Wasn’t it?
The next day dawned clear and sunny, a perfect spring morning.
Simon stared from his window in the guest room. From here he could see over a swathe of southern Devonshire almost to the sea. The sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky, and the scene was perfectly framed by the lines of trees at either side. His wife was still asleep, and the bailiff dressed and walked down to the hall. Here he found the servants at work clearing the mess of the night before, sweeping around the odd recumbent figure slumped on the table or lying amid the soiled rushes.
The bailiff nodded happily to Edgar. It was some surprise, after the amount he had drunk the previous day, but his head and guts felt fine. He had only a minor pain in his head and the feeling that a walk outside would be kinder to those who breathed the same air as him.
He stepped into the buttery and filled a wineskin, rut-tutting as he surveyed the slumped figure of Wat, snoring gently at the side of one of Baldwin’s great barrels of ale, a happy smile on his face. Slipping the thong over his neck, Simon walked out to the southern-facing wall. An old tree-trunk stood there, on which Baldwin’s men split logs, and he sat on it, taking a good swallow of wine, then leaning back and gazing over the view with a contented sigh.
Thus it was that Simon saw the messenger before anyone else.
‘He sent this man to ride through the night?’ Baldwin exclaimed.
Simon nodded. The stableman was the same who had been sent with news of Herbert’s death, a bedraggled, exhausted lad of almost eighteen. ‘Daniel must have thought it was important.’
‘Of course,’ said Baldwin, peering at the messenger once more. His words had been few, the meaning clear. ‘Daniel thinks his master, the boy Herbert, was murdered, and asks that you go to the manor to investigate.’
‘I have to go,’ Simon said heavily. ‘Although I’m not sure what this Daniel thinks I can do…’
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘You’ve just got married. You can’t go to an enquiry on the day after your wedding!’
‘Be damned to that!’ Baldwin declared hotly. The sense of languorous fatigue with which he had awoken, the thrill of seeing his wife’s face at his side, now pricked at his conscience, as if he was himself guilty of complicity in the child’s death. I always had the conviction that the boy had been murdered, but I allowed myself to be gulled by that avaricious bastard Thomas. Well, I’ll not make the same mistake again!‘
‘Baldwin, we don’t know that he wasn’t killed by accident.’
The knight carried on as if he had not heard his friend. ‘How could I have been so stupid? I must have been born a cretin! All right, the boy was run down - but how often does that happen?’
‘My friend,’ Simon said calmingly, ‘we don’t know that he was murdered, all we know is that Daniel thinks he might have been. That isn’t reason enough for you to desert your wife. You stay here, and I’ll go and look into it. Boys and men get run down and killed every day of the week.’
‘Rubbish, Simon! Those who get run over are drunk, or fall accidentally. They die outside alehouses, or just outside their own doors. But young Herbert died out on the moors - and he wasn’t drunk. He would have jumped from the path of a wagon.’
‘Pure supposition!’
‘Logic!’
‘Baldwin, you cannot leave your wife the day after your wedding; it’s not right.’
‘Leave me? What makes you think he would be leaving me, Bailiff?’
Simon’s heart sank. He had wanted to keep this from Lady Jeanne, but now there was no way to conceal it. ‘I am truly sorry, Lady, I wouldn’t want to be cause of dispute between you and your husband. I shall leave you so he can explain.’
Jeanne lifted her eyebrow, then gave a low chuckle. ‘Bailiff, if you think that I don’t realise what’s going on here, you have no understanding of the loudness of your voice.’
‘But you asked…’ Simon stammered.
‘Why you thought he would be leaving me here. Of course he won’t. I will be joining you both to see Lady Katharine and help soothe the poor woman.’
Chapter Ten
The two men set off long before the sun had reached its zenith, this time with their wives and servants in their train. The exhausted messenger was remounted on one of Baldwin’s own stallions, but even so they made slow progress.
Wat had been told to pack a few clothes and join them. Although his head hurt horribly and his stomach felt like a seething cauldron of acid, he was nothing loath: this was an adventure. He had never gone further than Cadbury before, except once when he had travelled to Crediton, and his father had never been so far as Dartmoor, so this would be a feather in Wat’s hat. What’s more, he would be avoiding the hard work that was about to start: the planting of the Lenten seeds, the barley and oats, rye and vetches, upon which the manor depended, and with which he would have been expected to help. If their visit lasted long enough, he might even be absent for some of the long, dull days sitting out for hours on end with his pouch of pebbles and slingshot, ready to frighten off any birds or rabbits that tried to steal from the manor’s fields.
Baldwin kept an eye on the lad, conscious of his responsibility. Wat pattered along cheerily enough at his side, but the knight was concerned that he shouldn’t overtire himself. Baldwin was riding his favourite rounsey, a good, steady bay which could eat up the miles comfortably, while Jeanne followed, chatting quietly with Simon’s wife, on her new Arab. Simon was on his ageing hackney, Margaret on a palfrey which ambled along gently.
‘I still can’t believe that Herbert was murdered,’ Simon said now. ‘Sure, it’s a pity the lad died, but these things happen.’
‘You make it sound like a simple accident. Daniel suspects the same as me, yet you speak as calmly as if you saw it happen.’
‘Well, I almost feel as if I did. I’ve seen so many similar deaths: drunken workers who’ve fallen into the road; infants and toddlers who strayed - remember, the boy was only five years old. You’ve seen them just as I have. And often the driver of the cart doesn’t dare stop and report the accident. At the least they might be faced with the expense of a heavy fine, while if they ride on as if nothing had happened, they may remain safe.
‘And there’s another thing, Baldwin,’ the bailiff added. ‘The victim in this case was the son of the squire, and was himself the heir. Who’d dare admit he’d run down his own master?’
‘Yes, that much is true,’ Baldwin agreed, but even as he pronounced the last word, Simon saw his mind was racing along a new track.
‘Now what is it?’
‘Hmm? Oh, I am sorry, I was merely considering the implications of what you had said. That the driver of the cart could be one of the manor’s own villeins.’
That reflection made the knight quiet for the rest of their journey.
Jeanne studied Throwleigh Manor as they approached, and couldn’t restrain a shudder. It was so grey, too exposed and rugged, merely a space in which people could exist, not somewhere she could ever consider as a home. Dropping from her horse, she put her hand through Baldwin’s arm. She was aware of a feeling of gloom sinking into her spirit, as if the buildings were sucking the pleasure of her marriage out of her. Daniel the steward appeared at the door and walked down to greet them. He went first to Simon, and thanked him fulsomely for making the journey again. Then: ‘Ladies, perhaps I could show you into the hall to meet Lady Katharine, while I speak to your husbands?’
He led the two women away and Baldwin glanced about him while the grooms took their mounts. ‘Edgar, Wat is in your charge,’ he said. ‘See to it that the little brat doesn’t make a nuisance of himself.’
At a nod from Simon, Hugh went off with them, and the two men waited for Daniel. The place was sunk in a gloomy light, for the sun had fallen behind the hill to the west, and only a dim twilight lay over the yard. It was a relief when Daniel reappeared at the door and crossed the yard to them. ‘Gentlemen, perhaps you wouldn’t mind if we were to t
ake a little walk, away from curious ears, you understand?’
The steward took them through the gates to the clitter outside. ‘I am most grateful to both of you - to you, Bailiff, and especially you, Sir Baldwin. It must have been a sore wrench to come all this way.’
‘I assume you had good reason to demand our return,’ Simon said.
Daniel made a weak, fluttering gesture with his hands. He felt spent after the worry of sending the messenger to ask Simon to return. It wasn’t something he was used to, acting on his own initiative, especially since he hadn’t been able to confide in anyone else. In the service of his squire, he had only needed to follow Roger’s commands, and had looked upon his job as a position almost of sacred trust. Now he had gone out on a limb, and he wasn’t sure whether he was about to fall or not. He took a deep breath.
‘The manor has lost two masters in a matter of days, and I have a duty to their memories. I am certain that someone murdered the young master, and I ask that you bring his murderer to justice.’
Simon sat on a rock. ‘Explain yourself!’
‘Sir, whoever was driving that cart must have known who the master was, and yet they didn’t come to report their deed to the Lady. They must have intended to kill him.’
Simon shook his head. ‘My friend, if you were a local peasant on your way home, half-asleep at the reins, it’s quite possible that you’d fail to notice a boy running out in front of you.’
‘Have you never run over an animal?’ Daniel interrupted desperately. ‘Even a small animal, a rabbit or a cat, makes the wheel jolt. If it does that for a little creature, how much more will the wagon jump when it rides over a five-year-old boy? The man knew he had run someone down.’
‘That doesn’t make him a murderer,’ Baldwin pointed out gently. ‘It could have been an accident: if your master ran out without thinking, it was hardly the fault of the carter.’
‘If it was an accident, why didn’t the man come and confess?’
‘He might well have feared the response of the Lady Katharine,’ Simon said frankly. ‘There’s no evidence to suggest that the lad’s death was anything other than a sad misfortune. Accidents happen.’
‘Sir, shouldn’t we try to find out who was responsible?’
Simon gave an unwilling nod. Apart from anything else, he had a duty to help the Coroner collect the deodand. A chattel which had caused a man’s death was forfeit, theoretically to be given to God in expiation - although in reality the deodand was a fine imposed on the owner, the value then put to pious uses. In this case the deodand must be the horse and cart, a goodly fine.
Daniel continued, ‘Sir, that road is usually busy, and so it was on the day the poor boy died. I know because I was outside buying fish - it was a fast day - and while I haggled with the fish-seller, I could see the traffic’
‘So we’re unlikely to find the culprit.’ Simon shrugged.
‘Sir, after the seller left, I remained outside a while longer, getting men to roll the fish barrels to the storeroom. I heard one more wagon, and saw it turn away in front of the house, heading down the road to Throwleigh.’
‘What time would this have been?’ Baldwin demanded. There was a nervous, almost scared look to the steward now, and Baldwin was sure he was at last coming to the meat of his story. The knight could feel his belly tense with expectation.
‘Sir, it was in the afternoon - after nones.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘You say men were with you to get the barrels moved. Was anyone missing from the house?’
The suddenness of the question made the steward blink confusedly. ‘It was a fine day, sir. Only Lady Katharine herself and I were here. She was still deep in mourning, after all.’
‘Who was in with you? Her maidservant?’ Baldwin probed.
‘No, Anney was out. So was Petronilla. Most of the servants were: two grooms had gone to Chagford for stores, and the berner was exercising his harriers with his whipper-in. Is this important?’
‘Very well. Were the guests all out as well?’
‘Yes, I think so. Does it matter?’ Daniel became irritable. ‘I’m trying to tell you about a man who had good reason to hate the master, and you ask about all these others!’
‘My apologies, but we need to know to whom we can speak to corroborate your evidence. Were the other guests here on that day?’
‘Sir James van Relenghes was out riding, sir, with his servant, Godfrey. They had come to visit the squire, and stayed to show their respect when they heard of the master’s death.’
Simon glanced at him sharply. There had been a curious emphasis on the word ‘respect’. ‘You doubted their sincerity?’
‘Bailiff, I’ve been here for as long as the squire, since 1306. Before that I served with him in many battles, and I never heard him speak of this Fleming - and yet here he is, claiming great friendship with my master. I can’t help but doubt him.’
‘What of the priest?’ Simon asked.
‘Stephen? He was probably at the church in Throwleigh… I didn’t notice him.’
‘I see. Let’s return to this cart - did you recognise the man on it?’
‘Yes, sir, I did,’ said Daniel, pleased to be able to return to the point. ‘It was a villein called Edmund.’ As he spoke the name he felt as if he was betraying a member of his own family. It was the curse of a steward to have to bear witness sometimes against the serfs of the demesne, and he never enjoyed doing it. He had known Edmund all his life, and his father Richard before him. If only the latter were still here, he - but there was no point wishing for the impossible. They were both dead and gone: the master whom Daniel had loved and honoured and the servant Richard, who had sired Edmund - a fellow who had very good reason to hate the squire’s widow and son.
Simon folded his arms. ‘Have you told your mistress any of this?’
‘God’s blood, sir, I couldn’t!’ Daniel burst out. ‘Edmund was the man who made the squire so angry that he died, and the mistress has been furious with him ever since. What would she do if I told her I thought this man killed her son, too?’
‘But if you’re convinced that this man was responsible?’
‘I am, sir. There were no carts after his. If a previous vehicle had struck Herbert down, Edmund must have seen his body, yet he didn’t report it. No, his was the wagon that crushed poor Master Herbert. But I wouldn’t have the man killed on the spot without a chance to defend himself in court.’
Baldwin eyed him dubiously. It appeared strange that a family servant should withhold such important information. ‘If you are certain, you have a duty nonetheless, so why do you save it up to tell us, Daniel?’
‘So that you can question Edmund and have him arrested if you find evidence against him. All I ask is that you question the man. Come with me now, speak with him and see what you think.’
Simon rose and stretched. ‘Get back in the saddle now, you mean? No, I don’t think that’s necessary. The man’s unlikely to run off if he hasn’t already.’
‘But you will talk to him?’ Daniel insisted.
The knight grunted his agreement. ‘Wake us in the morning, and we will go with you.’
Daniel beamed with gratitude, as if for the first time in days he felt he had achieved something. He bowed, and walked off with something of his old pride.
Simon shook his head. ‘You know what’s occurred to me, don’t you?’
‘Yes - that Daniel has carefully pointed the finger at the only poor fellow who has no prospect of a lawyer or any other help,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘And of course he was most willing to divert our attention from all the other people who could have been involved.’
‘Cynic! You’re assuming someone was guilty,’ Simon reminded him. ‘My thought was, he’s forcing us to conduct an enquiry whether we like it or not. Daniel must have believed we would let the matter lie. And so he called us back to find out that the carter might have run over the boy. Why should he do that?’
When they re-entered the hall, they found it al
ready well-filled. Thomas was there, drinking cheerfully from a large goblet, and he welcomed them effusively.
‘So good of you both to return to witness the funeral. Sir Baldwin, have you met Sir James?’
Baldwin found himself looking into the darkly handsome face of a tall man in his late thirties. He had strong features, with a high brow, and serious, keen brown eyes which watched the knight with a strangely focused stare. His concentration was easily explained when he opened his mouth to utter a courteous welcome.
‘You are a Fleming?’
The man gave a short bow. ‘You are quick to recognise an accent, Sir Baldwin. Yes, I am called James van Relenghes, but I have lived here in England for some years now.’
Squire Throwleigh's Heir Page 9
