29 - The Oath

by Michael Jecks

  ‘I see. Yes. But there is one thing that confuses me, Sir Stephen. If, as I think, the woman died by her own hand, there was no dagger with her. So someone took it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You grew to know her, I suppose, in your duties as Coroner. It must have been very hard for you, and dreadful for her – to relive the murders in front of the jury, I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So if you came upon her later, and saw that she had committed suicide, it would be natural for you to take away the dagger so that people would think she had been killed by another, so that she would not be refused a Christian burial as a self-murderer.’

  Sir Stephen licked his lips. ‘True, but . . .’

  ‘You see, Simon told me you were not there at the scene. You asked Sir Charles of Lancaster to investigate the murder, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. It was a difficult time. There was much to be done.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘And it could have been . . . embarrassing, if you had been seen leaving that alley the night she was killed. Better to keep it secret. You saw her die, you took her knife, and arranged for another, less experienced in work as Coroner, to deal with her body, returning the knife to her when she was buried, yes?’ Then Baldwin gave a little frown again.

  ‘When I saw the dagger, I recognised it at once. It was the dagger Squire William de Bar had owned. Obviously poor Cecily was deeply distressed by the killings, and I thought she would appreciate the dagger as proof that Squire William would not be able to harm her. But she killed herself with it.’

  ‘I see. So you gave it away? That was most generous.’

  ‘A man may show largesse, even to a poor maid.’

  ‘It is possible, yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘So, you gave her the dagger, and she killed herself with it. And afterwards you took it from her to protect her memory and in order to falsely allow the Church to believe that she had not, in fact, taken her own life.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, let us draw a veil over matters, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘Although giving her the weapon that was responsible for her mistress’s death and her own might be considered a gift in bad taste, when you threw it into her grave.’

  ‘You may think so.’

  ‘I do. Tell me: why were you talking to her in that alley?’

  ‘What?’ Sir Stephen snapped. His stance changed subtly. ‘I have endured your questions, Sir Baldwin. Now I ask you: what do you mean by this?’

  ‘I mean nothing, my dear Sir Stephen. I merely try to isolate the truth from all the hints and vague glimmerings which I hear. It is my hobby. A harmless pastime.’

  ‘You have heard all I wish to say.’

  ‘I see. So why were you in the alley with her?’

  ‘I told you. I will say no more. Good morrow, sir.’

  ‘Because I was saying to my friend here that her death was inexplicable. And the more I consider it, the more significant I find it.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Just this. She killed herself with the very weapon that had ended her mistress’s life. That suggests to me that there was some conjunction of actions in her mind.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘Oh, that she felt guilt for the death of her mistress, perhaps?’ ‘Sir Baldwin, are you raving?’ Sir Stephen said impatiently. ‘This makes no sense! Why would she be willing to see her mistress killed?’

  ‘The reasons for the murder of a master or mistress are manifold,’ Baldwin said. His mind suddenly flashed to the face of Sir Roger Mortimer and the King. ‘Sometimes, it is because of a slight or perceived insult. Sometimes because of a real threat. Sometimes it is money that is the spur. So many reasons.’

  ‘Well, if you are right, the money did her little good, did it?’

  ‘True enough. Perhaps it was not just money, though. As I said, some will harm their masters or mistresses for less.’

  ‘Eh? This is nonsense!’ Sir Stephen said. ‘If you are trying to accuse me of something, say so and be done. Otherwise, leave me alone.’ He threw his hands up in the air and stormed away.

  ‘Simon,’ Baldwin said, ‘I am rarely convinced of guilt, but just occasionally, I can see it staring me in the face. And today, it was in his eyes.’

  ‘You mean he killed her?’

  ‘Yes. Which may mean that the whole story has been concocted. Simon, walk with me. I must discuss this with you again.’

  As they walked along the road, Baldwin mused over the death of this woman Cecily whom he had never met, never seen, killed because of a murder in which she had no involvement except as a witness. Anger pulsated through him as he thought that the man who could do that to her deserved the most vicious death the law could impose.

  He recalled that Sir Hugh le Despenser was supposed to have tortured a poor widow to death. A Madame Baret had been caught by him, and tortured to agree to give up her dower and the lands belonging to her dead husband. This was one of the accusations levelled at him yesterday during his mock trial. And yet this maid Cecily had died for even less reason.

  There were some boats drifting down the river, and Simon and Baldwin stopped to watch them for a while.

  ‘This all makes no sense to me,’ Baldwin said. ‘Why should that knight suddenly lose his temper like that, unless he thought we were coming close to the truth?’

  ‘Well, there is one explanation,’ Simon said. ‘If he was entirely innocent, and did as he said, and tried to hide her self-murder, surely he would grow peevish at being asked if he was responsible for her death?’

  ‘Yes. But did you not notice, Simon – he grew most unsettled when I suggested that she might have had some feelings of guilt from the murders of her mistress and the other Capons. When I said it, I was thinking that she could have felt bad to have survived the killings – I did myself when I was rescued from Acre, and it was the guilt as well as the gratitude that made me join the Knights Templar. But I think he took a different meaning. He thought I meant she was guilty of complicity . . . and then I thought, what if she were? Consider, Simon,’ Sir Baldwin went on. ‘If she had been guilty of such a crime, what could have motivated it?’

  ‘Money? Sex? Hatred? Jealousy?’ Simon guessed. ‘But from what I heard of her, when her family was killed, she was left wandering the streets until Emma gave her a position. So financial gain is unlikely.’

  ‘Sex is always a possibility. If she and Sir Stephen had been lovers, that would explain his mood,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Hatred of her mistress seems unlikely,’ Simon said. ‘I have heard nothing from anyone that suggested she was anything other than a happy, loyal servant. And as for jealousy – well, again, surely there would have been hints if she were jealous.’

  Baldwin rubbed his face. ‘Ach, maybe I am being too sensitive. The maid showed no signs of disloyalty, as you say. What is there to suggest that she was anything other than a loyal member of the household? A guess; an intuition. Nothing more.’

  ‘Except the fact that of them all, only she survived,’ Simon said. ‘Although they did kill other servants, I can think of one very good reason to spare her. If she had been an accomplice, at the inquest, she could have pointed out the guilty ones, Baldwin. The only person who could identify the felons was Cecily herself. Without her there were no witnesses.’

  ‘So if a man arranged for the murders, he had his accomplice in the house to point to Squire William, and at the inquest she did her job.’

  ‘And later,’ Simon breathed, ‘she saw some of the men released from gaol and that was why she was so overwhelmed with fear – because she knew that they would kill her for bearing false witness.’

  ‘And the man she ran to was Sir Stephen, who laughed at her, or maybe just told her it was her problem. He would have nothing to do with it. And so she killed herself in front of him.’

  ‘Why? Despair?’ Simon wondered.

  ‘Or in the hope that someone would have seen the two together, and accuse him
of her death?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘So why did she help see the Capons killed?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I would wager that, since it cannot have been for money, it was for love.’

  ‘Love for whom?’ Simon said.

  Baldwin frowned. ‘You don’t realise yet? Love for Sir Stephen.’

  They made their way around the moat, back towards the castle. It was close to the gate, under a low roofway that served to protect a cart, that Baldwin saw his mastiff, and then spotted Jack. He smiled at the fellow, and was about to wave when he saw something behind Jack, a shape in the shadows of a doorway.

  ‘Simon? Look, behind Jack. Can you see that man who seems to be trying to hide?’

  Simon peered out, and nodded. ‘Oh, don’t worry about him, Baldwin. He’s the man who advised me to meet the fosser who saw Sir Stephen throw the dagger in the grave. He has been with me ever since.’

  ‘Oh,’ Baldwin said, and the two walked out into the open. Then, as some drizzle began to fall, Baldwin pulled at his cloak’s hood to cover his head. As he did so, he saw the man in the shadows make an urgent gesture, and all his years of training made Baldwin step back again, just in time to avoid the dagger that was thrust forward, almost scarring his breast. He grabbed the wrist with both hands and wrenched it. The man grunted in pain, and Baldwin swung the fellow around in an arc, over his right thigh, to fall on the ground. Instantly he planted his boot on the man’s chin while hauling hard on the knife-hand. ‘Simon!’

  Simon sprang to Baldwin’s aid. Then he felt a snatch at his own cloak, and heard the slithering of cloth being cut by a razor-sharp blade. Spinning on his heel, he came face to face with Robert Vyke, who had a knife in his hand.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ Simon shouted in fury, looking down. ‘Not my cloak again! Do you know how much this cloak cost me?’And then he realised that the dagger had not been wielded in jest. ‘Put that knife away, fellow, or I’ll rip out your liver and feed it to the hound!’

  Baldwin looked up at Simon with exasperation. ‘Simon, he’s a footpad. For the love of the Blessed Virgin, just prick him with your sword and be done with it.’ He set his jaw and stared down at the writhing face under his boot. ‘Let go of the dagger, you fool, if you don’t want me to break your arm.’

  Otho stared up at him with a look of disdain, but the relentless pressure on his outstretched arm was too much. ‘A’ right!’ he grunted, and released the blade.

  Simon was still glaring at Robert Vyke. ‘What is the matter with you, man? Put the blade away or I’ll have to do as my friend suggests. Dear Christ in Heaven, look what you’ve done to my cloak! You will buy me a fresh one before the day’s out, I warn you.’

  ‘Vyke,’ Baldwin said patiently, ‘drop the dagger or sheathe it. I care little which you do, but if you continue to hold it like that, I will cut your wrist from your arm.’

  Robert Vyke had been in battles now. He had fought alongside the King against knights and squires, and he had not died, but that had been a confused mêlée, a mad, slashing battle. If he had been an assassin, he would have killed Simon already, before Baldwin and Otho had come to blows, but it was something he could not do. He couldn’t just stab a man in the back. He closed his eyes, swore to himself and stepped away, thrusting the knife back in its sheath. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ Simon demanded.

  ‘Kill you.’

  Simon’s face twisted with incomprehension. ‘Why would you want to do that? What have I done to you?’

  ‘Not me. Not us. It’s what you’ve told Sir Stephen Siward,’ Robert said. ‘He told us.’

  Baldwin took his boot away. It left a raw patch on Otho’s jaw-line. ‘Told you what?’

  ‘That you two were going to have me arrested – because I’d been with the King. I didn’t want to believe it, but he said you were going to stop me leaving the town, that I’d have to kill you to leave here.’

  Baldwin looked at him, then at the crowd gathering in the road, the three faces peering out from the tavern itself, the shock on young Jack’s face, and at Wolf’s bared teeth as he loomed over the now alarmed Otho. ‘You really thought you could murder two grown men in broad daylight and escape?’ he asked, and shook his head at their folly.

  The day had started so well, too, and now he was forced to run; it was enough to make a man spit blood!

  Sir Stephen Siward finished rolling his blanket, swung his pack over his back, and hurried through the door. The garrison accommodation here was fairly modern, a chamber set above a large hall, where the men could rest in their spare time. Leaving by the door, he gazed about him sharply, before quickly going down the stairs and out to the inner ward. His horse was already waiting, and a hostler with the patient look of a cow chewing the cud, stood holding the reins while Sir Stephen bound his belongings to the saddle. There was a packhorse, but he would leave that for now. Perhaps he could send a message for his servants later, to have them follow him. Perhaps. For now, the only thing of which he was certain was that he should be away from here as quickly as possible.

  And then he saw them. ‘Damn their cods!’ he swore viciously under his breath as the Bailiff and that damned knight from the ditches of Devon walked in through the doors. He moved around behind his horse as the two entered the ward and crossed to the stairs which led up to the hall, and then he swiftly mounted, snatched the reins up, spurred his beast, and was off, across the ward and out through the first gates.

  They were doddypolls, the pair of them. Unandgitfull51, buzzards. Why they had to chase him down, pursuing him for no purpose, he had no idea, but he was not going to make their capture of him any the easier, if he could help it.

  Lashing his horse’s flanks, he spurred the beast on, past the last gate to the castle and out into the busy streets. Here he must bellow and roar to have people move from his path. He did not want to hit someone, since it would hold him up, perhaps even injure his horse. A hog stood in the middle of the road, snuffling amid the faeces and garbage of the kennel, but he merely aimed his horse at it and leaped over, the horseshoes striking sparks from the cobbles where he landed. There was a pair of men chatting in the road, but they bolted when he came past although, from the shriek, one was caught by a flailing hoof.

  It did not affect his mount. The beast thundered on, blowing heavily through nostrils that were opened wide, chest filling and emptying, and Sir Stephen felt sure that they would escape. Those two mopish fog-brains would find it hard to have a horse mounted with speed, and by the time they had, he would be a league away.

  He hurtled down the last stretch to the bridge, and was over it in an echoing hammer of boards. And then he was onto the softer, safer road surface, and here he gave a loud cry of exultation, lashing his mount to greater efforts as he took the road south.

  Simon heard the rattle of hooves and went to the door just as the knight shot out through the gates.

  ‘Baldwin! He’s gone!’ he shouted, and then ran out, down the stairs, bellowing as he went, ‘My horse! The bay rounsey, and Sir Baldwin’s too, saddle them now! Now!’

  Gripping his sword, he pelted over the ward, and then watched keenly while two hostlers hastened to his horse, four others standing and gaping. ‘In the King’s name! Fetch Sir Baldwin’s horse and saddle him!’

  Baldwin was at his side now, swearing as he stared at the gate whence Sir Stephen had escaped. ‘We should have realised he might do that,’ he muttered.

  Even as he spoke, Otho and Robert ran in, Herv panting a short way behind them. Otho ran past Baldwin, calling, ‘We saw the bastard. We’ll come with you.’

  ‘I don’t think we need your help,’ Simon said pointedly.

  Otho looked at him. ‘Really? We have more need to catch him and prove we’re not felons than you, Master Bailiff. We’re coming.’

  Simon was not prepared to argue. As he stood irritably tapping his foot on the ground, waiting for his horse, Otho and the others
grabbed their own horses from the stable, saddled and bridled them in little time, and were ready to mount almost before Simon and Baldwin.

  Shoving his foot in the stirrup, Simon sprang up, calling, ‘Which way did he go, did you see?’

  ‘Towards the river, I think. Down to the south,’ Otho shouted back, and was already moving off before Simon had his other, sore foot firmly located.

  Baldwin was away, and Simon after him, wincing, with Robert and Herv in their wake.

  The town was full, and it was terrifying to rush headlong down the narrow alleys and streets towards the bridge, with men and women scattering and shouting, one hurling imprecations, another a stone, which fortunately missed. Then they were into the darkness between some hugely tall houses, and Simon heard the dread call of ‘Gardez l’eau!’ but a concerted roar from him, and from Otho, who appeared to have heard as well, prevented the chamber-pot from being emptied over them. Instead a shocked maid stared out at them as the five men pounded down the cobbles, and out into a broader thoroughfare, where they all turned left towards the bridge. Simon felt his mount slip a little, a rear hoof sliding on a smooth cobble, and then there was a shout behind him. He daren’t throw a look over his shoulder yet, but when he did, he saw Robert and Herv still on horseback, and thanked his stars that no one had fallen. Behind them, Wolf pelted along on his great paws, tongue hanging out.

  Over the bridge, and he felt the thrill of the open country fill his heart and belly with fire. Here there was no need to ride so cautiously. They could all go at full speed. And with luck, since they had no heavy packs, and Sir Stephen was carrying all his belongings, they should be able to overtake him.

  They did not pause until they came to a small bridge, where the hoofprints of a single horse stood out clearly. Simon reined in briefly to glance down. The prints were very distinct: one of the shoes, he saw, was cracked and should be replaced. He only hoped it would break and make the horse slow, but then he was riding on again, bending low as he let the horse have its head. The knight would surely not be able to keep on forcing the pace like this. He would have to slow before too long, or risk killing his beast.