The Traitor of St. Giles

by Michael Jecks

  Baldwin smiled at his servant. Edgar appeared embarrassed by his gratitude. Rather than cause him more, the knight gripped his forearm and held it a moment.

  ‘Is there any wine in this benighted street?’ Simon asked.

  He was fit enough, so far as Baldwin could see, although his normally ruddy complexion was pale and he wore a vague frown.

  ‘Come, gentlemen, I have a small barrel of wine in my stable. If you can tolerate the scent of horses, I’d be happy to celebrate our victory against these miserable, thieving bastards,’ the hackneyman said.

  Trying to smile, Baldwin accepted. It was not easy, for the man who had helped to save his life was still a fawning fellow, too sycophantic for him to respect, but they were comrades-in-arms now and it would have been rude to refuse. Helping Simon with an arm each, he and Edgar walked behind the hackneyman to his stable. At the door Baldwin realised that Harlewin was with them. ‘Friend Coroner, could you leave us here? We shall see you back at the castle very soon.’

  Harlewin looked upset at being dismissed this way, and Baldwin had to smile.

  ‘Coroner, my wife is back there worrying about me, and I would consider it a generous act were you to return and let her know that the bailiff and I are perfectly fine, apart from Simon’s headache.’ His voice dropped. ‘It would be churlish to refuse the hospitality of a man who may have saved my life, but I look upon it as a duty more than a pleasure, and I swear I shall soon be with you.’

  The Coroner gave a faint smile at his explanation and swore to carry word to Jeanne before anyone else. Before long he was striding with the priest along the road towards the castle.

  At the stable door the hackneyman began laughing at the recollection of the man he had hit. His loud guffaws caused the shutter opposite to swing open again. ‘Will you be quiet you ignorant damned peasant!’

  In answer, the hackneyman picked up a lump of horse dung and flung it in a deadly accurate arc. There was a brief squawk, a horrified splutter, then the shutter was hurriedly slammed shut. ‘Always wanted to do that,’ he said contentedly. ‘What a day! What a day!’

  Inside, seated upon empty barrels, Baldwin took a cup of wine from him. Simon and Edgar too had cups but these three appeared to represent the total of the hackneyman’s drinking vessels for he himself was forced to sup from a wineskin.

  ‘Your health,’ Baldwin said in toast, and the others all echoed his sentiment. Taking a sip, Baldwin set the drink down at his side fervently hoping that someone would knock it over. It was sweet, heavily spiced and, to Baldwin’s taste, almost undrinkable. ‘And my thanks for knocking down that mad staff-man.’

  ‘He was big, but he fell fast enough.’

  ‘You are good with a pair of cudgels.’

  ‘A man who spends his life dealing with some of the lowlifes who hang around a stable needs to know how to defend himself. I learned how to use cudgels when I was a lad, but they are just as effective for an old sod like me as a boy of ten,’ their host declared with satisfaction.

  ‘You must see many strangers here,’ Baldwin considered.

  ‘Oh, I get all sorts. Travellers from all over.’

  ‘Did you know the felons that attacked us?’

  ‘Toker and his mob? Oh, yes. They were often down here. Not that I wanted too much to do with ’em. No, they weren’t the sort I wanted hanging about. Gives the place the wrong sort of reputation, having private armies in here.’

  ‘Tell me, friend: have they ever brought in horses for sale?’

  ‘Them?’ Baldwin was watching as he answered, but there was not the faintest hint of deceit as he gazed at the knight and declared without hesitation, ‘No.’

  It was his openness that made Baldwin jerk his thumb at the stable. ‘There was a large, scruffy horse here when we first came to see you. It had mud over it.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You are a good judge of horseflesh, that is certain, Master,’ the man said. ‘That one should fetch a . . .’

  ‘Friend, we have fought off felons together,’ Baldwin said with a degree of sharpness. ‘You don’t have to give me your usual patter. Just the facts.’

  The hackneyman looked innocent. ‘But there is no patter to it, Master. Only the horse isn’t for sale yet.’

  ‘May I see it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He led the way to a series of stalls out at the back of the stables. Muttering to himself, he counted down to one, at which he stopped, gazed over the rail which served as a gate, then nodded. ‘This is the one.’

  ‘Let’s see it,’ Baldwin said, and darted under the bar.

  ‘No, sir, just let me . . .’

  Baldwin ignored his sudden nervousness and patted the beast’s flanks confidently to soothe it. The mud, although dried, still adhered to neck and rump, but Baldwin had a good idea why. He grabbed a handful of straw and rubbed at the muck. Soon the dusty mess was falling away and he was rewarded by seeing the marks he expected.

  ‘Come, now,’ he said sternly. ‘This horse is not yours to sell, as you know well.’

  ‘It is a good working horse, sir.’

  ‘You know better than that. This is a heavy animal, certainly, but it was never used for draught. It’s a knight’s.’

  ‘Oh . . . I did wonder.’

  ‘Of course you did. You know a good mount when you see one. But we are comrades: I have no interest in betraying your secret.’ Baldwin ducked under the rail again. ‘Just tell me this: did you find it yourself or did you see it in another’s hands?’

  The hackneyman tilted his head as if assessing his risks. ‘I didn’t find it, sir, it was brought here to me.’

  ‘And who did that?’

  ‘John Sherman, sir.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  At the stairs to the hall Baldwin paused and stopped, staring up at the doorway.

  He was still there when Edgar returned from helping Simon to a bed in the gatehouse. ‘Sir Baldwin, are you well?’

  ‘I am fine,’ he replied testily, but it was not the truth. The elation which had filled him after the short and bloody battle in the street had left him and now the reaction was setting in: a dark mood had fallen over him like a blanket, dampening his spirits and filling him with gloom.

  The hall was filled with the guests, and as he stood in the doorway, many heads turned to stare at him. Among them was Sir Peregrine’s. The bannaret’s expression was hard to gauge. Baldwin assumed it must reflect sadness that his plans had failed, rather than any shame or embarrassment.

  ‘Edgar,’ he said, ‘see if the man with the broken head is awake yet. If he is, bring him here along with the last remaining man from Toker’s band.’

  Lord Hugh and Sir Peregrine were beside him now. ‘My good Sir, what has occurred?’ Lord Hugh asked. ‘You left us in such a steaming hurry. Have you been hurt? And where is the good bailiff?’

  Baldwin was quiet a moment. He surveyed the room. ‘This is a pretty gathering, isn’t it?’ he said in a strong voice. ‘All these fine people here, and treachery and murder stalk the streets.’

  His anger was bubbling and rising to the surface, but he was beyond worrying as the room fell silent.

  ‘A good man, a noble and honourable knight, was stabbed to death; near him a man thought to be a felon was also killed, his fiancée having been murdered; the knight’s servant then was killed, and tonight my friend and I were set upon. Simon is injured and two more men have died while their two friends are in gaol.’

  Lord Hugh said mildly, ‘This is hardly the time or place for such reminiscences, Sir Baldwin.’

  ‘My Lord, with respect I think this is the ideal time. Before witnesses.’

  Lord Hugh met his gaze, then gave a slow nod. ‘Very well, tell us what you have discovered.’ He beckoned a servant who hurried forward with a seat and the lord sat while the guests shuffled and glanced at each other.

  Baldwin ignored the audience.

  ‘My Lord, our kingdom is riven with fear. All men are terrified of a fresh wa
r and they seek to defend themselves as best they can. Some look for money, some for other rewards. They try to bend you to the will of their masters in return for promises of power.

  ‘Sir Gilbert was here to bring you to the Despensers’ fold; others wished to ensure he failed. Sir Peregrine wants your support for the Marcher Lords; Andrew Carter wished you to give your backing to Earl Thomas.

  ‘And Bailiff Puttock and I make such men fearful because we only seek to serve our lords, not to influence them. That makes us appear threatening . . .

  ‘My Lord, Philip Dyne was no criminal. He never committed rape or murder: he was simply an innocent who thought he would be killed if he went to court. Everyone assumed he was guilty, so he would never be able to escape the rope.’

  ‘What proof do you have for this?’

  ‘Andrew Carter is dead. He admitted his guilt to Father Abraham: he committed incest with his step-daughter and killed her to ensure her silence when he realised she was in love. I expect he was unhappy when Dyne escaped – he almost certainly wanted Dyne to be caught by the posse and summarily executed, but his wish was denied him. Instead Dyne reached sanctuary. No matter what else one may say about Father Abraham – and there is much I could say about him – he does at least consider the sanctity of his church to be sacrosanct.’

  Baldwin became aware of a rumbling of anger in the crowd, and when he turned he saw the priest spluttering with indignation. ‘What do you mean by this? What would you dare to say to me, Sir Knight? I have never heard such ridiculous words from someone who is supposed to be in a position of authority.’

  ‘Then today shall be a novel experience for you, Father,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘I say you are dishonest and corrupt. You take bribes from people to write up your records although you already receive payment for them. Then you compound your avarice with bigotry and theft.’

  ‘What! You dare accuse me of . . .’ The priest had gone puce with rage and he quivered with emotion. ‘How dare you! You’ll apologise or I shall excommunicate—’

  ‘Be silent!’ Baldwin roared and took a step forward. His anger was unfeigned. This priest had cursed a knight purely because he had been a member of Baldwin’s own Order, burying the man in unconsecrated ground to the harm of his soul just like a common felon, and compounding the insult by cursing him. Baldwin pointed, not caring that his hands were still covered with the drying blood of his foe. ‘You saw the dead body on the night Sir Gilbert died, didn’t you? I shall come to you in a moment.’

  Father Abraham licked his lips but remained silent.

  Baldwin looked at the other faces in the room. ‘It has been difficult to piece together what happened in those woods that night. There were many people there, each of whom had their own reasons to wish to see Sir Gilbert silenced.

  ‘What really did happen there? I think we have to look at the day before Sir Gilbert died. In the period between his arrival and his death, someone decided to kill him. So where did he go and what did he do?

  ‘He went to Templeton before anything else, if Father Abraham can be believed. He wanted to see his old chapel and hide the goods he carried for safekeeping. It would be too dangerous to wander the streets of Tiverton with such a fortune on his person. That accomplished, he rode to Tiverton and went to the castle.

  ‘The next we know of him, he was seeing Nicholas Lovecok in a tavern. What happened before that? I do not believe Sir Gilbert, a messenger from the Despensers, would sit drinking and wasting time had he not yet spoken to you, Lord Hugh. Surely he came here to the castle before going to the tavern!’

  ‘Yes, he did. He came to see me during the afternoon.’

  ‘You knew that your bannaret wouldn’t want you to see him, for Sir Peregrine supports the Lords of the Marches, not the King’s favourite. So you met Sir Gilbert in private?’

  ‘Yes. I saw him in my chamber.’ Lord Hugh glanced at his guests, and spoke out strongly, so that all present could hear. ‘He offered me a huge bribe to support the Despensers and let them land in Devonshire. I refused.’

  ‘Did he leave immediately?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘No, he remained talking for some time. In fact, he asked me for advice. He said he hadn’t expected me to take a bribe; it was his conviction that the Despensers were a broken reed, that they could not be permitted to return to the kingdom, and asked me who I advised him to support.’

  ‘At the inn, Lovecok noticed that Sir Gilbert was being followed. I think that although you tried to conceal your tryst with Sir Gilbert, you failed. Sir Peregrine knew he was there. Not only that, he had the man followed when he left here.’

  ‘This is nonsense!’ Sir Peregrine exclaimed. ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘In order to know what he was doing. You had a man follow him back to his camp, and the next day you yourself went there to keep an eye on him. And it was then you caused the first death.’

  ‘You dare to accuse me of murder?’ Sir Peregrine grated. He marched towards Baldwin, his hand on his sword hilt, chin jutting aggressively. Two female guests gasped in alarm but their husbands leaned forward eagerly to watch with all the others.

  ‘No, Sir Peregrine, I do not. You were there to keep this dangerous messenger under surveillance but no, you didn’t kill him.’ Baldwin turned back to Lord Hugh. ‘One thing I could not understand, my Lord, was how the knight’s dog died. It was plain to me that a weakly man like Dyne could never have killed the knight and the dog if they set upon him at the same time. This is what happened. The dogs had been restless all day and as soon as the knight let one off the leash, it raced into the woods and was never seen alive by Sir Gilbert again.’

  ‘What are you accusing me of?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

  ‘Sir Peregrine, I do not accuse you of killing the knight but you did commit a slaying that night.’

  Bewildered, Lord Hugh looked at Baldwin. ‘Dyne was killed by the other two.’

  ‘Sir Peregrine killed Sir Gilbert’s dog.’

  Sir Peregrine took a deep breath. ‘I am afraid that is true, my Lord. When the merchants appeared and pointed towards my hiding place thinking to catch Dyne, I set off back into the woods. I hadn’t got far when the dog attacked me.’

  ‘The hound saw or heard you that afternoon,’ Baldwin told him. ‘As soon as Sir Gilbert set off for the trees his dog caught your scent and ran after you.’

  ‘He came straight at me. There was nothing I could do but run him through. I left him there and made off. But I swear I never killed Sir Gilbert.’

  ‘You had the motive,’ Baldwin said. ‘You didn’t want your lord to support the King’s favourite.’

  ‘Maybe not, but that is no reason to kill.’

  Baldwin nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sir Gilbert rode up, saw his beast lying hurt, dismounted and dropped to his side – and was stabbed. It was all over very quickly.

  ‘Meanwhile, Dyne was being hunted. He was found by Andrew Carter and run down. His sole weapon – Sir Gilbert’s dagger – was knocked away, and he was beaten severely by Carter before he was beheaded, probably so that he could not tell Nicholas about Carter’s incest and subsequent murder of his daughter. All the while Sir Gilbert’s body lay nearby, and the murderer, I expect, looked on.

  ‘Many people were there near the woods that night. Harlewin was riding along the road when Sir Gilbert came out of the woods, and was asked to remain there to prevent the felon crossing over.’ He turned to John Sherman. ‘You were there.’

  ‘Yes, I told you,’ he admitted.

  ‘Only you forgot to mention that you brought Sir Gilbert’s horse back to town with you.’

  At this, Lord Hugh exploded. ‘What? You killed the poor devil, spicer?’

  ‘No, my Lord, no!’ Sherman felt people move away from him. ‘It wasn’t me! What would I have killed him for?’

  ‘Tell us again what happened – and this time, make it the truth,’ Baldwin said remorselessly. ‘You were riding through the woods. Who did you see?’

  ‘I had seen a
woman on horseback riding along slowly and thought . . .’ he stopped and glanced at his wife. ‘I thought it was my wife. When she darted into the woods I believed that she had seen me and was hiding so that I wouldn’t find her with her lover.’

  ‘Did you see a man with her?’

  ‘No, so I decided to follow after her and see what was happening. I had only gone a short way in when I heard a scream. That put me on my guard. A while afterwards I heard a heavy mount cantering towards me and I saw Sir Peregrine sweep back towards the road.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I continued, Sir Baldwin,’ Sherman said and his back straightened a little. ‘I may not be a very good husband, but if my wife was in there and was in trouble, I intended to find her and rescue her.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I edged forward slowly. There was a lot of commotion in among the trees. My God! It was horrible. And then I saw Father Abraham. He was walking, leading a horse. He stopped at the roadway and slapped it hard on the rump to make it flee.’

  ‘What? This is nonsense!’ exclaimed the priest angrily.

  Sherman carried on. ‘I turned into the woods and soon caught up with him; he seemed almost to jump out of his skin when I called to him.’

  ‘What would you have done?’ demanded Father Abraham. ‘I thought it was an outlaw or someone.’

  ‘The Father seemed furious to see me there. He wanted to know what I was doing, and when I said I had heard a scream and seen a woman hereabouts and thought it could be my wife, he told me that my Cecily wasn’t there, and ordered me to leave and return home. However, just then there was another scream, a short cry of terror, and the priest crossed himself. I was scared but I felt I should go and see what was happening. I thought my wife could be in danger. I rode towards the sound, ignoring the priest’s words, and came across Dyne’s body.’

  His voice trailed off. When Lord Hugh gave an impatient gesture, Sherman hung his head. ‘I didn’t want to be fined for being the first finder, so I came away as quickly as I could. What was the point of me being amerced and going to the inquest later? I just left the woods as quickly as I could, praying that Father Abraham was telling the truth and Cecily wasn’t there. On the way home I saw the horse Father Abraham had been leading. I caught it and brought it back to town, leaving it at the hackneyman’s stables.’