by E. M. Powell
‘I know this,’ said Barling. ‘There are many reasons why a man becomes an outlaw. An unfettered desire to kill is among them. It is rare. But Stanton, it is very, very real. Tomorrow we seek to end it.’
‘We will.’ Stanton nodded. Hard.
Yet Barling still wondered, wondered what could have made this quick young man into someone who would be so angry at the idea of serving his lord King.
Barling would find out. One day. He would make it his business to do so.
As for his own secrets, they were buried so deep they would never see the light of day.
Ever.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A waste of time this. Waste.
Stanton sat on the horse lent to him by Edgar, sweat trickling down his back. He missed his poor dead Morel, with her pace like a fast-flowing river. Being astride this animal was more like sitting in the sticky mud that remained from the heavy rain. The sluggish horse plodded up a long, featureless hill, the gradual incline covered in poor grass and a few shrubs and without a single leaf or tree to cast any shade from the searing afternoon sun. The storm clouds had long disappeared and the heat was worse than ever.
Ahead, Edgar advanced on his huge palfrey, with loud snorts coming from the horse as he drove it on.
Barling rode next to Stanton, a bit less awkwardly than usual. Perhaps the clerk was learning. As ever he wore his black robes, even on this stifling day.
Stanton’s conscience nipped at him. Barling wasn’t a bad fellow. The clerk had clearly thought that offering Stanton a chance to serve Henry was a wonderful gift. If only he knew the truth. But he didn’t. Yet Stanton shouldn’t have reacted with such anger. It wasn’t fair on the man, no matter how annoying he could be.
‘What do you think Edgar hopes to find up here, Barling?’
The clerk turned at Stanton’s question. ‘That, Stanton, I do not know. But I can certainly guess that it will be precisely the same as what we have found up to now: nothing.’
‘But we shouldn’t even be bothering with this stretch. Look.’ Stanton gestured around, ahead, with one hand. ‘There’s nothing except miles of open land. Lindley would be easier to spot than a scarecrow on a ploughed field. And we’ve been at this since morning.’
‘I suppose we should give thanks that it is a new location,’ said Barling dryly. ‘There was that field we rode past three times.’
‘Fields that people should be working in.’ Stanton glanced back at the line of villagers trudging along in the heat. ‘Like Simon Caldbeck, the ploughman. And people like Peter Webb: he should be at his loom. The miller’s out here as well.’ He had to say it. ‘You should never have allowed Edgar to lead the search, Barling.’
‘Of course I should.’
‘Admitting you’re wrong isn’t a sin, you know.’
‘I shall make allowances for your rudeness in this heat, Stanton.’ Barling took a careful look round to make sure no one could overhear. ‘It was no accident that I allowed Edgar to be in charge of this today. Edgar has done nothing except criticise and condemn how the law proceeds since we arrived here. He is responsible for undermining our efforts at all times, such as when he dared to try to lay the blame for Lindley’s escape on you. It is often the case with those who stand and carp: once they are asked to carry out a task, they are unable to.’
‘Then all these hours have been to teach the lord a lesson.’
‘No,’ said Barling. ‘A man like Edgar is incapable of learning anything about himself by failure. That would require a degree of courage. What I am doing is making sure that, after today, Edgar’s voice is much less influential. Without his constant obstacles, we will be able to make much better progress. And this conversation is, as always, only for our ears.’
‘Hah.’ Stanton grinned at the picture of how furious Edgar would be if he knew. ‘I just wish you’d told me your plan earlier.’ He reached for his water bottle.
‘To be honest,’ said Barling, ‘I did not think for one second that he would last this long. When he came into the stable yard this morning, he could hardly walk. None of us had a great deal of sleep, but he looked to me like he had been up all night with his wine jug. He had had a copious amount throughout the day as well.’
‘People of Claresham!’ Edgar pulled his horse up. ‘Gather round. The King’s men as well.’
‘Now what’s he doing?’ said Stanton.
‘Something foolish, I am sure,’ murmured Barling as they arranged themselves in a group before Edgar with the sweating, exhausted folk of Claresham.
‘My lands have inspired me today on our search.’ The scarlet-faced Edgar swayed in the saddle as he gave a wide gesture. ‘Look at them. Far as the eye can see.’ He stifled a hiccup.
Stanton saw many glances exchanged.
Edgar went on. ‘From here, you can see everything. Every. Thing. And that is what I want to do. Make sure I see everything.’ He pointed a wavering finger at the group. ‘That’ – he gave a deep swallow – ‘you do. Some people say that I don’t apply the law correctly.’ Another swallow. ‘After today, after seeing everything . . .’ Another. ‘I do. See. I will not tolerate any wrongdoing ever again.’ A gulp. ‘Or from before. All the wrongdoers. Ever. I will see them. Everybody will see them. Every. One.’ He grimaced. Then vomited all over his horse. And fell off it.
The thud of his big body hitting the ground was met with more groans than gasps.
‘Oh, my lord.’ A groom came rushing to Edgar’s side to see to him.
Stanton saw Barling rise a little in his stirrups to take a look.
‘Out cold,’ said the clerk to him with the barest twitch of a smile.
Barling continued with his voice raised. ‘Good people. You can see that your lord has been taken ill. Our first priority must be to return him to his hall.’
Set looks met that announcement.
‘There will also be a new, orderly search for Nicholas Lindley tomorrow. This time I will lead it.’
If Barling had been expecting a better response, he didn’t get it.
The set looks at the King’s clerk didn’t change.
And on the ground, Edgar threw up all over his groom.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Finally, Aelred Barling had lost his calm.
Stanton couldn’t help a smile inside at the row that now raged in Edgar’s hall, the lord locked in verbal combat with the King’s clerk.
With a stab of his short eating knife, he brought the roasted pigeon to his mouth and took a bite. Delicious, as was all the other food laid out. He actually had an appetite on this warm evening. They hadn’t had sight of Lindley, thanks to Edgar’s wild search. But all had remained peaceful in Claresham today. Well, except for the hall at this moment.
Barling had had his plan to fully take over the search. Edgar had decided to take no notice, despite having fallen off his horse in a drunken collapse.
‘These are my lands, Barling.’ The scowling Edgar sat hunched at the head of the table, busy guzzling wine to replace what he’d spewed earlier. ‘Mine. You have no right to take over as you did today.’
‘I did not take over, Edgar. I did what I was entitled to do.’ Barling had his water from the spring and a furious look.
‘I think you invent what you are entitled to, Barling.’
Stanton reached for a piece of bread.
‘How dare you, sir,’ said Barling. ‘You know full well I consult the law every step of the way.’
‘Maybe you do. Or maybe you don’t. Does he, Hugo?’
Stanton looked up, alarmed by Edgar’s use of his name and, worse, by his attempt to draw him into the argument.
‘You leave my assistant out of this, Edgar.’
‘He can speak for himself, can’t he?’ Edgar grinned at Stanton. ‘Or does the court not allow it?’
Barling made an impatient noise and drank from his cup.
Stanton understood what was going on now. Edgar was starting to enjoy himself hugely. He’d succeeded i
n making Barling annoyed and he knew that gave him the upper hand. ‘I’m not a big one for speeches, my lord.’
‘No.’ Barling rose from the table. ‘And neither should you be. I am going to retire now. I have much to see to tomorrow, and that ride of many miles has tired me out.’ He went to the door. ‘Unnecessary miles at that.’ Then he was gone as fast as his stiff steps would allow.
‘I should go to my bed also, my lord.’ Stanton rose to his feet, cursing silently that Barling had stormed off. So much good food sat in front of him.
‘Sit, sit.’ Edgar waved a hand. ‘Just because your master has gone off in a huff doesn’t mean you have to as well.’
He didn’t much want to stay here with Edgar. But he wanted to go to bed hungry even less. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
It was a big mistake. He knew how much Edgar liked to talk. And talk he did, long past the time Stanton finished eating and the servants had cleared all the dishes of food away, leaving plentiful wine for Edgar.
Edgar drank and talked and talked and drank, pressing Stanton into goblet after goblet too.
Every time Stanton thought Edgar had finished, the man would start again, with more blather and a full cup.
Darkness had long fallen and the moon now hung in the open window.
A huge yawn broke from Stanton, causing Edgar to pause.
‘You’re ready to retire, are you, Hugo?’
‘If that’s all right, my lord.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Edgar waved a hand.
‘Thank you for your generous hospitality, my lord.’ And thank the saints I’m going to bed. Stanton winced as he got to his feet. The room span a bit from all he’d drunk as well.
‘Something the matter?’
‘It’s only my knee. Hurt it when Lindley sent me off my horse. Goodnight, my lord.’ He started to limp off.
‘Let me have a look.’ For a big man, Edgar could move very fast.
He stood in front of Stanton, bending over to put a large hand on his sore kneecap. ‘Had an injury like this myself.’ Squeezed it. Hard.
‘Ow.’
‘It’ll mend.’ Edgar straightened up.
Still stood close. Very close. Close enough for Stanton to see every broken vein in the man’s face, in his hooded eyes.
‘I’m sure it will, my lord.’ He went to step past, but Edgar moved too.
‘Young joints always do.’ He smiled, his rows of yellowed teeth inches away. ‘Beautifully.’
And then one of Edgar’s big hands was on the back of his neck, the other fumbling for his crotch, the lord’s wide, wet mouth closing on his.
Damn it all. Stanton shoved him off. Hard.
The lord reeled back. ‘Come on, Stanton.’ No more smile. ‘You need to pay for all that good wine.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Don’t you dare test me, boy.’ Edgar lunged for him again.
Stanton was ready for him. He stepped smartly out of reach, sending the lord staggering.
Edgar clutched at a chair back for balance, swearing hard.
Stanton had seen men like him plenty of times in the dark recesses of the worst bawdy houses – had had them try to corner him a few times as well. ‘I’m sure your nephew has preached to you that sodomites go to hell. So stay away from me, Edgar. And you’ll stay out of hell.’
His words worked like they always did.
‘Hell?’ Edgar’s tone was vicious as he flung the chair aside with a loud clatter. ‘Hell? You can talk. You’re Satan coming to tempt me again. Now get out of my sight.’
Stanton didn’t wait, not while he had the chance to get away.
He always made sure he did that too.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Stanton’s heart soared. Rosamund, his Rosamund. Astride Morel as he rode next to her on an unknown mount. Her golden hair streaming behind her, her cheeks a delicate pink in the sunshine, her lips parting as she gasped her delight. He held out his hand to grasp her smooth fingers, to feel her touch, to share her joy. But he couldn’t reach; she rode faster than him. ‘Hurry, Hugo, hurry!’ He tried to respond to her laughing call. But he couldn’t. She was fast, too fast. He couldn’t reach, couldn’t—
‘Sir, sir! Come, you must hurry!’
Stanton didn’t recognise the voice that pulled him from his dream. He opened his eyes, squinting in the bright light of day.
A frantic servant stood by the bed.
Stanton sat bolt upright with an oath. ‘I’m late. Barling’s waiting for me, isn’t he?’
‘No, sir, no.’ The servant’s eyes were wild, terrified. ‘It’s Sir Reginald. Our lord has been murdered.’
‘What?’ Stanton wasn’t sure if he still dreamed.
‘In his solar. The King’s clerk says to come at once.’
No dream. Stanton yanked on his clothes, ran through the hall past groups of sobbing servants to Edgar’s solar.
He slowed as he approached the door. It would never be long enough, but this was too soon after Dene.
‘I’m here, Barling,’ he called out, as much to prepare himself as the clerk.
‘Then come in, Stanton,’ came the clerk’s call in return. ‘But be warned of what you are about to see.’
Stanton drew in a deep breath, as if he were to plunge into a deep pool of water. He was glad he did, as a sickly stench like that of a newly slaughtered pig met him.
‘God’s eyes.’ He put a hand to his mouth and nose. Blood, so much blood, obscene in the harsh sunlight that streamed in through an open window.
‘A scene from hell.’ Barling shook his head. ‘We use the words often, but I have never seen anything so close.’ He blessed himself with a hand that looked to Stanton much less steady than usual. ‘And I pray I never will.’
Edgar lay on his bed, on his back with his arms out, his bed linen splashed with scarlet.
‘His throat has been slashed,’ said Barling. ‘A servant found him when they went to wake him. You can see the open shutter where Lindley must have entered and left.’
‘Lindley knew it, didn’t he?’ said Stanton. ‘Because he’d been in the manor before. Like Edgar said.’
‘Indeed.’ Barling gave a sombre nod. ‘We need to question the household, of course. But I think we already have truth from poor Edgar’s mouth.’
Edgar’s mouth. Closing on his. A few short hours ago. The same mouth that had accused Stanton of being the devil. Gaping wide in a silent scream now. And forever. Too much.
‘Are you all right, Stanton?’
‘I’m fine, Barling.’ He pushed past the clerk.
But once the petrified servants were assembled in the hall, it was like all the other murders.
Stanton could hear the answers even before Barling asked the questions.
No one saw or heard anything. The manor was secure. But Lindley, ‘the devil’, must have found a way to get in through the window and slay their master.
‘And can you tell me,’ asked Barling next of the servants, ‘what work Lindley did for your lord?’
‘Work, sir?’
‘None.’
‘No work.’
Barling pressed them as Stanton watched faces for any sign of a lie, but saw none.
‘I mean,’ said the clerk, ‘the work for which Edgar rewarded Lindley with a pair of boots. Here in the manor.’
‘Boots?’
‘Lindley was here?’
‘No, no, not here. Never.’
‘Oh, God save us.’
‘Very well,’ said Barling to the servants. ‘If you think of anything else, if you recall anything, you must inform me at once. In the meantime, convey the news immediately to the rector that his uncle is dead, and that he needs to come to administer the last rites. Make sure you move in pairs or more. Is that clear? I also need you to summon the men of the village with all haste, as this new outrage has made the search for Lindley all the more urgent. Also, tell the men to ensure that their womenfolk are locked away in safety.’
Th
e servants left with a clatter, leaving Stanton alone with Barling.
‘Are you now going to tell me what the matter is, Stanton?’
‘There’s a lot the matter this morning, Barling.’
‘Stanton, you are probably the worst liar I have ever met.’
Stanton pulled in a breath. ‘I may be the last person to have seen Edgar alive. Last night. Here, in this hall.’ He gave Barling his account, willing the clerk to disbelieve him.
Barling let him speak.
Angry shouts came from the courtyard, but still Barling didn’t interrupt Stanton.
When he’d finished, Barling nodded slowly. ‘Ah. Then our outlaw did perform some work.’
‘But the servants said he didn’t, Barling. They told you that a few minutes ago.’
‘Barling!’ Osmond barrelled in, cutting off Barling’s reply.
‘For the love of God, what has happened to my uncle?’
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘I will search the village first.’ Barling’s voice rose above the angry shouts and jeers of all of the men of the village assembled in the courtyard in the sun’s stark light.
Stanton stood with him, mindful that the villagers might turn on them at any minute. He knew Osmond was in the solar with his uncle’s body. If he had to, he’d run and get him. But summoning a priest from his administering of the sacraments was a last – a very last – choice. Neither did he want to leave Barling alone. The clerk might say the wrong thing at any second.
He kept an eye on the door, ready to haul Barling in if need be.
‘We’ve just come from the village!’
‘Our women are locked up in our homes. Should we search under their skirts?’ This from a sneering Caldbeck.
Hoots, jeers greeted the ploughman’s impudence.
‘Unlike the late Sir Reginald Edgar, I will do this in a methodical way.’
Stanton cringed. He’d guessed right about Barling’s actions. Calling shame down on the murdered lord would do Barling no favours. The clerk was correct, but this was not the time to say it.
