“I do understand your drift, Keeper.” John grinned mischievously. “Could you warn me before you see him, though?”
“John, this is no laughing matter. I must know what you were doing there.”
The smile didn’t leave the Irishman’s face, but it became hard, like a statue’s, and his voice was cold as he said, “You have come here suspecting me of murder, and threatening me with exposure as an adulterer, something that would get me killed, and then say I have no right to behave as I will?” Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, his anger left him. “Let me tell you a little story about an Irishman before I answer your other questions, Sir Baldwin. Then you’ll understand why I make light of anything that happens to me.
“There was this Irishman, Sir Baldwin, who was as merry a little fellow as any who lived on that lovely island. He had everything he wanted: he had a beautiful wife who had been his own since they were both fifteen years old, and as fine a little family as you could hope to see. Three boys there were, and two girls, and this little man had his own farm, with livestock of all sorts thriving happily. Oh, but he was a happy fellow!
“And then, Sir Baldwin, there came a day when this man’s lord said, ”Little fellow, our country has been invaded. Our homes are threatened by monsters from over the sea, and we must protect our farms and our women. Come and help me, because I find I need an army,“ and the little fellow went to the blacksmith and bought himself a good long knife, which he thought might be good for cutting the hedges when he got back, and a leather hat to protect the little brain in his little head, and he went off to join his lord as a soldier. And he was lucky, Sir Baldwin, because the little fellow didn’t die with his lord. No, he managed to escape the lunatics who tried to kill him just because he was wearing the wrong badge, and got home again.”
John was silent for a short space, and he stared out over the wall as if far in the distance he could see the scene. Continuing, he gripped his jug as if for support, but now his voice was less light-hearted. There was a low, angry tone to it.
“Only when he got back, Sir Baldwin, he found there wasn’t a home to come home to, if you take my meaning. His little farm was wasted. All the cattle and animals were dead, or taken. His little family was still in the little house, and the little house had been burned, Sir Baldwin. And the little wife, Sir Baldwin, she was very little, for the soldiers had not left much of her once they had finished their playing with her.”
John stood, without looking at either of them, and went inside. When he returned, his jug was filled again. “So this little fellow, he thinks to himself, Well, I’ve been a good fellow all these years, and there’s nothing to show for it. I worked hard to raise my little family, and now there’s none left; I did all I could to protect my wife, but she was murdered; I built up my farm, and now it’s gone. Maybe I’ll try to enjoy myself instead. No more hard slogging to make the land produce my food for me; in future I’ll take an easier occupation. And whatever happens, I’ll make light of it, because there’s nothing left for me to worry about. You see, Sir Baldwin, when you’ve already lost everything, there’s nothing seems that serious any more.”
Simon glanced at his friend. The knight was frowning hard at his boot, but he looked up at John’s last words. “I am sorry. My words were thoughtless. If I seemed hard, you have my apologies. I can understand your feeling of loss.”
To the bailiff, it seemed as though the two men, the knight and the Irishman, had a perfect understanding. They stared at each other for a moment with a kind of weary, mutual comprehension. Baldwin, Simon knew, had seen many of his friends burned at the stake after the French King had succeeded in persuading the Pope to condemn his most loyal troops, the Knights Templar, the body of which Baldwin had been a part. Both men had lost everything. It made Simon feel oddly apart-and it was something he was fervently glad of.
“So you came here afterward?” Baldwin asked softly.
“Oh, after many interesting exploits and adventures, the little Irish fellow arrived in this pleasant little town, yes. And settled as well he could, for the people generally are a nice sort of folk. They like their pleasures, and they aren’t too worried about a fellow’s foibles.” He gave the Keeper a glance from the corner of his eye, and there was a glint in it. “Even when a fellow is tempted to recover his sight, perfectly justifiably, in the middle of a church service.”
“What of the night when Godfrey died?”
“Well, I said I might speak after you’d heard my story, and you’ve been patient enough,” John said, and stretched his leg out. It still hurt, but only intermittently. “Sir, I was there, although how those buggers saw me is more than I could say. I had been going to see someone. Someone, a friend, who needed a little help and advice. But on my way, I suddenly heard all this shouting and bellowing from Matthew Coffyn’s place. It occurred to me that all this row could bring Godfrey’s household out, so I dodged back carefully, and in so doing almost came across two gentlemen. It made me think to myself, courage is all very well, but maybe discretion is a useful trait as well-which is something a soldier tends to learn very early on in his career, unless his propensity for learning is curtailed by a sword. So I dodged back toward the house, there being nowhere else for me to go.”
“Hold on! You say these men were in Godfrey’s garden?”
“Yes. And it seemed to me then that they were looking for someone-but maybe they weren’t. It’s possible that they were themselves hiding from pursuit.”
Baldwin scratched his beard. “So you went into Godfrey’s back courtyard?”
“Yes, and saw with some delight that it was quiet, and that there were places for me to hide myself.”
“So why go to the open door?”
“Ah, now. It was the crack. It was so loud, I wondered what it could be.”
“A noise like someone striking another over the head?” Simon demanded.
“It’s possible, but Bailiff, I’ve not heard a sound like that for many a long year. It wasn’t as if as soon as I heard this noise, I thought to myself, Oh, so a man’s just been clobbered over the nut! I’m a peaceable fellow, me. I don’t think of such things.”
“You say,” Baldwin continued, “that you were trying to avoid all these men, and yet you went back to Godfrey’s hall, away from your own house, and finally went into the hall. Why go inside?”
“Excuse me for being inquisitive, but if you’re walking past a great hall like Godfrey’s, and you see no one, no stablemen, no maids, nothing, but a great number of torches lighting the place, and a door wide open, and then you hear a loud crack from inside, now wouldn’t you be a bit intrigued? Surely you’d want to glance in at the door, wouldn’t you?”
“So you saw the bodies there, and did nothing?” Simon demanded. “You saw the girl unconscious, and the servant, and left them there? You were the first finder of Godfrey’s body and didn’t raise the Hue and Cry?”
John gave him a very old-fashioned look. “Now let’s just suppose I was in there, and let’s suppose I was about to report I’d found these three people on the floor, when I heard someone’s men running toward me. And let’s suppose I knew there were rumors in the town that I was an adulterer with the neighbor’s wife, and let’s suppose I had every reason to believe this neighbor might want to see exactly how my body fitted together by taking it apart piece by piece. Now, do you suppose I’d sit there politely, waiting for him and his men, with all those bodies lying around me? I know people here don’t have a great respect for the intelligence of my folk, but I can promise you, when men are running my way with swords in their hands, I can be very thoughtful, very quickly.”
Baldwin chuckled. “So you escaped out through the back of the house before Coffyn arrived?”
“As he ran in, I hopped out. There was a window open, and I went through it. It was tight, but I managed it.”
“If this is all true,” Simon asked slowly, “didn’t you hear the scream Godfrey gave as he died? We’ve been told it was very
loud. It was what caused Coffyn to rush round.”
“He told you he came immediately? I think he must have been exaggerating,” John replied primly, as if offended that another might try to mislead the Keeper. “I could hear him and his men going through his house as if they were looking for someone as I arrived in Godfrey’s garden. I did hear something, and it might have been Godfrey, for all I know, but at the time Coffyn and his lads were shouting, and I wasn’t concentrating on who was saying what, or where they were. I was mindful of my own affairs.”
“These two men,” Baldwin said, “the two who drove you back to Godfrey’s house. Who were they? Did you get a clear look?”
“Well, now. I did-and I didn’t. I saw them, but I couldn’t swear to their faces.”
“Why not?”
“Sir, it was dark. And I wasn’t going to wait to ask them who they were. Like I say, there was plenty of noise from Coffyn’s place, and it seemed to be getting closer. I wasn’t of a mind to hang around.”
“Did the two you saw in Godfrey’s garden shout?”
“No, sir. From the way they behaved, I thought they were trying to ambush me.”
“Whereabouts were they?” Simon asked.
“Up at this end of the garden, near the wall here,” John said, jerking his head toward it. “There are some bushes, and these chaps were taking cover near them. It looked like they were waiting for someone, and what with the noise behind me, and these two waiting for me, I considered the other direction safer.”
“They weren’t there when you passed by on your way out?” Baldwin mused.
“Not that I saw. I don’t think so. And I was looking pretty carefully.”
“Why did you go through Godfrey’s garden? Surely you had no need to trespass?”
“There are some things I don’t like to do-and one is advertise my business, especially when I am protecting another’s honor. Anyway, I thought it should be safe enough. I knew Coffyn was supposed to be away, and what the devil he meant by coming home so early, God only knows!”
“What was your mission?”
“That I cannot tell you.”
Baldwin eyed him dubiously. The man had an easy air, as if he was truly apologetic about being able to say no more, but there was also resolution in the set of his chin. “Very well,” he conceded. “But tell us what you know about Godfrey. What sort of a man was he?”
“He was the sort of man who’d steal your wallet to see how you’d survive with nothing, and then laugh when he saw you begging.”
Simon raised his brows. “He was well considered in the town.”
“So? What does that mean to me? You asked me for my opinion of him. The people of Crediton liked him because he had money, not for his character. Oh, Godfrey had a lot of money, and he was useful to some. Coffyn himself borrowed money from him, so I’ve been told, but…”
Baldwin peered at him. “Why should Coffyn ask Godfrey for money? Coffyn surely has enough and to spare.”
“He’s had troubles for the last three years, so I understand. Well, four months ago he had sunk to the level whereby he couldn’t afford any new stock. He had to borrow, and the first man who offered to help him was his kindly neighbor, Master Godfrey of London.”
“How can you know this?” Simon demanded. “You’re inventing it.”
“I have no need to invent, Bailiff. My information comes from an unimpeachable source.”
Baldwin was aware of a fleeting sympathy for Matthew Coffyn. John was surely hinting that he knew of Coffyn’s business affairs-and Baldwin suspected that he might have learned it from his adulterous affair with the man’s wife. Others in the town would laugh at the expense of the husband if they were to hear.
“John, we have already heard rumors that you were having an affair with Martha Coffyn. You have also been accused of trying to rape Cecily. What have you to say about that?”
John stared a moment, then roared with laughter. “Me? With one of them? Dear Jesus! Well, Sir Baldwin, perhaps you should ask them what they think about such allegations!” 13
T he two men left him shortly after. Making their way to the inn to collect Edgar, Baldwin paused outside the gate to Godfrey’s house. Simon glanced at his frowning expression.
“There is enough to suggest that John of Irelaunde could be the killer,” he suggested.
“It is suspicious that he was there at the time, that he didn’t deny being seen by Putthe. He was in the garden, certainly, and admits going into the house.”
“And he could have killed Godfrey, punched Cecily, nipped out through the window, realized he’d been seen by Putthe and gone back inside to knock him out as well.”
“True enough, but I find it hard to accept that Cecily wouldn’t have recognized him.”
“Come now, Baldwin, it was dark! She said herself that she couldn’t see anything of the man.”
“Except the rich scarlet of his tunic,” Baldwin mused, turning from the place and strolling on pensively. “But if you caught a glimpse of someone you knew very well, wouldn’t you recognize him?”
“She’s a well brought-up girl,” Simon reminded him. “She probably doesn’t give any thoughts to her servants, let alone an impoverished neighbor. Why should she? She is as far above them as a lioness is above a vixen. If it was Irelaunde in the room that night, she would have been so transfixed with terror at finding someone there that she wouldn’t have been able to swear it was even a man!”
“A good point.” Baldwin nodded. “When one catches sight of something strange, it is all too easy to let the imagination run riot.”
“Yes, so if she did say she recognized someone, her evidence couldn’t be trusted.”
They were at the Coffyn house now, and Baldwin looked in. At the main door, lounging comfortably, was William, who gave the knight an affable nod.
“Now look at him,” Baldwin mused, “he’s about the right size and build. If he was smothered in a cloak, with something to conceal his face, he could look like John, couldn’t he?”
“Only because he’s short. Apart from that, there’s not much to make him look like John,” said Simon dismissively.
“Yes, even after a short acquaintance you’d find it hard to get confused between them, wouldn’t you? And yet you’re seriously suggesting that Cecily, who probably sees John almost every day, could fail to recognize him.”
“In the heat of the moment-in her fear of finding someone in her house she wasn’t expecting, she might have missed any clues as to who it was. And anyway, you know what women are like. They aren’t like men. You or I would merely have hit the man as an intruder-but women are flighty. They work on feelings, not facts.”
Baldwin winced. “Simon, you have yourself a good wife-do you honestly mean to tell me that you wouldn’t trust Margaret’s word compared to a man’s just because she is female?”
“Oh no, that’s different! She’s my wife.”
“Yes, but she is still a woman. No, Simon, your argument is illogical. If something happened to Cecily, you may be assured she would note it as well as you or I. Especially if she was raped.”
“You are thinking of what Putthe and Coffyn said?”
“Yes. Both tried to imply that John was so lascivious in his desires that he could have tried to rape her. I cannot believe that.”
“No. After talking to him, he does appear too ordinary to try to rape a wealthy girl in her father’s hall.”
“I didn’t mean that-I was thinking about her. She wasn’t raped! If she had been, she would have demanded that the culprit be captured. She had enough evidence, after all, with that blow to her face. No, she wasn’t sexually attacked.” The knight recalled the look he had caught a glimpse of in her eye. “But if she wanted to conceal something, she would be perfectly capable.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked, but his friend remained silent and thoughtful. To draw him out a little, Simon considered a new topic. “Did you know what John was talking about when he said he was taken to
be a soldier?”
“The invasion, of course.”
“Which invasion?”
Baldwin gave a faint smile. “I sometimes forget that your interests lie so firmly rooted in Devon. Let me give you a short lesson in recent history:
“The Scottish have always been quick to exploit any weakness on our part. Bannockburn gave their leaders cause to hope that they might be able to drive us from the north of our country, but it also gave them pause for thought. If they could defeat our King in open battle, why should they not take some of his other possessions for themselves? It would be costly to try to steal over to France to invade the English territories, but King Edward has other lands under him. And the Bruces were well acquainted with one.
“Edward Bruce landed in Ireland on Lady Day in 1315, at a place called Larne. He had thousands of battle-hardened men with him, veterans of Bannockburn and other fights, and the poor Irish were no match for them. Our people there had no experience of serious fighting, and had to depend on feudal levies; everywhere they met the Scots, they were rolled up. By May of 1316, Edward Bruce had conquered most of the place, and had himself crowned King.”
“But John was here before that!”
“Yes, it appears he was one of the levies, and saw the destruction of his farm and family early on. After that, it’s no surprise he left the country.”
“What happened to Edward Bruce? Isn’t he dead?” Simon frowned. He recalled hearing something of the affair in church, but it was just as he was taking over his new post as bailiff, and his interest in affairs so far away was not as important as sorting out the tinners on the moors.
“Yes, he is dead. Like so many who aspire to great things, he sought to take what he wanted ever more quickly. At the end of 1316 his brother Robert joined him. Just think, two brothers, and both pretending to different thrones! Robert brought with him a new army, and they rode out over Ireland, devastating the land. And this at the time when Ireland and England were both already laid waste by the famine.”
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