‘Where?’
‘Over at the edge of my house. But I never thought it would be him. He had nothing to want to kill this pardoner for . . .’
‘Who?’
‘Agatha’s husband, Henry of Copplestone. I thought I saw him over at the side of my house. That was why I made sure I locked the door carefully before going up to my bed. I thought he could try to enter to kill me. But he would do nothing against the pardoner. Why should he?’
Once outside, Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. ‘Well?’ Simon said.
‘Clearly pointless. There is much we may say of a married woman who behaves like a whore,’ Coroner Richard said uncompromisingly. ‘But what of it? It’s got damn all to do with the murder of the man in the tavern. At least, so far as we can tell, it hasn’t.’
‘No,’ Simon said, but now he remembered the woman’s words on seeing Baldwin and Richard questioning Huw as he rode into the vill. ‘Except she clearly had something against the Welshman when we rode into the town. That itself strikes me as odd.’
‘He saw her with her lover in Crediton,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps she realized that he might speak to us – as he did,’ but as he spoke a vague memory occurred to him.
‘You have a constipated look about you, man,’ the coroner said.
‘When I saw the pardoner and Huw in Crediton, I could have sworn I saw Agatha running away from me,’ Baldwin said, and told of the glimpse he’d had of her and a man flying away up the hill. But even as he spoke he was reminded of the curious comment of Dean Peter – that Arthur was prey to temptations. At the time he had not taken much notice, thinking the dean meant only that a young man’s eye could be taken by a comely woman, but now he wondered whether he had taken the dean’s meaning correctly. Perhaps the dean knew something about the canon.
‘So what do you want to do now?’ Simon asked.
Coroner Richard grunted. ‘Gentles, there is only one way in which we may ease our concerns in this matter. Let us go to her house and ask the woman’s husband whether he was there, as the tavern-keeper thought, or not!’
The journey took little time – it was such a short distance that none of them bothered to mount their horses; instead, the three friends walked along the lane.
‘What do you think?’ Simon asked as they walked.
Baldwin looked over at him. ‘Well, the tavern-keeper was having an affair with Agatha. It’s possible her husband learned of it and went to kill him – and yet any man who entered that tavern must notice that the man’s bedchamber is up in the rafters. I saw it up there the first time I walked inside. So if he went in and killed the pardoner, that would be because he had a reason to, not because he fell over a new body and killed him in mistake. And why cut off his hand?’
‘We can hopefully learn more in a short time,’ Coroner Richard said. ‘Meantime, Baldwin, do you suspect any other?’
‘I would feel sure that Hob himself is likely to be innocent. He does not show any signs of blood about his body.’
‘Why would a man cut the pardoner’s hand off ?’ Simon mused.
The coroner shrugged. ‘Surely because he had taken another man’s hand.’
‘But who would have known that apart from Huw?’
‘He was hardly in the vill long enough to have told anyone,’ Baldwin considered. ‘Unless he allowed it to slip when he was in the tavern that night.’
Just then they rounded a corner, and before them lay the long hall of Henry of Copplestone.
It was a large property. A longhouse, with a separate byre behind, two small barns and a stable-block all spoke of Henry’s wealth. To emphasize his position, the land all about had been splendidly cultivated, with a series of pastures and good strips of fields dropping down towards the stream at the bottom of the lands.
Silently, the three marched to the door and were welcomed by a maidservant who took them over the threshold and into a large hall, well illuminated by the enormous window in the southern wall.
Soon Henry and his wife were with them.
Henry was a short, swarthy man with the eyes of a seaman, permanently squinting as though peering into a strong wind. His hands were muscular, but Baldwin was not sure whether the man had the strength of will for violence.
His wife was very pretty, although now, seeing her more closely, Baldwin was struck by how her looks melded together to produce a less wholesome picture. His own wife was a perfect combination of imperfections that somehow made her extraordinarily attractive to him. This woman was almost perfect in every way, and he found that his initial reaction to her was of stunned admiration. But the vision of beauty was marred. There was a harshness to her eyes, he thought, and few signs of womanly softness. All was angular, crisp and precise, not comforting. She was shrewish, if nothing else.
‘Lordings, you honour my home with your presence. I am only sorry that I don’t think I will be able to help you overmuch. How may I serve you?’
‘Master Henry, we are most grateful for your gracious welcome,’ the coroner began. He wore an unaccustomed look of wariness, as though rather nervous of how to broach a difficult subject.
Baldwin decided to save him any embarrassment. It was a curious word to apply to the coroner, but clearly the man was shamed by the reference he must make to the woman’s infidelity. ‘This is about the matter of the dead man, you will understand,’ he said.
‘Of course.’
‘We do not have a good understanding of the affair as yet,’ Baldwin said. ‘We are trying to understand what people here in the vill may have felt about the dead man – and his friend. We have heard that others saw the pair of them in Crediton. Did you?’
‘Me?’ Henry asked. ‘No. I was in Crediton yesterday, but came back early this morning, and didn’t see any strangers so far as I know. Mind, I was working in my storehouse in the town, not wandering the streets!’
‘That is good,’ Baldwin said. ‘Tell me, what kind of business do you run?’
‘I have a number of little ventures, but I sometimes dabble in purchasing wine in Exeter and send it to different taverns and inns. I have some good Guyennois wines just arrived.’
‘I see.’ Baldwin considered. ‘I have heard that you have experienced troubles with the church. Their sheep?’
‘Aye, yes. The black-hearted devils let their flock ruin my crop – and then refused to repay me for the damage!’
‘And I think your wife was insulted by the canon two days ago,’ Baldwin said.
The scene of that morning blazed with a greater clarity on his mind. He remembered seeing the two men approaching him, the flash of this woman running away from the road, his initial thought that others too would keenly avoid the likes of a pardoner and his companion – and then he realized his error. The surprise made him almost gasp.
Henry appeared not to have noticed. ‘She did? Oh, it was him splashed her, was it? He’s a pleasant enough fellow. Not the brightest. Lousy negotiator, that I know, for if I weren’t so honest I could have gulled him out of a barrel in every ten I sold him.’
‘You still have dealings with the church?’
‘I’d be a fool not to. But the peas are ruined.’
‘Sir, perhaps your wife could show me the crop?’ Baldwin suggested. ‘I have some little influence with Dean Peter. Perhaps I could . . . ?’ ‘Yes, by all means. I can show you myself,’ Henry said.
‘There is no need. You stay here and answer my good friends’ questions, and we shall be away from you all the sooner,’ Baldwin said smoothly, and was through the door in a moment.
‘They’re over here,’ Agatha said, lifting her skirts as she passed over the muddy paths.
‘Have you been carrying on many affairs?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, but now her face was colourless.
‘You saw me that day when the pardoner and his triacleur appeared, didn’t you? You saw me and fled rather than let me see you. You and a man in clerical robes. A canon . . . It was Ar
thur, wasn’t it?’
‘What of it?’ The colour had returned to her now, in bright scarlet at her cheeks. It made her look as daunting as an empress.
‘You are having an affair with Hob, I know. However, now I am forced to wonder whether you are also having an affair with the canon too.’
Perhaps that was what Peter Clifford had meant when he said that his young canon was tortured by temptations. This woman had decided to ensnare him too. There were women with voracious sexual appetites, Baldwin knew.
‘I . . . I cannot speak without you twisting my words . . .’
‘I care not about your affairs,’ Baldwin hissed. ‘All I wish to know is what happened to the pardoner in that room. Do you know who could have had anything to do with it?’
‘No! Why should I?’
‘Because Hob thought he saw your husband outside his tavern last night when he was pushing the others through his door.’
‘But Henry wouldn’t have hurt that man . . .’
‘He would have wanted to hurt Hob, wouldn’t he? And how better to do that than to leave all assuming that Hob had killed another in his tavern?’
‘Henry wouldn’t do that. He’s too weak to hurt a man anyway, but if he were to try it, he’d stab a man in the chest while looking into his eyes. But I don’t think he ever would. He is the softest-hearted man I’ve known.’
As she spoke, the servant Baldwin had seen at her side in the vill came out and stared around him.
‘He is looking for me,’ she said, and there was a tone of fear in her voice.
‘What of it? He’s a servant.’
‘I must go!’
‘Why should she be so scared of a servant?’ Simon asked as they walked back to the vill.
‘Perhaps he suspects her of adultery – or knows of it?’ Baldwin wondered. ‘He may blackmail her.’
‘Did she admit it, then?’ the coroner said.
‘She did not deny the affair with the tavern-keeper, but she was emphatic about not carrying on with the canon.’ Baldwin frowned as he realized that he had not asked what she was doing with the canon in Crediton that day as they ran away. Clearly there was a secret matter being conducted there, whether or not there was a relationship.
‘Hardly makes her a saint,’ the coroner commented gruffly. His own wife had died some years before, far too young, and he still sorely missed her.
‘What of Henry? Did you gain an inkling as to whether he had been at the vill?’ Baldwin asked.
‘He did not deny it,’ Simon said. ‘But there was no sign of rage, only a quiet introspection. It was just as though he had some other grievance. He didn’t strike me as a raging cuckold – did he you, Sir Richard?’
‘No. Just a businessman with a problem to solve. Who doesn’t have them now?’
Baldwin nodded.
‘All of which gives us little help in this inquest,’ Simon said.
‘Correct. True, it is hard to understand who may have wished to commit this murder,’ Baldwin admitted.
‘Surely this matter of the woman and her lover must have something to do with it,’ the coroner said.
‘I am inclined to the view that the servant is more guilty than she,’ Baldwin said. He mused. It was a strange fear on her face when she saw the servant coming to seek her.
‘Should we go back to talk to him?’ Simon said.
‘If we do, and he has some sort of hold over her, it would make trouble for her without reason,’ Baldwin said.
‘She mayhap deserves it,’ the coroner said.
‘Perhaps there has been enough passion already in this case,’ Baldwin said. ‘I would not care to learn that she has been killed by a jealous husband.’
‘Hah! That woman reminds me of a joke,’ the coroner said. ‘A man was talking to a fellow in a tavern and asked if he was married. “Aye, and not once but three times,” was the reply. “Oho! How so?” “Because all three hanged themselves from my old apple tree,” the man said. The first was quiet a moment, and then asked, “Would you consider selling me a cutting of this tree?” Eh? Ha! And perhaps poor Henry should have a similar tree in his own garden for that harridan.’
‘Do not judge her too harshly, Sir Richard,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were fortunate to be happily married. Who can say but that their marriage is unhappy? I have seen too many women made miserable in constraining relationships.’
‘So have I,’ the coroner growled. ‘But that doesn’t excuse a woman whoring.’
‘Whom do you suspect, then? The Welshman?’
Sir Richard was about to respond when the three men were stopped by screams from behind them. ‘What in God’s name . . . ?’ the coroner blurted, but then he was already running back the way they had all come, Simon and Baldwin close behind him.
They had to run a matter of only two hundred yards, but to Simon it felt like a thousand. Once he had been fit enough to walk thirty miles in a day over Dartmoor, but now he was older, heavier and more prone to sitting on a horse.
It felt as though his lungs must burst as he pelted along, the rough, stone-strewn surface of the track threatening his ankles, their sharpened edges cutting into the soles of his cheap boots, and he was aware of a hissing in his ears, a heat rising to his face, a fading power in his legs. He had to wipe the sweat away from his face as he went, but then to his relief he saw the woman running towards them, and he could bend, take a gulp of air, rest a fist on his thigh and catch his breath.
‘Help! Murder! Murder and robbery!’ she was crying as she came.
Baldwin and Sir Richard exchanged a look. There was no blood on her, so far as Baldwin could see, and he held up a hand to calm her. ‘Mistress Copplestone, what is the matter? We returned as soon as we heard your plea for help, but what is the matter?’
‘Henry! He’s dead! Edward killed him and ran!’
She collapsed sobbing, and Simon stayed with her while the others bolted back to the house. Gradually her panicky panting calmed, and Simon could persuade her to rise with him and begin to walk back to her house. On the way they found Baldwin returning.
‘The good coroner will remain until we have the hue and cry come to seek the murderer. Come, Mistress Agatha, do you have a friend in the vill here?’
‘None! None at all!’
‘Then at the least we may as well install you in the tavern. You will be able to drink some wine there.’
‘What has happened?’ Simon asked.
‘It was our servant.’
‘You were scared of him earlier, I saw,’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes! He knew of my . . . with Hob. You know.’
‘You feared he would tell your master?’
‘Yes, of course I did. I thought he would denounce me unless I did all he wanted.’
‘Of course. Tell me, though. Huw was convinced that you were not with him in Crediton when he saw you.’
She reddened, but then her chin rose and she met his gaze. ‘No. It wasn’t him. I was with Arthur, the canon from the church.’
Baldwin shook his head. ‘You did seek to—’
‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I was not seeking an affair with him. My husband’s servant made me go to see the canon and bring him to my husband’s warehouse. There Arthur and Edward were having dealings. Edward bought the church’s produce and sold it on to his and Arthur’s profit, using my husband’s contacts. It impoverished Henry’s business, but what might I do? I could only do as Edward told me. I had no choice.’
Baldwin said nothing. It explained much. If this Arthur was conducting business to his own benefit, and submitting to the temptation of money, that could well be what Dean Peter had alluded to. And it explained why the dean was reluctant to compensate Henry and Agatha for losses in their garden if he thought that Henry was already robbing him. And why should he think that Arthur was collaborating with a mere servant? If the dean had suspicions, it was more likely that they would focus on the owner of the house where the goods were being traded.
‘I didn’t
want to help him rob the church,’ she said with a little, quiet voice.
‘Let us take you to the tavern,’ Simon said gently.
Later, they were sitting about a fire in the tavern together while they waited to hear about the posse sent after Edward.
‘Could the servant have killed the pardoner?’ Simon wondered.
‘It would be a cleaner end to the story if he was guilty of all,’ Baldwin said.
‘Either him or Agatha’s husband,’ Simon said. ‘He was seen here.’
‘I cannot forget the man’s hand in the fire,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Why would either of them do that?’
‘If a man was disgusted with the actions of the pardoner and thought that the bones were genuine, he may have done that in punishment,’ Simon mused.
‘What, a hand has touched something sacred so it should be cut off ?’ Baldwin said with a smile.
‘Why not, Baldwin?’ Simon said. ‘Think of it. The Gospel says “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out”, doesn’t it? There are some who’d think the pardoner was an offensive man who was polluting incorruptible relics.’
‘Old bones in a pardoner’s hands are unlikely to cause so much offence,’ Baldwin scoffed.
The coroner was less sure. ‘God can give miracles from such things, Baldwin. There are many pieces of Christ’s cross throughout Christendom. I once heard a friar say that all are from the True Cross. Even though there is more wood there than would build many such crosses, it matters not. It’s like feeding the thousands with a couple of fish and all were full afterwards. He can make things like this happen. These relics may be as potent as any other. If someone thought that, he could have taken off John’s hand for the insult he gave to relics. And then taken them for safekeeping.’
‘Perhaps so. In which case, who was it?’ Baldwin asked sharply. ‘There is no evidence to suggest who could have done it.’
‘Surely the most religious man?’ Coroner Richard said. ‘He is plainly the man with the most incentive. And offended by the pardoner.’
‘Very well,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘But he seems so mild-mannered. What sort of a man would . . . ?’
He stopped suddenly, closed his eyes and shook his head.
King Arthur's Bones Page 23
