‘He has a castle, I suppose,’ Simon said, unable to stop himself rubbing salt into the wound.
‘And money, yes, but that’s not it. My brother is extremely pious. You know, if our roles were reversed, I think that he would be delighted.’
‘If he were younger, you mean?’ Baldwin pressed.
‘Yes. If he were the idle one, and I were the knight with the demesne, he would be perfectly content. He would go to a convent and retire from the world without a second thought. The life would suit him. He has always had a hankering for prayer. The idea of being able to abase himself at the cross every day would appeal to him immensely.’
‘I see,’ Baldwin said, but in his mind’s eye he saw a man gripped with fury in the knowledge that his property had been taken, gripping one of the few remaining family treasures of any value in both hands and using it to hack at a thief.
No matter how religious a man was, being robbed could deprive even a monk of the inclination to turn the other cheek.
Alice de Tracy heard the hooves approaching and felt her heart begin to thud painfully. She lived in perpetual dread of the future now, and those hoofbeats sounded like the drums of doom.
Waving irritably at the maid brushing her hair, she rose from the stool and stood indecisively, unwilling to go straight to the window. Instead she snapped at the maid to leave, and only when the door had closed, the wooden latch dropping into its slot, did she hurry to the window.
The yard was in its usual state of busyness. Henry the under-groom was grooming Sir William’s great horse while it tried to nip and kick at him; stable-boys were fetching fresh hay and sweeping out the old straw; the steward was shouting at the brewery, demanding to know what had happened to the gallon of strong ale he’d ordered earlier, and all in all the place was a mess. It was into this commotion that the riders came, led by Roger.
Her lips compressed into a thin line. She knew that it was Denis’s idea to fetch someone, but she would have hoped for another messenger to have been sent. Roger had demanded the right to go, and the very presumptuousness of his action made her feel a cold dread. He could have soured the keeper and his companion against her and her husband. It was the sort of thing Roger would do.
The two with him were used to authority. One, the elder of the two from his greying hair, appeared to be a knight, and not one of those modern, primping coxcombs, but a fighting man. He had the breadth of shoulder, the muscled arms, and the air of command. If she had to guess, he was the keeper.
When she looked at the other, she saw a younger man, perhaps only ten years senior to her own two-and-twenty years. Still, from the way he cocked his leg over his mount’s neck and slid quickly to the ground, standing with the arrogance born of confidence, she wondered fleetingly whether her estimation might have been wrong. But then she lost interest in the two men as she caught sight of Roger, staring up at her with a vindictive smile on his face.
It chilled her blood.
The castle was only small, obviously built early in the days after the pacification of the country. William of Normandy had given tracts of lands like this to all his most loyal vassals and mercenaries after the invasion, the only stipulation being that the recipients of his largesse should build their own strongholds to keep the peasants under control.
A low motte had been built, and at the top stood a stone keep. Over the years the original single tower had been expanded, and now there was a thatched hall at its foot, stables, a brewery, storehouses, and even a small blacksmith’s, all enclosed within a sturdy wall of grey moorstone. When their horses had been led away to be fed and watered, Roger led them up a staircase to a doorway on the first floor of the hall. There he stood aside to let the guests enter.
‘Madame de Tracy, I am pleased to meet you,’ Baldwin said as he entered the hall.
‘You know me?’
‘I have heard of your beauty, madam–and your brother-in-law said you were here,’ he admitted with a smile.
She smiled, and Baldwin was pleased to see that the appearance of nervousness and fear left her as she did so. Dimples appeared in both cheeks, and her blue eyes seemed to light with an inner glow. ‘You are generous, friend.’
‘My name is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. This is my companion, Bailiff Simon Puttock, the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth under the Abbot of Tavistock.’
Standing back as Simon bowed, Baldwin saw her fear begin to return even though her dimples remained.
‘You must be exhausted after your long journey,’ she said.
‘Exhausted? I should think we are!’ Roger said as he marched into the hall tugging at his riding gloves, slapping them against his thigh to clear the dust of the road from them. The dirt rose from his cotehardie and hosen as a fine mist, and he waved it away.
‘Command wine, then, brother,’ she said, and there was tartness in her tone, Baldwin noted.
‘Ale for me,’ Simon asked. ‘And a little bread and meat?’
When the bottler had brought them food and jugs of drink, Simon and Baldwin sat at the table.
‘Tell me, lady, where is your husband? I thought he would be here to meet us on our arrival,’ Baldwin said.
‘He wanted to be here to see you,’ she said in a rush. ‘He was desperate to hear what help you might be able to give him in this affair.’
‘He has been called away, apparently,’ Roger said comfortably, leaning back in his chair with a large mazer of wine in his hand. He took a deep draught and continued, ‘A matter of the arrangements for the market up at Bow.’
‘There must be many things to do in preparation for a market the size of Bow’s,’ Baldwin said easily.
‘He meant no insult to you, I do assure you,’ Alice said, and in her eyes there was a fleeting hatred as she glanced at Roger. ‘But the bailiff of the market is ill and may not recover, so my husband wished to assure himself that all was in hand.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ Baldwin said. ‘I have been involved in the organization of Crediton fair on occasion, and there is always much to do. When you are not so used to a life of responsibility, it is easy to underestimate the effort required,’ he added.
Roger was still for a moment. ‘Was that a calculated insult?’
Baldwin had taken a mouthful of meat, and he chewed quietly while contemplating the man. ‘I am sure that if I wished to insult you, I should succeed. Just as, if you were to try to insult me, I should take notice.’
‘Lady Alice,’ Simon interrupted quickly, ‘where was this sword kept? It seems curious to me that someone could walk in here and take a weapon with the heritage of this one.’
‘You have heard its story?’ she said, and her gaze returned to her brother-in-law.
Baldwin raised his brows. There was more to this than Roger had said. ‘It is old–we know that. If there is more we should know, perhaps you could tell us?’
‘No. It is not my part. My husband should do that,’ she responded. ‘But to answer your question, Bailiff, it was there, in the chest by the wall.’
This was an older hall, and there was no chimney. Instead there was a large blackened hearth in the middle of the floor, and the rafters and inner thatch spoke of the number of fires that had roared in here. Beyond the fire was a strong chest of wood bound with iron, and a massive lock in the lid.
‘It was locked in there?’ Baldwin asked with frank surprise.
‘I fear not. If it had been locked, it would be inside still. No, I had asked my husband to open it for me to fetch a necklace and it was not locked again. He blames me for the theft.’
‘Coule was not seen alive after visiting here? You believe he died that same day?’
‘Yes. I fear so,’ she said quietly.
‘The man who stole it was neither liked nor trusted by you, yet he was allowed in here alone?’
It was Roger who answered. ‘Walter Coule came ostensibly to discuss a matter before the courts: some of his merchants have been demanding
freedom from tolls at our fair, and we see no reason to accommodate them. He came here and was allowed into the hall, but when my brother returned, Coule was gone. As was the sword.’
‘I was in here and received him,’ Alice said bitterly. ‘I went to fetch Sir William myself. It was my own mistake. I was a fool to leave him alone in here!’
‘You are sure it was gone then?’
She nodded. ‘Denis saw that the chest was unlocked that afternoon. He relocked it and gave the key to my husband that day. It was only when the body was found that we opened it again.’
‘What happened when your husband realized Coule was gone?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘William was angry, of course, but none of us thought more of it, other than it showed how boorish and unthoughtful Coule could be.’
‘Really,’ Baldwin said. ‘There were how many witnesses to Coule leaving the castle?’
‘The ostler, grooms, perhaps the steward…any number.’
‘None saw him carrying the sword?’
‘No. But few would have recognized the sword. It was not out on display all the time.’
‘He could have had it wrapped in his cloak or concealed some other way,’ Roger said eagerly.
‘Of course,’ Simon said, smiling understandingly at the woman. She was plainly upset, blaming herself for the theft. Her husband would not have been happy to learn that she had left the man in the hall alone. Especially since she had herself caused the chest to be opened, he reminded himself, and his face hardened. Perhaps Coule’s arrival was more than a coincidence. Could this woman have planned it?
Baldwin said nothing. He looked at Roger, then let his eyes move toward Alice. She, he noticed, had begun to flush, her throat reddening. He considered. ‘We heard this Coule was often here. Would you usually leave him unguarded?’
Alice lifted her chin slightly. ‘I do not expect every visitor who accepts our hospitality to rob us, if that is what you mean. But yes, Coule would come here once each month or so to speak with my husband on matters that affected our manors. My husband and Sir John do not get on well. Their mutual affairs are conducted by others. We tended to have my husband’s man of law, Denis de Topcliffe, speak with Coule.
Simon had another question which troubled him. ‘Roger told us that Coule was an unpopular man with his peasants. How did your folk respond to him?’
Alice took up her mazer and swallowed hurriedly. ‘I don’t think that they were troubled by him. Not like his own people at Down St Mary. If he had tried to bully our people, I am sure my husband would have seen to his being punished.’
‘Which he did, I assume,’ Baldwin said.
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Coule came here and stole from you. Surely your husband went to demand the sword’s return from Sir John?’
‘We didn’t realize it was gone until the inquest,’ she said defensively. ‘Otherwise I am sure my husband would have spoken with Sir John when the disappearance was noticed.’
‘Through an intermediary,’ Baldwin noted drily.
Simon continued, ‘Does your husband never talk to your neighbour?’
‘Sir John de Curterne? No.’
Roger said, ‘I told you: we are not friends with him.’
‘The lands you lost?’
She nodded. ‘It was a blow to the family, I think. But it was a long, long time ago. I am sure that my husband holds no ill-feeling about it. He used to be a good friend of the Curterne family. It was only after…since I knew my husband that the two manors have been at loggerheads.’
Roger sniggered at that, and the unpleasant sound stuck in Baldwin’s ears. ‘You say “since I knew my husband”–do you mean that in some way it was because of your marriage that the two men fell out?’
‘Perhaps–I was to have married Sir John’s brother. We had been betrothed for some months when he died.’
‘His older brother?’ Baldwin pressed.
‘Yes. Godfrey was his name. He fell from his horse into the river and drowned. He was only fourteen. Before then, the two families had been close, I have heard. But not since his death. And then a few years later his poor brother Ralph also died when an ox fell on him.’
‘Sir John has not wished to remain on friendly terms since then?’ Baldwin asked sharply, his eyes going to Roger.
‘If you seek to raise old troubles, let me ease your mind,’ Roger responded easily. ‘It was Sir William who would have nothing more to do with them, rather than the other way about. Poor Godfrey died of an accident. It’s common enough. But afterwards, I think my brother was a little embarrassed when he persuaded Lady Alice’s parents to let him wed her. Perhaps he felt that Sir John would have expected her to marry him in his brother’s place.’
‘He was,’ Lady Alice said, her eyes downcast. ‘Sir Baldwin, you have to appreciate that my husband is extremely pious. He felt almost guilty to have taken me, his best friend’s woman, but he loved me.’
‘Pious?’
‘There is no man more so,’ she said.
Bow was a little town set on the side of a hill with a broad road running through the middle. Baldwin and Simon approached it from the south, riding two fresh mounts loaned to them by Lady Alice, guided by the dour lawyer Denis.
Their way was sheltered by great elms and oaks on either side, and there was a large forest at one point, where the road narrowed alarmingly.
‘Do you know where this man Coule was found?’ Baldwin asked as they rode.
‘It was just up here.’ Denis turned in his saddle, a hand on the cantle, a leg crooked over the withers to talk more easily to them, a man well used to riding. ‘Hob found him a short way along this lane there.’
They were trailing down a hillside that fell away to marshy land at the bottom. He was indicating a green lane leading westwards.
‘What else lies down there?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Only the mill where Hob lives. He was first finder.’
‘What sort of a man is he?’ Simon asked.
‘Hob? Reliable. Bright. He’s lived there all his life, I hear.’
Baldwin narrowed his eyes. ‘Good. Now, let us have a quick look at Coule’s resting place. Show us where he was found.’
Shrugging unconcernedly, their guide twitched his reins and led the way down the track. Soon they could hear only the swish of grass against the horses’ legs, the gentle padding of hooves against soft earth.
Simon took a deep, contented breath. He had missed riding like this since he’d been given his new post in Dartmouth, and the opportunity to enjoy the sunny weather on a good horse was not one he could turn down. Besides, he loved these little trails that crisscrossed the county. Here the road was little used. He could see that from the way that the grass had grown, trampled only a little. A pair of ruts at either side showed where cart wheels were likely to go when a cart came down this way, but as he knew all too well, it was a rare event. Mostly people were forced to use packhorses on the twisting, steep hills of Devon.
They had just turned a bend in the lane when Denis stopped.
‘Just here, I think. This is where the inquest was held,’ he pointed to some bushes.
Baldwin, as usual, was keen to drop from his mount and investigate the scene. To Simon’s eye there was little attractive about a place like this: it was nothing more than a scene of destruction and death–but at least for once there was no body. The inquest was over, so the body would have been buried.
Here, he told himself, there was no corpse to study, and with that cheery thought came relief. He sprang down from his horse and wandered over to join Baldwin.
‘What of it, Baldwin?’
‘Stand back, you’re blocking the light!’
Simon smiled and leaned against a tree nearby. There was a twig on the ground at his feet, and he picked it up contemplatively. Taking out his knife, he began to whittle at it, conscious of their guide staring at them both. Simon looked up at him. ‘He likes to get his hands messy when there’s a dead
body,’ he said helpfully.
Denis looked at Baldwin warily, as though suddenly aware that he was in the presence of a lunatic.
As he watched, Baldwin grasped brambles, pulling them away so he might study the ground more closely. At times, he peered at the stems as though accusing them. At last, he stood and walked about the area, his features scowling darkly at the ground, at the trees, in among the bushes, under piles of rotting leaves.
‘There is little to be said about this place,’ he said as he went to rejoin Simon. ‘It has been so severely beaten down by the inquest. The coroner must have demanded all the juries from the area, from the look of it.’
‘He did, sir.’
‘They have trampled any evidence into the mire,’ Baldwin grumbled. ‘What on earth you and I can be expected to learn, I do not know.’
Simon let his stick fall and subjected the land to a brief survey. ‘What did the coroner conclude?’
‘That Coule had been killed by some unknown footpad. He was stabbed in the breast, knocked on the head, and his hands slashed. Nobody knew who could have done this.’
‘Clearly a violent attack, then. And perhaps committed by someone who was known to him,’ Baldwin said.
‘Why say that?’
‘Wounds in the front. A stranger would try to close with his prey from behind. Only a friend or associate would get up close enough to attack from in front. Tell me, did you see Coule that day?’
‘Me?’ Denis squeaked. ‘Why me? It was me suggested you should be asked to come and hold an inquest into the theft!’
‘Madam Alice said you live in the castle. I merely wondered.’
‘I saw her when Coule arrived. She fled the hall to seek Sir William.’
‘And you were there later to lock up the chest.’
‘I saw the key in the lid’s lock. I turned it, that’s all.’
‘Where was Sir William?’
‘He was in the garden behind the castle, talking with his steward and bailiff. That was where madam Alice found him.’
‘His brother?’ Simon asked.
‘He said he was hunting.’
Sword of Shame Page 20
