One man did not hold back. As the three women passed, Daniel, the steward of Squire Roger’s household for many years before Lady Katharine had arrived, stepped forward, and ignoring Margaret and Jeanne’s quick frowns, he took his lady’s arm. She glanced up at him once, and then seemed almost to melt into his embrace, grateful for a face she could recognise even through her misery.
Simon felt the pain of her suffering, but knew he could do nothing to help her. He glanced at his friend, but Baldwin wasn’t watching Lady Katharine. As she passed by, his attention was fixed with a terrible concentration on the face of the Fleming.
James van Relenghes was watching Daniel with an expression of deep animosity, almost as if he was preparing to draw his knife and strike the steward down there and then.
Simon’s eyes went automatically to Daniel and his lady. With his arm about her shoulder, holding her hand in his, resolutely keeping his attention fixed on the road before him and ignoring all about them, Daniel helped Lady Katharine back towards the manor.
Hugh upended his pot and held it out to Petronilla, belching softly. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly.
Petronilla chuckled to herself. She was comfortable in his company. Hugh was the sort of man she liked, strong and stolid, not the kind who would try to take liberties either, she thought with an angry toss of her head as she recalled that damned Nicholas. If he tried those tricks again, she would teach him a lesson he would never forget.
‘It’s good ale,’ Hugh said, giving her an approving nod. ‘Did you make it yourself?’
‘Yes. I help with the brewing.’
‘You do it well.’
She smiled, and at that moment Wat returned, happily announcing that the cows were all milked and the milk was in the dairy with the maid in charge.
‘What have you been doing all that for?’ Hugh asked.
‘To help me,’ Petronilla told him, and filled a good-sized pot with ale, handing it to the boy.
‘Thanks,’ he said, sitting and taking a goodly gulp. ‘Ah! That’s better.’
‘Don’t go drinking too much tonight,’ Hugh grumbled. ‘You know what strong ale does to you.’
‘Oh, I’m all right usually. It’s only when I have a bit too much…’
‘You always have a bit too much – and then you snore and puke,’ Hugh said.
‘Well, after all he’s done for me today, I don’t mind,’ Petronilla said with decision. ‘He can sleep in here if he wishes, and if he’s sick, I will clean up after him.’
‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Hugh. ‘He could vomit in his sleep and choke.’
‘Well, you could stay here with him, Hugh.’
Petronilla was content with Hugh’s company. Not because she felt any lust towards him – if anything, she felt the opposite but she did understand him, and the fact that he seemed happy to sit with her in the buttery was a comfort. The pair found that they had quite a bit in common. She had been raised in Moretonhampstead, while he hailed from Drewsteignton; she had been daughter to a gooseherd, he was the son of a shepherd; she had been taken on by her master, Squire Roger, when she was sixteen, he by his first master when he was only fifteen.
It would be good to have Hugh sleeping here in the buttery – and if it caused talk, she didn’t mind. Not now – in fact, it could be a useful diversion for gossipers.
Wat held out his empty cup hopefully, and Petronilla refilled it. The lad was feeling on top of the world. This manor was very different from Sir Baldwin’s household, but he liked the people here. Especially Petronilla. She was kind towards him, and he was aware of a moderately amorous attraction. To an extent, he was jealous of Hugh, who could sit back and listen while she prattled. Wat wanted her to talk to him, and it was to gain her attention that he cleared his throat and said, ‘What were you doing up on the moors, Petronilla? Had you fallen over?’
She flushed. ‘Fallen? Why, no, Wat. Why should you think that?’
‘Because your hands were all dirty with mud. I just thought you must have tripped.’
Petronilla shot him a look, but the boy’s face was innocence itself. Making a comment about the slipperiness of the moors, she added in an undertone to Hugh: ‘The truth is, I had to get away for a while,’ and told him about Nicholas’s advances.
‘So what did he actually say to you?’ Hugh asked, his brow wrinkled with concentration.
‘He offered me a coin to sleep with him. And put his hand here,’ she said, touching her right breast.
‘If he tries it again, you tell me or my master. We’ll protect you. That foreign bastard can’t go around assuming Devon girls are the same as his over there,’ said Hugh stoutly.
‘Thank you, Hugh,’ she said gratefully, and tears sprang into her eyes again. It was so consoling to be able to share her problem with someone who would actually exert himself on her behalf to help and protect her.
Unlike her lover.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sir Baldwin was determined to question the Fleming as soon as possible. The hospitality at Throwleigh was adequate, certainly, but unremarkable – which was quite understandable, given the recent tragic events – and yet van Relenghes seemed determined to remain even though the atmosphere should have been painful to anyone with a sense of courtesy. Baldwin was sure that the man had some ulterior motive, but he couldn’t see what that motive might be. Unconsciously, he began walking faster as the mourners headed back to Throwleigh Manor, and soon drew level with Sir James. Simon, seeing the direction his feet were taking him in, smiled grimly to himself and increased his own speed to match the knight’s.
‘Sir,’ Baldwin said, smiling in a friendly manner. ‘Could I speak to you for a few minutes while we return to the manor?’
Godfrey glanced at his master. Van Relenghes scarcely acknowledged the knight, but nodded as Baldwin and his friend came level. Godfrey fell back a short distance, not from politeness to give them privacy, but to give himself room to unsheath his sword. He had no reason to distrust the knight, but he knew his place: he was paid to protect his master.
It was the knight who began. ‘It is a pleasant part of Devonshire, this.’
Van Relenghes gave a dry chuckle. ‘There are worse parts?’
‘You should see the middle of the moors,’ said Simon with feeling.
‘If it is more desolate there than here, I have no wish to.’
‘But you enjoy taking in the views, don’t you?’ Baldwin said. ‘Like on the day poor Master Herbert died.’
Van Relenghes stiffened. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Nothing, sir. But I heard you were out on the moors that day. Was I wrongly informed?’
‘No, I was there.’ To Godfrey’s ear his master’s voice carried a faint trace of anxiety; only a hint, not enough for anyone to have noticed who didn’t know the Fleming. ‘But I do not like my movements to be tracked in this way. Why do you question people about me?’
‘It is hardly surprising, is it, when a child of rank is murdered?’
‘Do you suppose I had something to do with his death?’
Godfrey allowed himself to relax, taking his hand from his belt and flexing the fingers. His master sounded amused, nothing more.
‘I would hardly think that without very convincing evidence. But I would be very glad to hear what you saw out there that day. I know that Thomas was in the area. Did you see him?’
‘Oh, yes. The fellow rode past us once with that servant of his. He gave us a good day, and stopped to speak to us. After a while he carried on. We didn’t see him again after that.’
‘What did he want to talk about?’
Van Relenghes smiled beguilingly. ‘I am not sure that I should tell you, Sir Baldwin. But lest you think the man is honourable, let me say that he was prepared to take my money in exchange for his promise to persuade his sister-in-law to sell me a portion of the estate. He made this offer to me in front of my servant here.’
Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance. The bailiff c
ould see that his friend was unsure how to proceed, and said, ‘Did you and he agree on a deal?’
‘Agree?’ Van Relenghes frowned sternly at Simon. ‘God’s blood, no, Bailiff! Would you expect a soldier to try to deprive his comrade’s widow of her livelihood? Of course not. I was disgusted by Thomas’s bad faith and turned him down flat. He rode off in a passion – absolutely furious, he was.’
‘Why should he have thought you would be interested in such a deal, I wonder?’ Baldwin murmured.
‘How can I tell?’ van Relenghes shot back. ‘All I know is that he is hard up for money. He speculated and lost, and now he needs cash badly.’
‘You learned this before coming here?’ Baldwin asked, surprised.
Van Relenghes spoke frankly. ‘I heard of this man while in Exeter, and yes, I checked into his background. I wanted to know whether he was the brother of my old comrade. But I fear that when you ask for information, sometimes you are given more than you wish to hear.’
‘Was there anyone else on the road that day?’
‘We saw that drunken farmer, of course.’
Godfrey smiled. The man had been so obviously the worse for drink that he and his master had laughed uproariously once Edmund had passed them, sitting uncomfortably on his board, his eyes wide and fearful at seeing two such men out in the middle of nowhere. His fear was all too plain, and although he tried to be surreptitious about it, they could see him peering wearily over his shoulder at them as his cart creaked round the curve in the road. A thought suddenly struck Godfrey.
‘Master, there was the other cart, the one with the fishman coming back from the manor,’ he put in. ‘He passed us a short while before the farmer, going the other way.’
‘That must be the fish-seller Daniel mentioned,’ Simon said.
‘Yes, I’d forgotten him,’ the Fleming said languidly.
‘How did he look?’ Simon pressed.
‘Look?’ asked van Relenghes. ‘What sort of a question is that?’
‘Was he scared? Alarmed? Upset?’
‘I hardly know what some villein might look like while alarmed,’ van Relenghes said dismissively.
‘He was fine, sir,’ Godfrey said. ‘He came past us at a slow walk, whistling happily enough, gave us a good day, and carried on.’
‘You see my reasoning, Baldwin?’ said Simon, facing his friend. ‘If he’d just ridden past – or over! – Herbert’s body, he’d have shown it, wouldn’t he? But he came by and greeted these gentlemen as if nothing had happened. I’d bet Herbert’s body was put in the road after the fishmonger had passed by.’
Baldwin nodded, then: ‘Did you hear anything as he approached, or perhaps after he’d gone past?’
‘Such as?’
Baldwin’s face hardened. ‘A boy screaming, for example.’
Van Relenghes shook his head. ‘I had other matters to consider at the time. The last thing on my mind was whether some fool of a farmer might take it into his head to kill my comrade’s son.’
‘Did you visit him often?’
The Fleming shook his head sadly. ‘I fear not. I would have, but I have only recently come to this country. Until a few weeks ago I was serving in the castle in Bordeaux. Otherwise I would have been here before. Especially if I had known my old friend had so charming a wife!’
His eyes were narrowed with amusement. It was intolerable that a man should make such a comment about a woman who had been bereaved for so short a time. Even a friend and comrade shouldn’t joke of such a thing. It smacked of impropriety.
Baldwin continued as if he hadn’t noticed. ‘You chose to come here to pay your respects after Squire Roger died.’
‘When I heard what had happened, I thought it was only right that I should come and offer what comfort I could to his widow.’
‘Where were you when you heard of his death?’ Simon pressed.
‘In Exeter,’ van Relenghes admitted coolly.
‘Ah, yes – Exeter. A place only a single hard ride from here, by coincidence. And it was by similar good fortune that you were here when the squire’s son was killed.’
Godfrey could see van Relenghes growing edgy. Whether it was irritation at being questioned or nervousness at the line the questions were taking, the master of arms wasn’t sure, and he listened with interest.
‘Where did you fight?’
Van Relenghes waved a hand irritably. He felt as though the bailiff was studying him suspiciously, and tried to force an easiness into his manner. ‘All over. We fought in Wales and Scotland for your King, spent time together in Flanders with…’
‘If you’ll pardon my saying so, you’re a lot younger than the squire.’
‘Only a little. He was almost fifty, and I am over forty’
‘He looked a lot older,’ Simon said, and Godfrey thought he could detect a trace of sadness, as if for a friend who has died too early.
‘He always looked old. He could behave like an old man as well.’
‘In what way?’
Van Relenghes regretted his lapse and swore to himself. For a man discussing a friend who had only just died, it was scornful in the extreme. He quickly tried to change the tone from insult to praise.
‘Oh, he was a stickler for discipline among the men-at-arms, would stop any nonsense with women and other camp-followers, that kind of thing. He was known to be harsh with soldiers who misbehaved or disobeyed his orders – but that’s needed in an army. If your King had had more men like Roger, his armies would have conquered even faster.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Simon said, and Godfrey felt a grudging admiration for his master. He appeared to have lulled the bailiff.
The knight was silent for a while, walking along thoughtfully. ‘You are quite sure you didn’t hear the sound of a boy screaming or anything at all after the cart passed you?’
‘No, there was nothing.’
‘There was a cry, master,’ said Godfrey, unable to withhold his evidence.
‘What was that, Godfrey?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Before the cart came past us, sir. In fact, just after Thomas went off, I heard something upstream.’
‘Whereabouts would this have been, exactly?’
‘At the road there, where we were, is a small bridge, and up the hill I could swear I heard a shout. I don’t know if it was a man, woman or child, but it was quite distinct to me.’
‘You didn’t hear this?’ Baldwin demanded of the Fleming.
Van Relenghes shook his head with mystification. ‘If I had heard it I would have told you,’ he said simply.
Baldwin glanced at Simon. ‘That must be up the track, up near the side of the stream.’
‘Yes,’ Godfrey offered. ‘Where the priest had been.’
‘You saw Stephen up there?’ Simon asked.
Van Relenghes interrupted before his guard could answer. ‘Oh, yes. We saw him. We were talking, and as we looked up the hill, there he was, near the brow. When he saw us, he disappeared.’
Baldwin was decided at last. Stephen might be a priest with all the privileges his position entailed, but there were too many questions over his movements on the day Herbert died.
‘I think we shall need to speak to this disappearing priest,’ he said.
Their arrival was a sombre event. There were cold meats and salad vegetables laid out on a great trestle in the hall, the leaves slowly wilting in the warmth of the fire, but most people ignored the food, apart from Thomas, who appeared to have a healthy appetite.
Baldwin led his wife to a seat near the fire, taking two pots of wine from his servant and watching the other guests while Petronilla and Hugh served wine and ale to them.
‘Is all well?’ he asked.
Edgar gave him a short nod. ‘Fine.’
‘Where is Wat? He should be helping you.’
‘Wat is asleep.’
‘Wake him.’
‘Very asleep.’
Baldwin groaned. ‘You didn’t let him near the buttery? Edgar, for the love of Chri
st, haven’t you learned about him yet? You know how he was at our wedding!’
‘Sir, I was assisting the cook in the kitchen. Wat was with Hugh, and I think he thought it would be amusing to test Wat’s resolve.’
‘God’s blood!’
Jeanne stirred and gave Edgar a warm smile. ‘Thank Hugh, would you? And tell him I shall remember his kindness to my servant boy at the very first opportunity.’
Edgar flashed her a grin and disappeared to serve another.
Jeanne shook her head. ‘I think that man of Simon’s has a rather unkind streak in him. He appears to enjoy ensuring that Wat feels miserable each morning.’
Her husband grunted, but his attention was taken by the priest, who had just entered. Baldwin knew he had stayed with the mourners who had been paid to keep the vigil, and would only now have managed to return.
Stephen of York stood at the doorway, and when he met Baldwin’s eye, instantly looked away and licked his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, he disappeared. Baldwin sipped at his wine. He could swear that the priest was scared of him. And it was clear enough that the man had been out on the hill where young Herbert had been killed.
The knight found himself looking forward to questioning the priest with a keen anticipation.
Petronilla hurried back to the buttery, and seeing Stephen sitting blankly on a stool, fell onto a barrel with a gasp.
‘I couldn’t face speaking to him,’ Stephen said heavily. ‘He knows. I’m sure he knows.’
Her brow wrinkled with worry. ‘They can’t know. No one saw us.’
‘When I hit the boy, he screamed, and that bastard guard of the Fleming’s saw me, I’m convinced of it.’
‘If he was so certain, the bailiff would have arrested us.’
‘It’s the knight I fear. He’s the clever one, the one people say can see inside a man’s soul through his eyes.’
‘Well, you’re safe, anyway, Stephen. All they can do is force you to abjure the realm.’
He flinched at that. It was a hideous thought, having to run from all this. He hadn’t ever dreamed that so soon he might be returning abroad, exiled for life, never to see his birthplace again. That was what abjuring involved: giving the oath to the Coroner at the church’s gate, promising to leave the country by whatever road the Coroner selected, dressed as a penitent carrying a cross, and if an abjurer left the road for any reason whatever, his life was forfeit: he could be beheaded on the spot.
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