As he spoke, he crawled forward on his hands and knees, and held his hands up to Baldwin.
‘Peter, stand. You are no creature that deserves to go about like this.’
‘You don’t know what they’ve … The sheriff says I’ll hang. Why? Why does he wish to kill me, Sir Baldwin? I haven’t done anything!’
Baldwin looked down at Peter’s filthy, tear-streaked face and knew he couldn’t tell the lad about Edith. ‘Tell me, Peter, is there any reason you can think of that could make the sheriff wish to hurt you? Have you met him? Spoken to him? Have you ever spoken about him, or has your wife, for example?’
‘No! No, nothing at all, I swear it! I know nothing about the man. How could I? I was apprenticed to Master Harold in Tavistock until just before I married, and since then I’ve been too busy here in Exeter.’
‘Do you have any family who could have had a dispute with him?’
‘No, I swear! He is neighbour to my father’s lands in Heavitree, but beyond that, I don’t think I have ever known him.’
‘Neighbour to your father’s lands, you say?’
‘He owns the little manor next to my father’s, yes, but that’s all. They’ve never had a dispute, so far as I know. It would be hard: the sheriff has hardly been there in years. He’s proud of his connections in the king’s court.’
‘Does your father support the king?’ Baldwin asked softly. It was not a question that he wished to have overheard.
‘Of course he does! As do I!’
‘Is there any reason you can think of why the sheriff might wish to do you harm?’
Peter’s face was full of desperate enthusiasm. ‘No, not at all.’
‘Peter, think! Someone has caused you to be arrested. I do not believe that the sheriff has acted purely for reasons of suspicion against you. There must be a reason why he would have done this.’
‘I know no reason! None! Why would he want to do this to me? I don’t know him! He’s only a neighbour of my father’s, neither friend nor enemy to me!’
As they left the chamber, paying a penny to the guard outside for allowing them to visit, Baldwin stood frowning. ‘Edgar, if the boy had done something, anything, to anger the sheriff, the man would not have let him make such a mistake. He’s too arrogant to do that. There must surely be something …’
Edgar was about to comment when they heard a voice hailing them.
‘Sir Baldwin! I hope I see you well, old friend!’
Baldwin reluctantly fitted a smile to his face. ‘Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple! How very good to see you again.’
Jacobstowe
Agnes watched the men as they studied the land carefully.
The younger one, the bailiff, was methodical in the way that he searched all about the land, his face grim and frowning as he walked up and down the area, looking for any clue, be it never so small.
‘You were here, then?’ he asked Hoppon.
‘I found him, poor devil. I walked up here because I had a fancy I could see something from my house, a little huddle of something. When I got here, it was him, poor fellow. He’ll be missed, will Bill.’
‘But he was here. You went all the way up there,’ the bailiff said, pointing to the brow of the hill.
Hoppon’s face clouded with suspicion. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Your staff’s easy to see on this soft turf. It penetrated the grasses and stabbed down an inch or so when you used it going up the hill there. You put more weight on it as you use it to help you uphill, I guess. And then coming back, you used it less forcefully.’
‘Oh! Oh well, aye, I suppose so. I think I came here, saw him lying on the ground, and went up the hill at once to see if anyone was still there. I was looking to make sure I wouldn’t be knocked on the head as soon as I crouched at his side. I made sure that he was dead, and said a prayer over him, the Pater Noster, before going to Jacobstowe to fetch help.’
‘Yes, I see,’ Simon said.
Agnes could see that he was making sense of this senseless murder so far as it was possible. The bailiff asked a few more questions, and the coroner demanded to know the details of how the body lay, and what the injuries were.
‘He was lying on his side, with his arms outstretched,’ Hoppon said. ‘He had a great bloody mess on the side of his head just here,’ and he indicated the right side of his head above and in front of his ear. ‘His eye was almost hanging out, he’d been hit so hard.’
There was a great deal more in the same vein, but Agnes was incapable of absorbing it. It was hard enough to come to terms with the fact that her lovely Bill was dead, let alone the reality of how he had been killed, his head crushed like a beetle. It made her sick in the pit of her stomach just to think of it. ‘He was away for so long. To think that he should have died so close here.’
‘Mistress, I am sorry,’ the coroner said. He was a great hulking bear of a man, Agnes thought. The sort a woman would go to for sympathy. From the twinkle in his eye, he might welcome approaches of a different sort as well. But there was nothing in her that would reciprocate any advances. Her womb felt shrivelled. Her soul was dry and unloving. All had gone when her man was killed. She longed for the sight of his killer dangling from a rope, the hemp cutting slowly into his throat as he swung, legs flailing. She could know no pleasure until he was dead, whoever he was.
But she was a mere peasant woman. A widow. She had no means of learning who could have done this.
‘Did you see a weapon?’ Simon was asking.
‘No.’
Agnes saw the bailiff nod and glance about him. It was plain enough that he didn’t expect a man like Hoppon to have seen much in the way of evidence. The hill sloped away from this spot towards the river, and the bailiff wandered down that way, whistling tunelessly, casting about him.
Hoppon scowled, but said nothing as the fellow kicked about some nettles at the bottom. They were old nettles, their leaves brown, their stems withered and very tall, sheltered under a sprawling oak. Agnes watched as he walked around in them for a few minutes, and then began to flatten the stems in a circle, stamping them down with vigour.
‘Here it is,’ he called. ‘Sorry, Coroner! A free weapon.’
‘Hah! So it is too,’ the knight called down. He peered at the clerk, who was standing a short distance away and wearing a look of long-suffering tolerance sorely strained. ‘Hey, Mark, ye see that? The blasted deodand is worth nothing, eh? Oh, sorry, mistress.’
Agnes scarcely noticed his words. As the bailiff clambered up the hill, a heavy, smooth river pebble in his hand, she could not take her eyes from it. It was black and crusted with something in places.
‘This is the weapon,’ the bailiff said, tossing it lightly to the coroner. ‘Someone, I would think, was here behind him, and clubbed him to death with that. It’s good and heavy – it would do the job in no time. Afterwards he just hurled the stone back towards the river, where he probably found it in the first place. Lucky – if he’d dropped it here, in the open, nearer the body, the blood would have been washed away, I expect. Down there, it was partly sheltered by the grasses and overhanging branches.’
The coroner was turning the stone over and over, feeling its weight in his hand. ‘Plenty to break a man’s head there, yes. Odd, though, eh?’
Bailiff Puttock nodded shortly. ‘I think so.’
Agnes asked, ‘What is odd?’
‘The weapon,’ Coroner Richard said, still studying the rock. ‘All the men in the party at Abbeyford were slaughtered with blades – knives, daggers, swords or axes. All of them. And your old man … my apologies, your husband was killed with a rock, such as any man could pick up.’
‘We will need to discuss this, and what we do next,’ the bailiff said. He glanced at Agnes and smiled. ‘Mistress, this is a sore, sad way to spend your afternoon. You will want to be home with your son, I am sure. Let’s take you home, and if there’s a small inn or tavern in the vill, we can sit there and make our plans without troubling you furthe
r.’
‘You are good to me,’ she said. ‘But I only want to learn that my husband’s murderer is caught. Do not trouble about me.’
‘Well, mistress, it is like this,’ the coroner said. ‘We could carry on right now, searching all over this hillside and beyond, but if we do, we’ll only make a mess of things because we’re tired and hungry. There’s no point doing that. Soon it’ll be dark, and in truth, we haven’t eaten in half a day. My belly’s almost on fire with hunger, and I need a large flagon of wine to recover my spirits. I know that you’re in a hurry to find the murdering bastard who did for your old— sorry, I mean, your husband, but we need to keep our own bodies and souls together. So we’re going to return to Jacobstowe for now, and tomorrow look at the way to carry on our investigation.’
‘I see,’ she said, and for the first time in the afternoon, she was aware of a heaviness in her throat, as though there was a plum’s stone stuck there. It was a thick, sore sensation, horrible, and suddenly she felt only a hideous lassitude. A realisation of the pointlessness of this attempt to find the killer. He was probably long gone by now. Drinking and carousing in some far-off town like Launceston, or Exeter itself. There was no justice in the world. She would struggle on for some years, while all about her tried to help, tried to aid her and her child, and perhaps some husband of a friend would turn up at her door, offering her the sympathy of the bed in return for a cabbage or a bowl of broth.
She had no life now; she was an empty, futile figure. Perhaps a source of lust in the eyes of a few men, but mainly a pathetic, lonely widow-woman who lived in her memories of what had been, and what might have been. A focus of shame, and perhaps of pity. Nothing more.
Her thoughts were of misery and grim reality all the walk home. She could not switch her mind to any happy subjects. It would be better if she had died, she thought. At least then Ant would have a father to protect him. There was precious little that a mother could do. He would be better as an orphan, for then at least the vicar would see to it that someone in the vill would take him in, and he might have a surrogate family to replace her and Bill. Poor Bill! Poor, darling Bill!
They had left Hoppon at his house, and were almost at the vill already when Agnes suddenly caught at her breast, gasping for breath, desperately moaning in her distress. She was suddenly lost. Hopelessly confused, she could not help herself. She didn’t recognise the road, didn’t know the scene of the vill in front of her, could not discern a single building that she knew. Overwhelmed by the feeling of dislocation, she struggled to get her lungs to work.
It was a shock to the men. None knew what to do. The monk was hopeless. He stood, panicking, flapping his hands, literally. The sight was almost enough to make her mood lighten, for he looked exactly like a young bird experimenting with flight, a stupid, wide-eyed expression on his face; and the coroner wasn’t much better, standing and harrumphing like an old stallion but uneasy about comforting her. No, it was the bailiff who came to her aid. While she thrust out a hand to break her fall, feeling her legs begin to wobble, a loud roaring in her ears, and a most peculiar flashing in front of her eyes, she found herself caught up. Her legs rose before her, and her shoulders were gently borne, and as the world darkened before her, she was aware of floating, carried by the bailiff.
Chapter Twenty-One
Exeter
Baldwin had persuaded the coroner to leave the castle for a while, and now the three men were at a quiet table in a tavern beside the east gate to the city. Edgar stood, his eyes flitting about all the others in the room, watching carefully for any sign of danger to his master – and keeping all those who might have wished to listen at bay. His was not a demeanour that would brook any argument about whether or not he had the right to prevent others from coming to a table.
Sir Peregrine was not a man whom Baldwin had ever liked. He felt sympathy for him, for he knew well that Sir Peregrine had loved three women, and all had died. Their deaths had marked him in some way. He had apparently grown more patient and sympathetic. But he was still the devoted ally of the men who had set their hearts against the king, and although Baldwin himself was growing impatient with Edward’s excesses, and his irrational devotion to the hideous, avaricious adviser Despenser, yet he was still the king and Baldwin owed him allegiance.
Despenser was the one point of mutual understanding, Baldwin now learned. Both detested him.
‘You are coroner still, then?’ he asked.
‘I fear that there is an ever-increasing need for such as me. The shire is growing yet more fractious,’ Sir Peregrine said.
‘In what way? At my home there are few signs.’
‘The first proof is the number of felons wandering in gangs. There was a time ten to twenty years ago when the trail bastons wandered with impunity. Now they have been superseded by this latest menace. There are as many wandering bands as there are malcontents with the king, or so it would seem now.’
Baldwin grunted noncommitally. ‘I do not wish to—’
Sir Peregrine interrupted him with a faint smile. ‘Sir Baldwin, I do not plot or scheme against the king. I have but one desire: to see the kingdom ruled more effectively and in the interests of the crown. I am no malcontent who would see Edward removed from his office. I have changed somewhat since our last discussion. However, it is plainly true that there are numbers of men who were once opposed to the king’s adviser, and who through him have been dispossessed of all their lands and titles. Many have seen their relations thrown into prisons, or have learned that their children have been deprived of their inheritances, their wives removed from their houses, or their lords accused of treason, executed barbarically, and their limbs hung on city walls up and down the land to feed the crows. There is a great deal of bitterness.’
‘I do not care about those who have been shown to be disloyal to the king,’ said Baldwin. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Troubles in other parts of the realm are for others to worry about.’
‘This is not far from you, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Peregrine countered. ‘In only the last few days I’ve had a group of nineteen slaughtered, and a matter of days later the local reeve slain while he tried to discover who was responsible.’
‘Where was this?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Over near Oakhampton. The men were slain in the woods a little north of the town, while the reeve was from Jacobstowe, and his body was discovered a short way east. That is what I mean, Sir Baldwin, when I say that the country is unsafe no matter where you travel.’
‘It is worse than only a short while ago.’
‘Yes. And now there are men of rank who are stealing and killing, men with influence, men with castles.’
Baldwin was silent as he considered. ‘This is sorely troubling,’ he said at last. ‘Simon’s daughter has disappeared, and the sheriff has arrested her husband, alleging that the fellow is guilty of some form of treason.’
‘Simon Puttock? I saw him with the king’s coroner from Lifton only two days ago.’
Baldwin looked up. ‘Where was he then?’
‘Just a little past Bow, on his way to Tavistock, I think. Why?’
‘I would like to have news taken to him about his daughter. Someone will have to go and seek him.’
‘Perhaps I can help with that,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘I would be happy to send a man to find him and tell him.’
‘That would indeed be helpful. And then I have to try to ensure that the girl’s husband is released as well,’ Baldwin said.
‘I should speak with the lad’s father and tell him to keep an eye on his son to make sure he stays safe, then leave him to sort it out,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘The girl is the one who must take up your efforts. Whether she is fallen from her horse or has been captured doesn’t matter. Either way, she must be found urgently. There are too many felons and outlaws who could seek to take her. I regret that I cannot assist you personally. I have some matters to work on in court. However, when I am free, I swear that I will do all in my power t
o see the boy released.’
‘I thank you for that. You are right, of course,’ Baldwin said. He felt as though it was a weight being lifted from his shoulders, hearing the clear-sighted Sir Peregrine voice his own feelings. ‘Edith must be found first.’
‘Good! God speed, then, Sir Baldwin.’
Baldwin nodded and gave Sir Peregrine his hand, both rising. Sir Peregrine promised to send one of his own servants to find Simon, and to send any other men he could find to aid Baldwin in the hunt for Edith, and then the two parted, Baldwin striding purposefully into the gathering dusk with Edgar along the high street.
‘Where are we going?’ Edgar asked.
‘We must speak with the husband’s father. This man has some authority in the city. Surely he must be able to do something for his son. He may not be able to get the lad released, but he can at least see to it that he gets some food.’
Jacobstowe
At the vill there were a couple of women chatting on a doorstep, and the coroner bellowed at them to fetch help.
One of the women looked at him with some alarm. The other looked as though she was about ready to run immediately for help in the form of men with billhooks, but the coroner stood and glared at them. ‘What is it, gossips? You more keen to discuss the doings of your husbands and daughters than help a neighbour? Come here, the pair of you, and tell us where we may install this poor woman. She’s your neighbour, in Christ’s name!’
‘What have you done with her?’ This was the woman in the doorway. She appeared reluctant to leave it while the coroner stood before her, and her sharp, weaselly face moved from Coroner Richard to Simon with deep suspicion.
Sir Richard stared at her. He was not yet over his initial shock at seeing this woman collapse before him, and the fact that it had been Simon who had realised what was happening, and not him, lent additional force to his voice. He took an immense breath, and then bellowed, ‘In the name of Christ, you stupid, malodorous bitch, since you haven’t the wits God gave you at birth, run and find a woman who has some! Fetch someone who knows what to do with a poor widow who’s fainted, and if you don’t do that in less time than it takes me to draw breath, I, Coroner Richard de Welles, will have you attached and amerced for your astonishing stupidity!’
No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) Page 24
