Squire Throwleigh's Heir

by Michael Jecks

  ‘You speak our tongue very well,’ said Simon.

  ‘It is kind of you to say so. I was lucky enough to serve your last King as a mercenary during his wars in France, and picked up much of your language.’

  ‘Ah, of course. And that was where you became a friend of Squire Roger?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. He and I served in the same battles, and often shared in the rewards.’ Van Relenghes sighed dramatically, shaking his head in sorrow. ‘I was so sad to hear of my friend’s death, and now this: his only son struck down.’

  While Baldwin spoke with the man, Hugh went past carrying a jug of wine. Simon waved to his servant, who came over and filled his pot, then went to offer wine to Baldwin. To reach the knight he had to pass behind van Relenghes, but before Hugh could come close to the Fleming, Godfrey quickly stepped forward from the shadow of a pillar and halted between them, making as if to take the jug. Scowling fiercely, Hugh snatched it away. In his turn, Godfrey set his jaw and flexed his legs, rising onto the balls of his feet, ready to spring. It was his duty to protect van Relenghes from any strange or dangerous men, and he included in that category men who walked up behind his master.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Baldwin enquired.

  Van Relenghes heard the surprise in his voice and turned to see what had caught his interest. ‘Oh, Godfrey, I think the servant is safe enough,’ he said in a condescending tone that turned Hugh’s scowl to a malignant glare that could have melted iron.

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said Godfrey, mockingly waving Hugh forward, and the fuming servant poured for Baldwin, his eyes fixed all the while on the weapons master.

  ‘My apologies, sir,’ van Relenghes said as his own pot was refilled. ‘My guard doesn’t always know when it is safe to relax.’

  Baldwin nodded understandingly, but did not speak to the Fleming again, and watched him warily when he walked away, Godfrey a few feet behind him. Simon almost smiled at Baldwin’s face, but then he caught sight of Daniel, whose eyes were fixed on van Relenghes. The steward’s expression made Simon’s grin fade.

  It was one of utter loathing and hatred.

  Chapter Eleven

  Baldwin and his wife were honoured by having their own room in the solar. When Jeanne pleaded exhaustion after her long journey, Daniel called the young maid Petronilla to show them the way to their quarters. Baldwin recognised the girl from his first visit to the manor: she was pretty, he thought, and eager enough to please, if a little vacuous. She took them up to a room next to the solar block, beside the chapel, that had its own large bed. Edgar had already been there and had set out the room as Baldwin expected: there was a jug of weakened wine by the bed, and a bowl of water and towel had been set out on a large chest so that he and Jeanne could rinse away some of the dirt and grime from their journey.

  When Petronilla had gone, Jeanne sat on the bed and hesitantly held out her hand to Baldwin. Even as she saw him smile, she felt his reluctance to come to her.

  It wasn’t that he was a man like the King, who preferred men to women, and she knew full well that he was not one of those misogynistical knights who disliked women purely because of their sex, considering them devious and untrustworthy; no, she was certain that it was simply that he had spent so many years alone and without the comfort of a woman’s company that made him shy in her presence, a shyness made all the more poignant for him when they were alone. That he should feel this way, and that he should revere her and respect her and her body, made her want to embrace him all the more strongly.

  There was another reason for his slowness in going to her, but Baldwin was not sure he could confess it even to her: he had been a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, a Knight Templar, and while a Brother he had taken the three-fold vows of poverty, obedience - and chastity. Although he adored Jeanne, although he longed for her and thought that the sight of her seated on their bed was a picture designed to tempt an angel, he was nonetheless aware of a reticence to touch her, as if by so doing he was repeating the denial of an oath already sworn.

  But his honour was not tainted, he had to remind himself. He had sworn obedience to the Pope as God’s own vicar on earth, but the Pope had resiled; he had not protected those who had sworn loyalty to him, and had instead thrown them to their enemies in return for money. And that meant that all his vows could be thought of as retracted, as Baldwin knew. And yet he also knew that his vows had been made to God, not the Pope, and he wasn’t certain that even the Pope’s lack of honour could pardon his own lack of constancy.

  Jeanne smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling more than in the brightest sunshine. She lifted her hands to him, and he forgot his torment for another evening. With a groan, he crossed the room and took her in his arms.

  Next morning, Edmund threw the last of the bundles of wood onto the growing pile under the eaves of his shed and stood straight, hunching his shoulders to ease the strain, before leaning down to pick up the next log. Hefting the axe, he was about to swing when he heard the horses. The sound was not unusual. This road was not very busy, but travellers were not uncommon, and yet today Edmund paused, axe ready, while he waited to see who might be riding towards him. He hadn’t forgotten the last encounter with the squire.

  His wife, Christiana, was in the yard collecting eggs, and she saw him waiting there expectantly. The attitude of attention was sufficient to make her stop her work and walk to the fence to see what had caught his interest.

  The road curved and twisted beneath the trees this far from the vill itself and, although she too could hear the noise of many hooves, she could not see the riders. She set the eggs down by the gate and walked out to her husband’s side.

  Seeing that she had left her work, his face fell into a frown.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he grumbled.

  ‘I wanted to see who it—’

  ‘Shut up, woman! Hell’s fires! Haven’t you enough things to do?’ He lifted his fist threateningly.

  Christiana quailed, and retreated towards the house. It was hard enough being married to a feckless man like him without having to endure his beatings whenever he was confused or disturbed.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder and, seeing he was looking away again, she spat in his direction. Theirs had been a marriage of love at first. She and he had made their vows, without the knowledge or consent of her parents and she had joined his family immediately the priest had confirmed their right to remain together. They had needed to see him because her parents refused to believe that Edmund and she had made valid wedding vows; so, standing before the priest, they had repeated their oaths. On hearing what they said, he had declared that these had been spoken ‘in words of present consent’ and, although it was wrong for the two not to have had a nuptial Mass, their marriage was valid.

  But they had both been young, not yet sixteen, and now she regretted her reckless decision. Edmund was weak, vacillating over any decision, and whenever he was upset about something he took it out on her. Touching the tender spots at her jaw and cheek, she mumbled a curse at her husband. That was where he had clouted her on the day he had taken the cart over to Oakhampton. The pottage she had cooked wasn’t ready yet, that was his excuse - yet why should it have been? He hadn’t told her when to expect him home, and their son wasn’t back yet, either. How could she be expected to know when he would return?

  It was so unfair! She had welcomed him when he walked through the door, but when she had asked him why he was back so early, purely to make conversation, her words seemed to send him into a rage. He shouted at her for being a stupid, interfering bitch, and punched her, saying he didn’t know why he had ever agreed to take her off her father’s hands. Leaving her sobbing on the floor, he had stalked from the room, saying he would eat at the alehouse.

  It wasn’t the first time he had hit her, and it wouldn’t be the last, she knew. Blinking tears away, she caught a glimpse of movement and shortly afterwards saw five men on horseback trotting round the bend in the
road. Although she recognised Daniel, the manor’s steward, out in front, the other four were unknown to Christiana.

  However, the men all had that grave, stern appearance which boded ill to a poor serf, and she felt her heart lurch within her breast. Her feelings toward Edmund would never return to the old level of affection, but if he was in trouble, she would be alone and unprotected: she would not be able to look after Molly and Jordan on her own. Slowly, she crept outside into the yard again, moving cautiously so as not to alert Edmund to her disobedience.

  Baldwin motioned with his hand, and at his signal Edgar and Hugh stopped their horses while he approached the house with Simon and Daniel.

  ‘Godspeed, sirs,’ Edmund offered tentatively as the men reined in, lowering his axe.

  The knight studied him. Edmund was one of a type he had found in towns and villages all over Christendom. He was a hard man, formed by the climate of the moors, weathered and beaten like the moorstone itself. His face was prematurely old, with cracks tracing paths all over it, each etched deeply by sun, wind and rain. His back was bowed with the struggle to produce food in a harsh, inclement land. Sparse brown hair framed his saturnine features, and although his beard was thick, dappled with reddish patches, his pate was bald, the flesh showing oddly pale compared with his face.

  But it was not only his outward appearance that was so familiar to the knight. The man’s face held a kind of unfocused anger and bitterness. It was as if he knew that anyone he might meet was naturally formed to be an enemy, and that enemy would in the end destroy him. It was a look Baldwin had seen on the faces of men and women all over the world when confronted with their lords and rightful masters. His appearance was not improved by his flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes -proof, if Baldwin had needed any, that the man was drunk.

  The knight looked about him at the little yard where this farmer tried to make his living. Before the house was a small plot, criss-crossed with narrow paths, where Edmund grew a sparse collection of weedy vegetables. This early in the year there was not much to show; only a few young bean and pea plants dared raise their heads above the soil, and a couple of cabbages, survivors of the previous year, with the inevitable worm-holes drilled through. The garlic had thrived during the freezing winter, and frail little stems were poking through the mud. His attention moved on. He could recognise the herbs set out further on: hyssop, marjoram, thyme, camomile and rue among others, and all appeared to be growing well in the fresh spring sun.

  At the side of the house was a well, with a barn behind, and Baldwin could see the rails which had once contained a pig. Now there was neither sight nor sound of an animal, and the knight was struck with a sense of dilapidation and decay. It made him frown. If this had been one of his own tenants, he would have seen to it that Edgar had spoken to the man, telling him to pull himself together. People who suffered from misfortune were the responsibility of the parish, and the congregation would often look after them, but the village could only be expected to help those who tried their best. There was no reason for people to put themselves out and give up their own hard-earned food for the indolent or foolish.

  There was a muted clucking from the opposite end of the house, and Baldwin saw the woman. She was standing under the eaves, her frightened gaze flying from one man to another, and then back to her husband. Baldwin had never seen her before, but her pinched, grey features and scrawny figure told him much. The large bruise at her chin told him even more -and any sympathy for the serf in front of him dissipated. The recently married knight had no time for a man who beat his wife.

  ‘Why do you keep on at me, Daniel?’ the farmer was whining. ‘What am I supposed to have done now?’

  Baldwin saw Simon kick his horse forward. The bailiff cleared his throat. ‘You know your master, Squire Herbert, has died?’

  ‘Of course I do! Everyone knows he’s dead - the poor lad.’

  ‘And do you know how he died?’

  Edmund shrugged. ‘I heard he was found at the side of the road. I suppose he was hit by a man on a horse or something.’

  ‘And what if he was hit by a man on a cart?’

  ‘It’s all the same, sir,’ the farmer said, but he looked pale, as if the blood had fled from his face. Baldwin wasn’t sure if Simon noticed, but the woman gave a start as if from fear.

  Meanwhile Simon continued, his voice level and grave, his face impassive. ‘Where were you on that day?’

  ‘Me, sir? I was here.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ snapped Daniel. ‘I saw you on your cart that afternoon. Where had you been?’

  ‘I didn’t kill the lad.’

  ‘I didn’t say you did - but the fact you make that connection is suspicious in its own right,’ the steward stated deliberately.

  Baldwin watched the farmer. He was obviously very scared, but who wouldn’t be? Daniel was the sole representative of the power of the man’s master. The knight raised his hand to silence the steward, and dropped from his horse. ‘Can you fetch me a little ale or something else to drink?’

  Edmund looked surprised, but nodded and shouted over his shoulder to Christiana before ungraciously motioning towards the log. ‘You wish to sit?’ he asked, letting his axe fall to the ground.

  Looking at the mossy lump, Baldwin gave a thin smile and shook his head. ‘No, I am happy to stand, thank you.’

  Christiana soon came out with an ale jug, a cheap pottery drinking horn and a stack of pots resting on a wooden plank. Lifting her makeshift tray, she offered Baldwin the horn.

  The ale was good, he noted with relief. He had regretted his demand almost as soon as he had opened his mouth. Sometimes the ales brewed by poorer wives were utterly undrinkable; the dreadful quality of the grains and the rank herbs they used to try to stop the brew going off conspired to produce a sour beverage which only a fool or a man half-dead from thirst could have desired. This was a good, sweet ale with a malty flavour. ‘It is excellent,’ he congratulated her, and saw the nervous duck of her head at his appreciative comment. With an anxious glance at her husband, she darted off to offer drinks to Simon and Daniel.

  ‘So it should be,’ the farmer grunted. ‘I don’t see why I should have to drink an unhealthy brew’

  Baldwin nodded coldly. As she poured his ale, he had been close enough to observe the bruise on Christiana’s chin, and noted that it was only one of several marks and blemishes on her face. Her husband had taken to beating her regularly – the proof of a bully. The knight was disgusted by the man.

  He returned to the subject. ‘When the young Squire Herbert died, you were out on your cart. He died late in the afternoon, and you were seen at about that time, riding along the road where his body was found. Where had you been?’

  To Simon, still on his horse, it looked as though the farmer was going to deny that he had been out, but Baldwin lifted his hand, and the farmer looked into his eyes. All at once, his gaze dropped, as if in shame, and he nodded.

  ‘I was out to Oakhampton, selling some stuff at the market.’

  Simon drained his pot and lifted himself from his saddle. As Christiana passed, he touched her shoulder and refilled his pot from her jug before leaning on his horse’s withers.

  His friend was watching the farmer intently. ‘You had ale when your business was done?’

  ‘Of course I did! It was a warm day. I only had the two quarts.’

  ‘Why were you there?’ Simon interrupted.

  ‘Our pig escaped during the floods last autumn, and the stupid animal drowned, so I was trying to sell what I could to buy a new one. Not that I got much, since what little I had wasn’t first quality.’ He waved a hand at his decrepit farmyard. ‘Our produce hasn’t been good, not since the famine. So afterwards, I went to the inn to have a quick drink. But I came straight back.’

  ‘You took the direct road?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Daniel interrupted. ‘If you’d wanted to go home directly, you’d not have turned up tow
ards the manor.’ He looked at Simon. ‘Bailiff, there is a fork in the road from Oakhampton. One branch leads here, but the other goes straight to Throwleigh itself.“

  ‘I fancied going past the manor,’ Edmund protested.

  ‘Why?’ pressed Baldwin.

  ‘It was…’

  ‘And don’t forget that if you’re not careful, you might be arrested for killing your master,’ Daniel added pointedly.

  Edmund glowered, and for a moment Baldwin thought he would be silent, but then the farmer lifted his head defiantly. ‘Sir, I’d seen a dead rabbit in the road. It’d only just been killed - maybe by a sling or something. I picked it up, and then I thought I’d better take it to the manor, so I rode on, but there was no one there.’

  ‘Liar! I was at the gateway and saw you ride straight past. You never made any attempt to leave a rabbit or anything else.’