The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (38 page)

‘The people here thought that the apprentice was, too,’ Simon pointed out.

‘True enough.’

‘So if that’s the case, the killer of Serlo was merely saying that he was a lousy master.’

Baldwin frowned at the ground by his boot. ‘Or that he didn’t take enough care of his charge. Surely the most sensible explanation would be that the father of the apprentice considered Serlo too careless and decided to punish him.’

‘If only we knew who the father was,’ Simon said.

‘The priest at Temple said it was a man from the castle,’ Baldwin said.

‘Who do you mean?’ Simon asked, turning to him. ‘Nicholas, the castellan?’

‘He controls this castle and vill in the name of his lord; he has powers through his men-at-arms, and all would fear him if they lived within the reach of his arms,’ Baldwin said. ‘I should think that he would make an excellent suspect.’

‘No. The man is honest, I am sure. There are others, though: I still want to know more about Squire Warin. That fellow seems less than entirely open.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘And he’s not in the castle. So let’s see if we can find him.’

‘Where are you thinking of looking?’ Simon asked, reluctantly rising to his feet.

‘There are few enough places in this vill to rest,’ Baldwin said determinedly, rising to his feet.

The Lady Anne couldn’t bear to see Nicholas, not now, while he looked so desperate. Instead, she went out to her orchard and little garden, seeking peace and tranquillity in solitude.

The orchard had been here for many years, a small space set aside for apples and some pears, but when Anne first arrived it had been terribly overgrown and ill-kempt. No one had pruned the trees in years, and the farther side of the orchard,
which had originally been planted with cider apples, was filled with fallen boughs. Anne had set to with a will, having the dead trees cleared and setting out a number of low turf banks which could be used as benches in fine weather. It was to one of these that she walked now, sitting and staring back along the valley to the west.

‘I thought I might find you here.’

She did not turn to face him. ‘Gervase, I wanted some peace.’

‘I think we need to talk, my love. There is much to discuss.’

‘We lay together, Gervase. That is all. There is nothing to talk about.’

‘And what if your child is born early? So early that even Nicholas realises it isn’t his?’

That was her fear. To have been cuckolded might break his heart. ‘I wish …’

‘What?’ he pressed. ‘That you’d agreed to accept me before you took the older man’s hand?’

She gazed at him stonily. ‘I love my husband, Gervase. Don’t deceive yourself.’

‘I loved him myself,’ he said earnestly. ‘I still do, a little. But I adore you, my love. You should have taken me when we first met.’

‘You had enough women. No doubt you still have.’

‘No! Even Julia cannot tempt me. I won’t have anything to do with her – I haven’t seen her in months.’

‘Athelina was still coming to the castle until recently.’

‘She was trying to persuade me to give her money. I wouldn’t, though.’

Anne looked up at him. His face was filled with a strange mixture of dread and yearning, as though he feared what she might say or do. ‘Did she go to you and threaten us? Did she tell you she’d seen us lying together that day in the meadow?’

He waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes. She said that, but it meant nothing. I told her I’d kill her if anything got out about it, and that was all.’

‘She did see us, so Serlo told me the truth,’ Anne said with a blank stare at the distance.

‘Anne, why don’t we run away from here? I can protect you! All we need is a small cottage somewhere away from Sir Henry’s lands, and we can live decently enough. Perhaps I could find a new position as steward somewhere, and we …’

‘What, run away?’ she said, her mouth falling open in astonishment. And then, cruelly, she couldn’t help but laugh at him.

‘Do you really think I’d give up my warm home, my tapestries, my tunics –
my life
– to run away with an impoverished steward? My God, Gervase, you must be mad! I lay with you, and mind you hear me carefully, I lay with you that time because I thought my husband might be dead. I was lonely and desperate, thinking that I might have lost my only protector, and sought another man who could look after me. The only man about here was you; there was no one else. I do not love you, Gervase. I don’t think I could. But if Nicholas was dead, I might have considered you as an alternative. That was all.’

‘Our child, though. He’s proof you love me.’

‘He’s proof that I lay with a man some months ago,’ she said dismissively. ‘If he is born early, I shall call in a midwife who’ll swear on her parents’ graves that the child is before full term and that I and the babe both need careful nursing. Nicholas will never guess. And you won’t tell him anything, Gervase.’ She stood and approached him slowly. ‘Because if you do, Nicholas will destroy you utterly. He’ll cut your ballocks off and stuff them in your mouth. So be very careful you keep your mouth sealed.’

‘I wouldn’t let news of this get out,’ he protested, but he was shivering like a man with the ague.

‘Be sure you don’t,’ she said, and then she faced him with a strange expression in her eyes. ‘Do you mean to say that it
was
you? Did you murder Athelina and Serlo to keep this all secret?’

He was too appalled to answer. Instead, his heart bleeding with shame, sadness and bitterness at the rejection of his love, he let his head hang, and turned his feet back towards the castle.

While Simon and Baldwin made their way to the alehouse, Sir Jules and Roger had already passed through the vill seeking the Constable at his home.

Letitia answered the door without enthusiasm when she saw who stood outside. ‘Coroner. Godspeed.’

‘Good wife, is your man at home?’

‘No, he’s …’ she glanced up towards the alehouse. ‘He’s gone out.’

‘Perhaps we could wait for him?’

‘He may be gone a long while,’ she said evasively. She had only this moment returned from church, where she had deposited Aumery with his mother. A few prayers with them had initially soothed her, but this fool’s appearance had unsettled her again. Where
was
her Alex? He wanted to see Richer dead, but please God, don’t let him have had the chance. Please let Richer have escaped back to the castle!

Sir Jules pursed his lips. ‘What would you say, Roger? Where can we seek the man?’

Roger smiled and bobbed his head at the woman, turning to gaze back down the track. ‘Perhaps he has gone to the church to see his sister-in-law?’

Nodding, Sir Jules led the way from the house. ‘We may also ask the woman Muriel whether she can help us.’

‘I am not sure that this would be a propitious time to speak to her.’ Roger was most reluctant to question a woman when she had just lost her husband as well as her son. The thought of interrupting her grief was sorely unpleasant.

‘I hardly like the thought myself,’ Jules said, demonstrating an empathy that surprised Roger. ‘But I’m the King’s man in this part of the county: I have two other corpses I should hold an inquest on, I’ve deaths here in this vill which I haven’t satisfactorily resolved, and there is news of Lord Mortimer’s escape! What must I do to return to Bodmin and normality? Clearly I must solve these cases to the best of my ability, and then take my leave.’

‘We should speak with the Constable first,’ Roger proposed.

‘If he’s at the church, we can do so. If not, the woman Muriel may know something. It is worth asking her. That is all I suggest – that we speak to her.’

‘You could be adding to a mother’s grief.’

‘You are a Coroner’s clerk, man! Aren’t you used to grief?’

Roger studied his master with the attitude of a gardener surveying a colony of slugs in his cabbages. ‘I have served as Coroner’s clerk these last many years, and I have observed all forms of misery, of loss, of injustice, of devastation. I’ve seen more mothers grieving for their children, more widows bemoaning the loss of husbands, more sisters missing their siblings, than you have ridden leagues. Do not think to preach to me my duties,
Master
Coroner. I know them all too well.’

‘Meaning you think I don’t?’ the Coroner bridled.

‘Meaning I don’t think it is yet right to intrude upon her sorrow.’

‘Well, I do,’ Sir Jules said firmly, and set off towards the church.

‘Like many a bull-headed fool, you have less blood in your heart than does your damned sword,’ the clerk muttered under his breath. ‘God save me from men like you if I should ever need compassion!’

The Coroner strode straight to the door like a man who sought to complete an unpleasant duty with as much speed as possible. Roger uttered a short prayer for Muriel before he entered, crossing his breast in the manner of a priest helping a man at the gallows.

Inside, the church smelled of blood. Although the vill’s women had tried to clean Serlo’s body as best they could, the mess at his skull was foul. Roger could see the little patches of white where flies’ eggs were already laid. Soon those heralds of putrefaction would hatch and begin the process of converting this corpse into dust as God demanded.

He knelt and bowed his head to the altar, crossing himself again, then stood and walked forward to the little group of people at the smaller body.

This, like Serlo’s, was lighted by candles, but the tiny corpse was saved from the ultimate degradation by women who fanned at approaching flies and kept them at bay while Muriel knelt at her boy’s side. Hamelin’s face was undamaged and he simply looked like a babe fast asleep.

Adam was with her, and he had a hand set upon her shoulder in much the way that a brother would. It was good, Roger thought, to see a priest who apparently believed in the vows of chastity. This man did not look the sort who, in other circumstances, might allow his hand to fall and fondle her thigh or buttocks. If anything, there was a hint of distaste in his face – but Muriel was not looking her best. Although she wore a clean dressing about her head, she appeared pale and unkempt. Today of all days she had taken no care with her looks, and no surprise. The poor woman was, as Roger had predicted, all but beside herself with grief.

Seeing Sir Jules, Aumery snivelled and grabbed hold of his mother’s skirts, as though he expected the knight to whip him like a cur from his path. The knight was an intimidating figure, without doubt, and as a lad even Roger would have been alarmed by such a tall, stern-faced man marching up to him. In Aumery’s case, the appearance of dread was increased by his silence. Tears ran down his face from his wide eyes, but he made no noise, as though so much pain had been piled on his shoulders that even death itself held little fear for him.

His mother looked up on feeling her son tug at her skirt, and followed his gaze. She stared at Sir Jules unblinking.

‘Good woman, I have to ask you about your husband. Do you know who killed him?’

Roger flinched at the sound of his voice. Usually Sir Jules was nervous in front of a crowd, but here, in among the women and children, he sounded like the worst chivalric bully. It little mattered that he felt deeply for Muriel, that he hated being here, that he loathed having to intrude on her grief: he felt it was his duty to demand answers, and so he would ask his questions.

‘You come here to hector me?’ Muriel asked hoarsely. ‘Leave me to my poor angel! He can’t be dead! He may wake yet. Look at him – he looks well enough. Perhaps he’s only sleeping.’ There was a panicked tone to her voice, as though she knew already that all hope was vain, but still she refused to admit defeat.

‘Your husband was not liked. Most men here hated him. Do you know which could have killed him?’ the Coroner pressed on, his left fist clenched about his sword-hilt as though it was the only thing that kept him upright.

‘I know of no one who could have done this to us.’ Muriel began to weep. ‘No one could want to widow me. What have I done to be punished like this? All my life I’ve tried to be good. I’ve struggled to be a worthy daughter, then wife, then mother, and now all is taken from me!’

‘Woman, the Church will protect you,’ Adam said soothingly, patting her shoulder while glowering malevolently towards Sir Jules.

‘Protect me how? If there’s no food, I’ll starve, and so will Aumery. Poor boy!’

Roger saw how Aumery clutched his mother’s tunic, his eyes still fixed upon Sir Jules. There was terror in his face, the terror of incomprehension, of confusion. His mother was in such a lunatic,
frenzied state, his father was gone, and his brother dead too. All in a few short hours.

‘Sir Jules,’ Roger whispered. ‘We can do no good here.’

‘Can you think of no one, woman? No one who could have done this to your husband?’ Sir Jules pressed relentlessly.

She sobbed into her forearms. ‘I know no one! No one!’

Aumery didn’t quite understand what was happening. Father was dead, like the hog last year. That had died too. But Aumery wasn’t sure what death was. Father had simply stopped being Father. He lay there like Father, but with his face blood-encrusted, and without the movement that made him Father. No noise, no breath. It was odd, and only scary when he thought about it. Hamelin was the same, all flat and breathless like a little doll.