown more inward-looking and less responsive.

  Perhaps it was Warin. It was the problem with a yeoman like Nicholas running a castle. Squires like Warin were noble-born and might be knighted, whereas the likelihood of that happening to Nicholas was remote. He was a stolid, reliable man, and trusted by Sir Henry, but that was all. A man who held a castle for the King might win a knight’s belt and spurs, but Nicholas was slowly rotting here. There was nothing for him.

  Still, Nicholas had never suffered jealousy like that before. No, this was more like grief. Perhaps – my God, but her heart was fluttering fit to burst! – he had realised the child wasn’t his!

  Christ in Heaven! She had to consider! Quickly!

  Serlo had threatened her with exposure, and Athelina had known. That was the plain meaning of his words at the inquest – but he hadn’t had time before the end of the inquest to speak to Nicholas, surely? He’d stood there until his wife’s appearance with his son’s corpse, then he had run in a welter of panic and grief to the alehouse.

  No, there had been no opportunity for him to ruin her marriage.

  Unless Athelina had already done so, of course. When had Nicholas grown so withdrawn from her? Was it just after hearing of Athelina’s death, or before, when he might have visited the woman and learned about his wife’s infidelity? It was possible. May be Athelina had told him, and he had killed her in a sudden rage. Just as he could have killed Serlo.

  ‘My God!’ she murmured.

  Nicholas was being driven to distraction by something, she knew. She only prayed it wasn’t her and her child. That would be too cruel.

  Simon and Baldwin stood in the yard, but when Baldwin caught sight of Ivo loitering, he grunted, ‘Let’s get away from this place. It’s making me choke!’ and led the way to the gate.

  Their path took them along the protected corridor that led out to the open air. A waft of breeze brought with it the stench of the shit-bespattered ground under the garderobe at the western edge of the wall, and without speaking, the two walked away from the castle and the foul smell.

  Following their feet, the two trailed down the hill towards the vill itself. Here the land was much like Devonshire’s, and Simon felt his heart being drawn eastwards again. He had endured enough travelling, enough death and hardship to last him the rest of his lifetime. The little house which Meg, his wife, had made so welcoming was never so appealing as now. He hoped his family were well. Praying for them was one thing, but there was no guarantee that God would protect them. Christ’s bones, but he missed them!

  At the bottom of the little hill were more trees. A charcoal-burner was camping there, and a stack of wood smouldered merrily under its covering of wet sacks. They walked on past and down to the small stream that chuckled its way northwards. Even the sound made Simon homesick: the stream was a tiny version of the water that thundered in the gorge at Lydford.

  ‘I can make little of this,’ he said, sitting on a fallen trunk. ‘The folk here seem unsettled by the murders. There is much bubbling away below the surface.’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘There is much going on: Athelina’s murder with her children, the priest’s tale, Danny’s death, crushed in the mill, and Serlo’s killing made to look like his. And now Nicholas’s story.’

  ‘An odd little story, that. He wanted us to help protect his son, but there seemed something else in his manner. Does he think his son is guilty? How can that be? The first death was Danny’s, which happened long before Richer arrived.’

  ‘Not quite true, Simon. The first deaths were Richer’s supposed family. It was their deaths which made him leave the vill, and now he’s returned the killings have started again.’

  ‘Iwan seemed to think Serlo killed them … many must believe he also got rid of Athelina and her children too because she couldn’t pay her rent. Someone then retaliated and killed him.’

  ‘So the connection is revenge. Perhaps it was Richer,’ Baldwin mused.

  ‘And perhaps there is no connection whatever. The fire at Richer’s home was fifteen years ago. It stretches my credulity.’

  ‘A man who lost his whole family would demand revenge,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Surely he would have sought it before?’ Simon grunted. ‘God’s teeth, Baldwin. There is an unwholesome atmosphere here. I shall be glad to get back home again.’

  ‘A family perhaps murdered in an arson attack fifteen years ago; an apprentice killed by accident, perhaps: a woman murdered and her children slaughtered, definitely; and now a man killed and his body planted in the machine like the apprentice.’

  ‘You forgot Serlo’s boy.’ />
  ‘I cannot believe that young Ham was a part of this,’ Baldwin said. ‘The lad’s mother surely wouldn’t have killed him. No, that was definitely an accident.’

  ‘The people here thought that the apprentice was, too,’ Simon pointed out.

  ‘True enough.’

  ‘So if that’s the case, the killer of Serlo was merely saying that he was a lousy master.’

  Baldwin frowned at the ground by his boot. ‘Or that he didn’t take enough care of his charge. Surely the most sensible explanation would be that the father of the apprentice considered Serlo too careless and decided to punish him.’

  ‘If only we knew who the father was,’ Simon said.

  ‘The priest at Temple said it was a man from the castle,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Who do you mean?’ Simon asked, turning to him. ‘Nicholas, the castellan?’

  ‘He controls this castle and vill in the name of his lord; he has powers through his men-at-arms, and all would fear him if they lived within the reach of his arms,’ Baldwin said. ‘I should think that he would make an excellent suspect.’

  ‘No. The man is honest, I am sure. There are others, though: I still want to know more about Squire Warin. That fellow seems less than entirely open.’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘And he’s not in the castle. So let’s see if we can find him.’

  ‘Where are you thinking of looking?’ Simon asked, reluctantly rising to his feet.

  ‘There are few enough places in this vill to rest,’ Baldwin said determinedly, rising to his feet.

  The Lady Anne couldn’t bear to see Nicholas, not now, while he looked so desperate. Instead, she went out to her orchard and little garden, seeking peace and tranquillity in solitude.

  The orchard had been here for many years, a small space set aside for apples and some pears, but when Anne first arrived it had been terribly overgrown and ill-kempt. No one had pruned the trees in years, and the farther side of the orchard, which had originally been planted with cider apples, was filled with fallen boughs. Anne had set to with a will, having the dead trees cleared and setting out a number of low turf banks which could be used as benches in fine weather. It was to one of these that she walked now, sitting and staring back along the valley to the west.

  ‘I thought I might find you here.’

  She did not turn to face him. ‘Gervase, I wanted some peace.’

  ‘I think we need to talk, my love. There is much to discuss.’

  ‘We lay together, Gervase. That is all. There is nothing to talk about.’

  ‘And what if your child is born early? So early that even Nicholas realises it isn’t his?’

  That was her fear. To have been cuckolded might break his heart. ‘I wish …’

  ‘What?’ he pressed. ‘That you’d agreed to accept me before you took the older man’s hand?’

  She gazed at him stonily. ‘I love my husband, Gervase. Don’t deceive yourself.’

  ‘I loved him myself,’ he said earnestly. ‘I still do, a little. But I adore you, my love. You should have taken me when we first met.’

  ‘You had enough women. No doubt you still have.’

  ‘No! Even Julia cannot tempt me. I won’t have anything to do with her – I haven’t seen her in months.’

  ‘Athelina was still coming to the castle until recently.’

  ‘She was trying to persuade me to give her money. I wouldn’t, though.’

  Anne looked up at him. His face was filled with a strange mixture of dread and yearning, as though he feared what she might say or do. ‘Did she go to you and threaten us? Did she tell you she’d seen us lying together that day in the meadow?’

  He waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes. She said that, but it meant nothing. I told her I’d kill her if anything got out about it, and that was all.’

  ‘She did see us, so Serlo told me the truth,’ Anne said with a blank stare at the distance.

  ‘Anne, why don’t we run away from here? I can protect you! All we need is a small cottage somewhere away from Sir Henry’s lands, and we can live decently enough. Perhaps I could find a new position as steward somewhere, and we …’

  ‘What, run away?’ she said, her mouth falling open in astonishment. And then, cruelly, she couldn’t help but laugh at him.

  ‘Do you really think I’d give up my warm home, my tapestries, my tunics – my life – to run away with an impoverished steward? My God, Gervase, you must be mad! I lay with you, and mind you hear me carefully, I lay with you that time because I thought my husband might be dead. I was lonely and desperate, thinking that I might have lost my only protector, and sought another man who could look after me. The only man about here was you; there was no one else. I do not love you, Gervase. I don’t think I could. But if Nicholas was dead, I might have considered you as an alternative. That was all.’

  ‘Our child, though. He’s proof you love me.’

  ‘He’s proof that I lay with a man some months ago,’ she said dismissively. ‘If he is born early, I shall call in a midwife who’ll swear on her parents’ graves that the child is before full term and that I and the babe both need careful nursing. Nicholas will never guess. And you won’t tell him anything, Gervase.’ She stood and approached him slowly. ‘Because if you do, Nicholas will destroy you utterly. He’ll cut your ballocks off and stuff them in your mouth. So be very careful you keep your mouth sealed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let news of this get out,’ he protested, but he was shivering like a man with the ague.

  ‘Be sure you don’t,’ she said, and then she faced him with a strange expression in her eyes. ‘Do you mean to say that it was you? Did you murder Athelina and Serlo to keep this all secret?’

  He was too appalled to answer. Instead, his heart bleeding with shame, sadness and bitterness at the rejection of his love, he let his head hang, and turned his feet back towards the castle.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  While Simon and Baldwin made their way to the alehouse, Sir Jules and Roger had already passed through the vill seeking the Constable at his home.

  Letitia answered the door without enthusiasm when she saw who stood outside. ‘Coroner. Godspeed.’

  ‘Good wife, is your man at home?’

  ‘No, he’s …’ she glanced up towards the alehouse. ‘He’s gone out.’

  ‘Perhaps we could wait for him?’

  ‘He may be gone a long while,’ she said evasively. She had only this moment returned from church, where she had deposited Aumery with his mother. A few prayers with them had initially soothed her, but this fool’s appearance had unsettled her again. Where was her Alex? He wanted to see Richer dead, but please God, don’t let him have had the chance. Please let Richer have escaped back to the castle!

  Sir Jules pursed his lips. ‘What would you say, Roger? Where can we seek the man?’

  Roger smiled and bobbed his head at the woman, turning to gaze back down the track. ‘Perhaps he has gone to the church to see his sister-in-law?’

  Nodding, Sir Jules led the way from the house. ‘We may also ask the woman Muriel whether she can help us.’

  ‘I am not sure that this would be a propitious time to speak to her.’ Roger was most reluctant to question a woman when she had just lost her husband as well as her son. The thought of interrupting her grief was sorely unpleasant.

  ‘I hardly like the thought myself,’ Jules said, demonstrating an empathy that surprised Roger. ‘But I’m the King’s man in this part of the county: I have two other corpses I should hold an inquest on, I’ve deaths here in this vill which I haven’t satisfactorily resolved, and there is news of Lord Mortimer’s escape! What must I do to return to Bodmin and normality? Clearly I must solve these cases to the best of my ability, and then take my leave.’

  ‘We should speak with the Constable first,’ Roger proposed.

  ‘If he’s at the church, we can do so. If not, the woman Muriel may know something. It is worth asking her. That is all I suggest – that we speak to her.’


  ‘You could be adding to a mother’s grief.’

  ‘You are a Coroner’s clerk, man! Aren’t you used to grief?’

  Roger studied his master with the attitude of a gardener surveying a colony of slugs in his cabbages. ‘I have served as Coroner’s clerk these last many years, and I have observed all forms of misery, of loss, of injustice, of devastation. I’ve seen more mothers grieving for their children, more widows bemoaning the loss of husbands, more sisters missing their siblings, than you have ridden leagues. Do not think to preach to me my duties, Master Coroner. I know them all too well.’

  ‘Meaning you think I don’t?’ the Coroner bridled.

  ‘Meaning I don’t think it is yet right to intrude upon her sorrow.’

  ‘Well, I do,’ Sir Jules said firmly, and set off towards the church.

  ‘Like many a bull-headed fool, you have less blood in your heart than does your damned sword,’ the clerk muttered under his breath. ‘God save me from men like you if I should ever need compassion!’

  The Coroner strode straight to the door like a man who sought to complete an unpleasant duty with as much speed as possible. Roger uttered a short prayer for Muriel before he entered, crossing his breast in the manner of a priest helping a man at the gallows.

  Inside, the church smelled of blood. Although the vill’s women had tried to clean Serlo’s body as best they could, the mess at his skull was foul. Roger could see the little patches of white where flies’ eggs were already laid. Soon those heralds of putrefaction would hatch and begin the process of converting this corpse into dust as God demanded.

  He knelt and bowed his head to the altar, crossing himself again, then stood and walked forward to the little group of people at the smaller body.

  This, like Serlo’s, was lighted by candles, but the tiny corpse was saved from the ultimate degradation by women who fanned at approaching flies and kept them at bay while Muriel knelt at her boy’s side. Hamelin’s face was undamaged and he simply looked like a babe fast asleep.

  Adam was with her, and he had a hand set upon her shoulder in much the way that a brother would. It was good, Roger thought, to see a priest who apparently believed in the vows of chastity. This man did not look the sort who, in other circumstances, might allow his hand to fall and fondle her thigh or buttocks. If anything, there was a hint of distaste in his face – but Muriel was not looking her best. Although she wore a clean dressing about her head, she appeared pale and unkempt. Today of all days she had taken no care with her looks, and no surprise. The poor woman was, as Roger had predicted, all but beside herself with grief.