Sword of Shame (24 page)

‘His older brother?' Baldwin pressed.

‘Yes. Godfrey was his name. He fell from his horse into the river and drowned. He was only fourteen. Before then, the two families had been close, I have heard. But not since his death. And then a few years later his poor brother Ralph also died when an ox fell on him.'

‘Sir John has not wished to remain on friendly terms since then?' Baldwin asked sharply, his eyes going to Roger.

‘If you seek to raise old troubles, let me ease your mind,' Roger responded easily. ‘It was Sir William who would have nothing more to do with them, rather than the other way about. Poor Godfrey died of an accident. It's common enough. But afterwards, I think my brother was a little embarrassed when he persuaded Lady Alice's parents to let him wed her. Perhaps he felt that Sir John would have expected her to marry him in his brother's place.'

‘He was,' Lady Alice said, her eyes downcast. ‘Sir Baldwin, you have to appreciate that my husband is extremely pious. He felt almost guilty to have taken me, his best friend's woman, but he loved me.'

‘Pious?'

‘There is no man more so,' she said.

 

Bow was a little town set on the side of a hill with a broad road running through the middle. Baldwin and Simon approached it from the south, riding two fresh
mounts loaned to them by Lady Alice, guided by the dour lawyer Denis.

Their way was sheltered by great elms and oaks on either side, and there was a large forest at one point, where the road narrowed alarmingly.

‘Do you know where this man Coule was found?' Baldwin asked as they rode.

‘It was just up here.' Denis turned in his saddle, a hand on the cantle, a leg crooked over the withers to talk more easily to them, a man well used to riding. ‘Hob found him a short way along this lane there.'

They were trailing down a hillside that fell away to marshy land at the bottom. He was indicating a green lane leading westwards.

‘What else lies down there?' Baldwin asked.

‘Only the mill where Hob lives. He was first finder.'

‘What sort of a man is he?' Simon asked.

‘Hob? Reliable. Bright. He's lived there all his life, I hear.'

Baldwin narrowed his eyes. ‘Good. Now, let us have a quick look at Coule's resting place. Show us where he was found.'

Shrugging unconcernedly, their guide twitched his reins and led the way down the track. Soon they could hear only the swish of grass against the horses' legs, the gentle padding of hooves against soft earth.

Simon took a deep, contented breath. He had missed riding like this since he'd been given his new post in Dartmouth, and the opportunity to enjoy the sunny weather on a good horse was not one he could turn down. Besides, he loved these little trails that crisscrossed the county. Here the road was little used. He could see that from the way that the grass had grown, trampled only a little. A pair of ruts at either side showed where cart wheels were likely to go when a cart came down this way, but as he knew all too well, it was
a rare event. Mostly people were forced to use packhorses on the twisting, steep hills of Devon.

They had just turned a bend in the lane when Denis stopped.

‘Just here, I think. This is where the inquest was held,' he pointed to some bushes.

Baldwin, as usual, was keen to drop from his mount and investigate the scene. To Simon's eye there was little attractive about a place like this: it was nothing more than a scene of destruction and death–but at least for once there was no body. The inquest was over, so the body would have been buried.

Here, he told himself, there was no corpse to study, and with that cheery thought came relief. He sprang down from his horse and wandered over to join Baldwin.

‘What of it, Baldwin?'

‘Stand back, you're blocking the light!'

Simon smiled and leaned against a tree nearby. There was a twig on the ground at his feet, and he picked it up contemplatively. Taking out his knife, he began to whittle at it, conscious of their guide staring at them both. Simon looked up at him. ‘He likes to get his hands messy when there's a dead body,' he said helpfully.

Denis looked at Baldwin warily, as though suddenly aware that he was in the presence of a lunatic.

As he watched, Baldwin grasped brambles, pulling them away so he might study the ground more closely. At times, he peered at the stems as though accusing them. At last, he stood and walked about the area, his features scowling darkly at the ground, at the trees, in among the bushes, under piles of rotting leaves.

‘There is little to be said about this place,' he said as he went to rejoin Simon. ‘It has been so severely beaten down by the inquest. The coroner must have
demanded all the juries from the area, from the look of it.'

‘He did, sir.'

‘They have trampled any evidence into the mire,' Baldwin grumbled. ‘What on earth you and I can be expected to learn, I do not know.'

Simon let his stick fall and subjected the land to a brief survey. ‘What did the coroner conclude?'

‘That Coule had been killed by some unknown footpad. He was stabbed in the breast, knocked on the head, and his hands slashed. Nobody knew who could have done this.'

‘Clearly a violent attack, then. And perhaps committed by someone who was known to him,' Baldwin said.

‘Why say that?'

‘Wounds in the front. A stranger would try to close with his prey from behind. Only a friend or associate would get up close enough to attack from in front. Tell me, did you see Coule that day?'

‘Me?' Denis squeaked. ‘Why me? It was me suggested you should be asked to come and hold an inquest into the theft!'

‘Madam Alice said you live in the castle. I merely wondered.'

‘I saw her when Coule arrived. She fled the hall to seek Sir William.'

‘And you were there later to lock up the chest.'

‘I saw the key in the lid's lock. I turned it, that's all.'

‘Where was Sir William?'

‘He was in the garden behind the castle, talking with his steward and bailiff. That was where madam Alice found him.'

‘His brother?' Simon asked.

‘He said he was hunting.'

‘What does that mean?'

Denis sneered. ‘He is always looking for another ale or wine or wench from the vill to slake his lusts. He often goes out and doesn't return for a day. Usually he's up at the inn at Bow, although sometimes he rides out as far as Spreyton. He wasn't at the castle itself.'

‘Did you ride out?'

‘No! I was working on matters for Sir William in my chamber. I am no murderer!'

Baldwin nodded. ‘I think it's clear enough why the man died here. He was chased from the main road, hurried to here, where he was killed at bay.'

‘Why would the man want him here?' Simon wondered.

‘The nearest house would be the miller's,' Denis said helpfully. ‘Perhaps he sought safety there?'

‘Perhaps. How did madam Alice react to Coule turning up at the castle?'

‘She was surprised, I think. Who could have expected him to arrive unannounced?'

‘Who indeed?' Baldwin said.

‘I was in my chamber, and later I heard the master ask where the man was, and that was that.'

‘No hue and cry?' Simon asked.

‘No one thought he had stolen anything, let alone the sword. He was the family's enemy, but he was often at the castle.'

‘What of the miller?' Simon asked. ‘Millers often have disputes with others when folk reckon the miller's charging too much. Is there bad feeling generally about this miller? Or was there any between Coule and the miller themselves?'

‘Them? No. Not that I've heard. Hob is a good man. Not the sort to upset people. He's fair in his business.'

‘Did Hob and Coule get on well?' Simon asked, squinting back along the track they had taken. ‘Could Hob have killed him and stolen the sword?'

‘What would a miller do with a sword?'

There was no answer. Simon looked westwards. ‘This path goes to the mill? Where then?'

‘It turns north up to Bow.'

‘Where did this Coule live?'

‘Up near Clannaborough Cross'

‘Which is where, roughly?'

Denis sighed. ‘It's over the boundaries of my lord's lands. I don't know.'

‘Perhaps you should guess, then,' Simon suggested nastily.

‘North east, I suppose.'

‘So when he came down here, Coule was not heading even remotely in the right direction,' Simon noted.

‘Why come this way, then?' Baldwin wondered. ‘I think we ought to ask this helpful miller.'

 

Hob was at his vegetables when he heard the horses approaching, and he stood up, leaning on his shovel. It was rare that a man would come this way to visit him. His mill was popular when there was grain to be milled, but now, in the early summer, there was little custom.

A good thing, too. While the river was full and the waters rushed past the mill's wheel, he could often find himself overwhelmed. Luckily that tended to be after the harvest, and when the grain was dried well enough. Now, though, was the time when he tended to look to the cogs and see to it that his machine was in excellent condition for when the people brought in their valuable sacks. And made sure that his own garden was growing well.

‘Masters,' he called as the three men appeared, and eyed them cautiously. A man was wise to be wary.

Baldwin snapped. ‘You are Hob the miller? I am the Keeper of the King's Peace. My friend here is bailiff to Abbot Champeaux.'

As he explained that he wanted to ask about the man Hob had found, Hob nodded resignedly. ‘Aye, master. I'll answer any questions you have.'

‘Did he often come this way?'

‘Coule? No, hardly ever, I'd say. He'd take the direct road. Now and again he would come here when he had need of my mill–their manor's mill broke last year and they had to use ours.'

‘We heard that he was at the castle to discuss some matter that was before the courts. It is thought that he died on his way home afterwards. Do you know of any affair that could have brought him this way?'

Hob gave a shy grin at that. ‘I'm just a miller, sir. They don't talk to me about things like that.'

Simon nodded, and said, ‘Tell us about the day you found the body. Where was it, and did you see anything odd about it?'

Hob sighed, let his hoe fall, and jerked his chin towards the mill. ‘You want an ale? It's hot out here doing the garden.'

‘That would be good,' Simon said with a smile.

‘But sirs, you were supposed to be coming with me to Bow to meet my lord, Sir William,' Denis objected.

‘You may tell him we'll be with him when we're ready,' Baldwin said.

‘I can't say that to my master!' Denis protested.

But then, looking at Baldwin's steady eye, he found that in all likelihood, he would prefer even Sir William's wrath to this man's.

 

‘This is the best ale I've tasted in some weeks,' Simon said, smacking his lips.

‘You dislike the ale at my home?' Baldwin growled. ‘You drank enough of it!'

‘It is good, but this, this is nectar!'

Hob smiled and nodded at the compliment. ‘I
learned brewing early. When a man spends his life breathing in the dust from the flour, any drink takes on a new importance!'

‘So tell me, Hob,' Simon said. ‘What is all this about the man who died? We've heard how unpopular he was with the serfs on his estates, and it seems that the de Tracys had cause to dislike him, if the rumours about his stealing the sword are true.'

‘Was there any sign of a sword near the body?' Baldwin asked.

Hob spat into the dirt of the floor and studied the puddle gobbet. ‘If it was, I wouldn't have touched it!'

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a baffled glance. It was Baldwin who asked mildly, ‘Why?'

‘Don't you know what that sword was? It was the assassin's weapon.'

Simon smiled with blank confusion. ‘You say that Sir William or Roger his brother is a murderer?'

‘Not them, no. But it was Sir William de Tracy who was there with the other murderers when they martyred the saint.'

‘Good Christ!' Baldwin murmured. ‘Of course!'

Simon looked blankly from him to Hob. ‘What?'

‘De Tracy…I had forgotten my history. You have forgotten the martyrdom of St Thomas? At Canterbury?'

‘Oh!'

‘St Thomas a Becket sought to confound the king, and the king shouted out to demand whether no man would rid him of his troublesome priest, so they say. Three of his knights, seeking his approval, took to horse that same night and crossed the channel at their first opportunity. They rode as swift as death to the cathedral, and there they slayed the archbishop in his own church.'

Simon crossed himself. ‘To murder in a church…they must have been mad!'

‘This is that very sword that Sir William de Tracy used to execute the poor saint. So you'll see why I wouldn't touch it myself,' Hob said. ‘I couldn't. It must be cursed.'

‘What happened to him?' Simon asked.

Baldwin answered, speaking softly. ‘He and the other three rode on many adventures, but their crime would not leave them. The guilt and shame was ever at their minds. They rode from Canterbury to Sussex, and there while they ate, the very table on which they had placed their armour and weapons tipped up and threw the lot onto the floor. As it became clear that they were shunned by all men, the King advised them to ride north to live in Scotland, for the Pope had excommunicated them for their crime, but when they arrived, they found that the king of the Scots wanted them arrested, and the people wished to see them hang. So they rode back mournfully to the king whom they had tried to serve. None would sit with them, nor share a meal with them. Even the dogs refused the scraps from their bowls.