Squire Throwleigh's Heir

by Michael Jecks

Wat beamed at them. He felt wonderful again. The half pint of wine which Petronilla had given him was coursing through his veins like liquid fire, and he felt more alive and awake now than he had all day. He wanted to run and laugh and tell jokes and play - but no one else was about to enjoy the sport with him. Petronilla was fun: he should go and find her, maybe persuade her to drink some more wine with him. But he wasn’t sure where she had gone. It was sad, especially since he was expected to sit with these two children and look after them when he wanted to go and find other adults like himself.

  Alan sat quietly on a stool near the door. Jordan remained standing by the door, staring awkwardly down at the paved floor. To Wat, both looked filled with trepidation, and he felt sorry for them. It wasn’t fair that he should be complaining about having to entertain them, not when they had obviously been through so much.

  Wat was a generous lad. He felt much better after trying the best wine in the buttery: it had cheered him no end, and he was filled with the conviction that the same cure could be worked on the two boys. He glanced at them, wondering, and swiftly arrived at the conclusion that the only means of testing his hypothesis was to try it out.

  He let himself down from his barrel and went to the door. Peeping out, he could see no one, and grinned to himself.

  ‘Feeling thirsty?’ he asked the two visitors.

  Baldwin dropped lightly from his horse as a groom took the bridle. ‘Simon, something about all we have heard rings false. I want to speak to the girl Petronilla.’

  In the kitchen, Petronilla cleaned the weeping fluid from the wound, while a groom threaded a borrowed needle. Kneeling at van Relenghes’s side, he gave the Fleming a grin to try to reassure him, but as he stood poised, van Relenghes looked over at Petronilla.

  ‘Pretty maid, I beg that you do me this service. Your touch must be softer than a groom’s, and I hope your hand will be steadier.’

  The groom gave her the needle, and she stood indecisively, staring down at him. Then, with a little sigh, and while the groom resignedly took hold of van Relenghes’s legs to stop him thrashing around too much, she knelt and pinched the two flaps of skin together, stabbing the needle through and tying the thread.

  It was hideous. She could feel the glittering, almost insane stare of his eyes, fixed on her with an awful concentration; each time she jabbed through his flesh, she saw his fists tighten at his side, although he made no sound and no other movement. The only sign of his torment was the sweat which appeared first like a fine dew on his brow, and then ran together into small streams that flowed over his temples; it was reflected by her own, which she had to keep wiping away with her sleeve.

  When it was over, she rested back on her haunches. Van Relenghes closed his eyes, once, and opened them to smile at her with gratitude. Then, almost instantly, his eyes closed again, and he was unconscious. While the groom smeared egg-white over the inflamed scar, she walked weakly from the room, and stood leaning against the doorpost, a bilious roiling in her belly. She was sure she would never forget the sight or feel of the needle puncturing his skin.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Looking up, she saw the serious knight. ‘Oh, I am all right, Sir Baldwin. I have just been helping that Fleming, stitching his wound. But now I think I have to speak to you.’

  ‘Ah, good. I was hoping you would have decided to help us.’

  He led her into the hall. There, to Petronilla’s secret fear, she found herself walking into what looked like a court of law. Baldwin took his seat next to his friend Simon. Flanking them on one side were Thomas, sulking, and Godfrey, while on the other were Daniel and the bailiff’s wife. When she glanced around, she saw Hugh sitting behind her, near the door.

  ‘Petronilla, we have not spoken to you before about the events on the day Herbert, your master, died. We have heard that you were out on the road that day, and that you spoke to van Relenghes and to his man here - do you remember that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What did you talk to them about?’

  ‘It was nothing, sir. This man’s master was just chatting.

  “Well, I suppose he was trying to find out anything he could about my Lady, but I told him nothing.‘

  ‘You ran off up the hill when you heard something?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There was a shout, and when I looked up the slope I saw Stephen there, trying to beat a boy - Anney’s lad, Alan. Well, I know what Stephen’s temper can be like, so I hurried up there as quickly as I could.’

  ‘Why? Did you think he could hurt the boy?’

  Petronilla gave him a nervous look. ‘I don’t know - Stephen can be quite severe when he thinks a boy has been making fun of him. I just wanted to make sure that Alan was all right.’

  ‘What did you find when you got up there?’

  ‘Alan had escaped. Stephen was very irritated, and if he’d caught the lad, I think he’d have given him the thrashing of his life. So I talked to him and calmed him.’

  ‘After you had spoken to him, as you say,’ Baldwin interrupted, ‘how did he appear to you?’

  ‘He was fine, Sir Baldwin,’ Petronilla smiled. ‘Quiet and calm again.’

  ‘How long were you with him?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘And then he went on down to the stream?’ Baldwin pressed.

  ‘I… I suppose so. He said he wanted to think…’ she said. She held Baldwin’s gaze as she felt the colour rise to her cheeks.

  ‘Did he say what about?’

  ‘It was something I had told him,’ she said with spirit. ‘A secret.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘A confession, I understand. It strikes me as being very convenient.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Petronilla,’ Baldwin said, and leaned forward to stare. ‘You expect us to believe that you went up there to protect a lad from the violent rage of this priest, and yet when you arrived, you calmed him in a moment? He can hardly have been over-fearsome if you could cool his passion so swiftly. I think it is more likely to have been the case that you told him something so terrible that it forced his mind from retribution on this child.’

  She paled under the onslaught of his logic. ‘No, it was nothing like that!’ she protested. ‘I just managed to cool him -I can, I know him well.’

  ‘How do you know him so well?’

  His eyes were horrible, she decided. All black now, as if there was nothing but a void behind them. Petronilla tried to pull her gaze away, but couldn’t. His frowning stare was compelling, and she found herself shaking her head as if in response to some unspoken question.

  Simon wasn’t sure what chord the knight had struck with the girl, but it was clear that she was scared, and that led the bailiff to the obvious conclusion. ‘Petronilla, did you see Stephen murder your young master?’

  She shook her head emphatically. ‘No!’

  Baldwin leaned back. ‘But do you think he murdered Herbert, Petronilla? Because I am sure you do.’

  ‘No, sir, oh, no!’ she declared, and the tears sprang from her eyes at last.

  It had been so hard, so terribly hard, to keep it hidden all this time. To think that any man could stoop to so heinous a crime as the murder of a little child was revolting, but that it should have been done only a few yards from her, was awful! She saw that none of them believed her. Condemnation was on every face ranged before her; they had all, she could tell, convicted her in their own minds for keeping quiet about the murder of her own master.

  ‘No, sir, it’s not that!’ she said with a sudden passion, her head shaking from side to side. ‘He couldn’t have; really, he couldn’t!’

  But it was obvious that, however impassioned, her denial was of no use. Baldwin and Simon conferred quietly, occasionally nodding towards Petronilla. She longed to tell them the truth, but daren’t. Stephen had explained to her so many times, hadn’t he? She must remain silent about their love. There was no danger to him, for even a full ecclesiastical court could only force a cleric to ab
jure the realm, banishing him for life - and that, Stephen had said, would only be for the most heinous of crimes… but Petronilla could be in real danger. She would be looked upon as a prostitute: no more than a common whore. But that was before Herbert had been murdered.

  ‘Bring Brother Stephen here,’ Simon said, and Hugh went quickly from the room.

  Petronilla felt Jeanne touch her arm, and the maid followed her to a bench where she was given a space to seat herself. She wiped her nose and eyes on her apron, and then gave herself up to her grief, weeping quietly as they awaited the arrival of the priest.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘What is all this, Sir Baldwin? If you are prosecuting someone for the murder of my Lady’s son, I think she has the right to be present.’

  Anney stood in the doorway, her mistress behind her. Lady Katharine looked as if she would be happier to have remained in her room, especially after the scene earlier with Thomas, but her maid was filled with indignation at the very idea that her lady might have been deprived of hearing any of the details of her son’s death.

  Simon stood. ‘My apologies, Lady Katharine. I saw no need to distress you further, and I had thought that when you left us here, it was so that you could be spared the details.’

  ‘Have you found my son’s murderer?’

  The bailiff motioned to a seat. ‘Perhaps you should sit while we talk to your priest, my Lady.’

  ‘Why? What possible help could that fool of a preacher be to you?’ Lady Katharine asked in genuine surprise. She had never had much regard for Stephen of York. His skills as an orator were those of a man who had never learned his letters.

  ‘Perhaps Stephen himself can let us know,’ Baldwin said, and as he spoke, Stephen walked in, but this was a very different man from the solemn and confident priest who had so recently buried his master in the churchyard. He strode in with Edgar and Hugh behind him, wrathfully staring around him at all the People in the room.

  ‘Under whose orders am I detained here?’ he burst out. ‘I nave services to conduct in the church, and am being kept here against my will and against the teachings of Christ! Who dares to think he has the right to hold me here?’

  Baldwin nodded to Edgar, and his man swung a chair forward, putting it down behind the priest.

  Stephen turned and kicked it over, shouting, ‘Don’t set out chairs for me as if I am some kind of invalid! Answer my question: who is responsible for delaying me from the service in Throwleigh? Whoever it is shall be reported to the Bishop of Exeter.’

  ‘Be silent!’ Simon roared. His sudden bellow made even Stephen gape.

  ‘That is better,’ he continued, but with a controlled aggression lying beneath his words, and he stood and walked slowly towards the priest. ‘Because we want to keep our tempers, don’t we? Otherwise, when we lose our tempers, we can forget ourselves, can’t we? And then we can strike out at whoever is nearest, isn’t that so? Even a young lad of eleven whose only offence was shooting his sling at you. You nearly killed Alan, didn’t you? He thought he was about to die, and so did others, like Petronilla here. That was why she ran up towards you so swiftly, so that she could protect Anney’s child. And Anney herself had followed you up the hill, because she was worried about you.

  ‘But even though Petronilla calmed you, after she went away another boy did the same thing, didn’t he? He fired another bullet at you, and that meant you were brought to the boiling point again. You were wild as an angry boar! You had to find the brat, and teach him a lesson he would never forget. So up the hill you went, and you didn’t stop until you’d caught the perpetrator - and when you had, by God you laid into him, didn’t you?’

  ‘No! Look - I couldn’t have killed him.’

  Baldwin observed all this with interest. A man’s reaction to the impact of an accusation was often more revealing and gave him more of a clue about their guilt than what they might say.

  This priest showed no hint of shame; he didn’t have the appearance of a man who feared any form of conviction. He was simply filled with wrath. Stephen radiated blind passion, as if he might even leap over the floor and strike Simon where he stood.

  His attitude made Baldwin reflect again on the evidence he had heard so far. Surely there was little chance that he could truly be innocent, not after the words of all the witnesses? And there was the matter of the footprints in the mud: those of a woman and a half-shod man.

  ‘Stephen, please take off your right shoe.’

  The priest turned to him and drew in a deep breath to blast him, but as he did so, Edgar went to his side. ‘What in God’s name for?’ he managed.

  ‘At the scene of the murder a shoe was found,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘We think it was yours. If you refuse to try it on and let us see how it matches your other ones, we shall have to wonder why.’

  But the priest’s face had fallen. ‘You found it?’ he repeated. ‘Where?’

  ‘Where you had been looking for it,’ Simon told him. ‘Down near the stream.’

  ‘I knew it must be there,’ Stephen said, and slowly he sighed, picked up his chair, and sat in it. ‘Very well. I admit the shoe is mine.’

  ‘You confess to the murder?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Good God, no! I caught Herbert all right, and gave him a good thrashing, but that was all. He ran off crying.’

  ‘Why did you beat him yet again?’ Lady Katharine asked, her voice strained.

  ‘He attacked me with a sling, Lady’

  ‘And you killed him,’ Simon said.

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘You were the last person to be seen with the boy, and you were alone.’

  ‘I deny killing him.’

  ‘Why did you take off your shoe?’

  ‘Bailiff, I was making love,’ he admitted quietly, shamefacedly avoiding the faces ranged about him which stared at him with such disgust. There was no sympathy in any of their eyes, only contempt, unutterable contempt. The priest began to feel a creeping anxiety.

  It was Thomas who broke the silence. ‘Bailiff, he admits his guilt. You don’t have jurisdiction, but the victim was my nephew. I demand the right to seek justice my own way. Why do you not leave us? I will see to his punishment, and no one need ever know.’

  Stephen stared. ‘I am a priest! If you harm me, you will be damned for eternity!’

  ‘You think so? I think you are already accursed. When your soul leaves you, it will roast for ever, and I see no need to delay it.’

  ‘Bailiff, I look to you for protection!’

  Simon refused to meet his urgent stare, and Stephen threw up his hands. ‘Very well, I admit it! My Lady, I am sorry, but I have to confess my guilt. I apologise, it’s not something I should have wished to have to tell you, but I have no choice now. It isn’t my fault; the temptation has always been there, and God knows, I have struggled against it! But there are times when even a priest is weak, and for me it is when there is a pretty face and an open, enquiring mind. I can refuse most things, but not the two attractions together.’

  ‘You admit it?’ Simon burst out.

  ‘I can’t see how I can avoid it; Thomas will murder me from ignorance, else.’

  ‘You confess to killing Herbert?’ Simon confirmed.

  ‘What? Of course not!’

  ‘You deny the murder, then?’ Simon demanded. ‘You admit to being a pederast, but flinch at—’

  The priest’s face underwent a strange transformation. It went oddly pale, almost a greenish-white, before taking on a bright puce tint, so strong it was almost purple.

  ‘What? You dare to… You have the… You accuse me of something like… You accuse me of buggery? Of sodomy, you devil? Are you prepared to try me with a sword, you obnoxious bastard! Give me a sword, you shit, and I’ll put you to trial with a man, by God’s own power. With His help I’ll teach you to…’

  Baldwin held up his hand and stared at the spitting priest. ‘If you deny it, who were you talking about? You said you were prey to an attraction - wh
o was it?’

  ‘It was me, sir!’ said Petronilla, and she burst into tears all over again.

  There was utter silence. Petronilla had thrown her arm around her face, and now sobbed into her elbow; Lady Katharine was weeping silently, the tears streaming down her cheeks; Anney had her hand over her brow to conceal her tears; even Jeanne felt the drops falling from some kind of sympathetic reaction. The men simply stared at each other.

  The exception was the priest, who stood glaring balefully at the bailiff, then gave a quick gesture as of disgust and fell back into his seat.

  Baldwin was the first to recover. ‘So it was Petronilla who walked with you down to the stream?’

  ‘Yes. And while we were there, I am afraid I took advantage of her again. It was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I have asked God for His forgiveness many times since then.’