The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (33 page)

Glancing across to Baldwin as they rode in through the main gate, he saw the same easy smile on the knight’s face. He too was missing his wife, the Lady Jeanne, and the chagrin he would feel at failing to complete this investigation must be leavened with the knowledge that he would see his lady that little bit sooner.

Aye, Simon thought, it was good to have a wife.

And then that niggling sensation returned to him. A feeling that he was being less than honest to himself and to his wife, let alone to the memory of the dead women and their children. He was not concerned about Serlo, for the miller had been a brutish man, prepared to use violence against anyone smaller or weaker than him. Although the priest John had implied he might have been different, no one else thought much of Serlo. The miller seemed to have shrugged off the death of his apprentice, but had harped on about the cost of it – the fines and expenses he must suffer. John could argue that Serlo was misunderstood, but as far
as Simon was concerned, Serlo was a nasty piece of work who was no loss to anyone. It didn’t matter if his killer wasn’t found.

Yet Serlo had been murdered. His death was a crime.

Surely Simon could forget this case and return to Lydford. It was what his wife deserved.

But Meg, were he to die, murdered, would at least expect someone to try to find the murderer. If a man were to kill Simon’s son, he would like to think that someone would be prepared to seek the killer, even if that son were a brute. It would be intolerable to think that he would go unrevenged, that no one would seek to impose justice of some sort.

With a grunt of irritation, he realised that he could not give up the matter just yet. He must persevere, do all he could to learn what had really happened here, and even if he discovered who had killed Athelina, he must also try to find Serlo’s killer.

Simon could not flee homewards yet.

John cleaned himself again at the trough, and busied himself about his little church to keep his mind from less pleasant thoughts.

He might have to leave this place. If the truth was to be released about his support of Earl Thomas’s family, there was no escape, and John didn’t trust that clerk, Roger. He rarely trusted any clerks, but the man with the Coroner seemed to have no sympathy. John would be better – safer – in a convent. Whether or not Sir Henry sought to have him removed was irrelevant: the fact was, the King could make life here impossible for him. He’d ensure that another man was put in; a friend of his own, or of the Despensers, would find themselves enriched.

How had news of his loyalty been spread? he wondered again. Could Adam have said something to Roger? No. But if the clerk had learned of John’s secret, could he not also have learned of Adam’s?

John had little cause to love Adam, and yet the fellow didn’t deserve the fate reserved for men like him, inside or outside the Church. Perhaps John should give him some sort of a warning? Tell him to beware?

The march to the alehouse felt longer than usual to Warin. Usually, his boots and sword were enough of a proof of his authority, and people moved out of his path, averting their eyes in case they might give him offence, but here, today, there was an air of rebellion.

It was just as he had feared! The folk all thought the murderer was someone from the castle. Worse, they remembered the enmity between Richer and Serlo. Richer was the man who had loved Athelina, but who had lost her; he was the one who had threatened Serlo over his tolls, who had threatened to get the man ruined. Now that Serlo was dead, it was scarcely surprising that people thought he must be guilty. God’s teeth, even Warin thought him the obvious suspect!

Richer could survive the accusations. If he could stand his ground and absorb the verbal attacks of Alexander, he could stay on at Warin’s side, but if he failed, Warin would find a new man-at-arms. Alexander might try to have Richer taken and held in a gaol, but he would never risk offending Warin. A Constable didn’t pick fights with a squire, when all was said and done. No, Warin and Richer together should be able to defend themselves against a few malcontents. It should be all right.

But the atmosphere as he approached the vill was grim. Suddenly Warin wasn’t sure that he had chosen the most sensible path. It was only a few years ago in Courtrai that a bunch of peasants had taken on a French army and destroyed it, killing hundreds of knights and taking their golden spurs to hang in their churches. English peasants weren’t so bold as that, nor so competent, Warin told himself. But as he walked, his hand
remained on his belt, near his sword, and when he saw a farmer spit in his direction, that hand began to shake a little.

Ivo watched them arrive back at the castle with a sense of mild disappointment. He had been hoping to get away from here before they returned, but that looked impossible now. Still, being an optimist, he felt sure he’d soon be able to nip down to the vill and see Julia.

So far he’d been quite lucky, hanging around in the vill at every opportunity since he’d first met Julia. He had discovered her route to the Holy Well where she filled her buckets every day, and had carried them for her, and she’d rewarded him after the inquest with a tussle and grope in her room. He was hoping that another trip to town might produce better results. Country wenches were sometimes all for it, but a few like this one needed nurturing, he reckoned. Hey, that was part of the fun though, the thrill of the chase. It was less exciting when the draggle-tail agreed immediately.

He ran out from the stable where he had been loitering, and took hold of Baldwin’s reins while the knight dismounted. ‘Sir? Did you have any joy?’

‘What are you doing here?’ Baldwin growled. ‘Have you no duties to attend to?’

‘I think everyone is waiting to hear what is happening. A fresh messenger has just gone up to see the castellan. How was Temple? Did you learn much?’

‘A little, maybe,’ Baldwin said tersely. He nodded to the Coroner and Roger, who walked their mounts straight to the stables, not wishing to discuss the matter with a mere hobbledehoy
like Ivo. He was completely beneath Jules’s dignity, of course. For his part, Baldwin could easily comprehend his feelings.

Ivo recalled something. ‘Maybe you should ask Squire Warin, the friend of Richer, if
he
saw anything. I saw him going up towards Temple last evening while you were at the inquest.’

‘Squire Warin,’ Simon mused. ‘Richer’s companion. Have you heard anything about him? He isn’t a local man, from his accent.’

Ivo shook his head as he stroked Baldwin’s horse. ‘No. He’s a man-at-arms who came back here with Richer a short while ago. No one here seems to know much about him. Regular mystery, he is.’

‘A close friend of Richer?’ Simon wondered.

‘Seems close enough …’ Ivo said, but added, ‘for a man who’s Richer’s master. That Richer’s just a mounted warrior, when all’s said and done. They’ve been through some things together, though.’

‘Why should you say that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Just looking at them, you can tell. They mix with others when they want, but not too often, and more often they’ll stay together talking low, away from anyone as might listen. They seem to trust each other, though. Warin often seems wary of others, but he’ll go to talk to Richer; Richer looks to Warin when he feels threatened, too.’

‘You’ve seen him threatened?’ Baldwin asked.

‘When you were with him this morning,’ Ivo said. ‘Soon as you were gone, he went to the bar for a whet, but when he came out, he saw Warin and the two of them went into a little huddle to discuss things. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them do that.’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. Simon was interested in what the lad had said, but he could see Baldwin was reluctant to discuss matters in front of Ivo. He hadn’t got over his initial revulsion during the ride here. In case Baldwin was going to forget the information, Simon said, ‘We’ve heard from the priest
at Temple that the maid, Julia, has taken up with the man who was supporting Athelina.’

‘Yeah. But she wouldn’t tell me who it was,’ Ivo said. ‘Why, do you want me to see if I can persuade her?’

Baldwin grunted. ‘If you can find out, it may help us. Otherwise we’ll have to talk to her. Now, can you take our mounts for us and get them groomed?’ When Ivo had gone, he continued: ‘It seems curious to me that Warin and Richer should have turned up here just before these killings began. All those years away, and presumably this vill was quiet enough, with just the odd accidental death, like Serlo’s apprentice, and now suddenly there is this rash of murders.’

The Coroner rejoined them at this moment, accompanied by his clerk. ‘What is this? Don’t tell me that odious little man had something useful to impart?’

‘It is curious,’ Baldwin said coolly, ‘how the shabbiest fellow can occasionally point the way. Take this one: he says that Richer has a good friend who is a squire. The two arrived here together, apparently, and are close companions. Even now they discuss much together.’

‘You make them sound like confederates!’ Jules said. Roger said nothing, but his eyes were heavily lidded as he watched Baldwin.

‘Perhaps I do,’ Baldwin said. ‘It is natural that Richer should come here because of his childhood; a man will often return to the place of his birth – but what is his companion doing here?’

‘Surely no man of any intelligence would think of returning to Cardinham!’ Jules said dismissively. ‘This fellow Richer could have made himself wealthy elsewhere if he had had a mind to work. Why come
here
?’

Baldwin swallowed his anger. He himself had returned to the manor where he had been raised when the Temple was dissolved. There was nowhere else for him to go. Of course, like all aspiring
knights, he had been brought up elsewhere, in a household where he could learn his duties and skills, but still he had wanted to return to his birthplace. It was just as well he did so too, for only when he arrived there did he learn that his older brother, who had inherited their father’s estates, had died, and that he was now the lord of the manor.

‘Some,’ he said, ‘would surely look upon the place of their birth with affection. Even this man Richer, who had seen his family die here, must have felt a strong tug. And if his friend was in any way troubled, it would be natural for Richer to bring him here as well.’

‘Come now! If this fellow Warin is the more senior of the two – and you say he is a squire? – he would have suggested a place for them to go,’ Jules said.

‘Unless,’ Roger put in, ‘Warin had nowhere to go.’

‘What do you mean?’ Baldwin asked.

‘If a man sought to evade justice, this vill would be a good, secure hiding-place,’ Roger said, and then he set his head on one side. ‘I recall Richer, when you spoke to him earlier, immediately saying that he could have had no part in the freeing of the man Mortimer from the Tower, for example.’

‘So?’ Baldwin pressed him.

Jules intervened, frowning darkly. ‘Surely you don’t mean that this man could be … But as he himself said, it would take days to get here after leaving London.’

‘We don’t know exactly when Mortimer escaped from London,’ Roger said reasonably. ‘It could be that he was out of prison weeks ago, and news has only now filtered here. We are not,’ he added, gazing about him, ‘on the main thoroughfare. We are beyond those lands which most would consider civilised.’

Simon was grinning. ‘You mean to say Squire Warin could be Lord Mortimer? But he’s one of the most famous men in the country! How could he hope to travel here without being seen?
His face is well-known, surely? He was one of King Edward’s most trusted advisers and friends!’

Roger said grimly, ‘And now he is a homeless wanderer, accused of Grand Treason, reviled by the King, detested by all who may come across him. He—’

‘Yes, I know,’ Simon interrupted. ‘But surely he couldn’t hope to walk abroad without being recognised and arrested.’

‘He has gone somewhere,’ Roger pointed out.

‘He will have gone to the Low Countries,’ Baldwin said with certainty.

‘Would
you
recognise him?’ Roger asked Simon.

‘Me?
Me?
Of course not! I’ve never been to London or York,’ Simon laughed.

‘Nor would I. Nor any man here, I should think,’ Roger said pensively. ‘So this would be a perfect place for such a man to conceal himself.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ Simon expostulated. ‘Here we are, three King’s officers and a clerk too, and although we know a man should be taken, none of us can tell whether this man is in fact the one whom we seek! Coroner, do you have a description?’

‘There may be one waiting when I return home to Bodmin,’ Jules said. ‘But I’ve heard nothing of this since I came here.’

The four men stared at each other, and then Baldwin gave a secret grin and resorted to studying the ground at their feet rather than meet the others’ eyes. The other three felt the same trepidation at the thought that the kingdom’s most notorious criminal could be here with them, but, for his money, Baldwin was quite sure that Mortimer had fled across the Channel. From the Tower it would be easy to climb into a small boat and take off along the Thames to meet with a larger ship to cross to the Continent. Far safer.

Some delight was afforded him in the expression of alarm on Sir Jules’s face, although he was more amused still by the look of doubtful horror on Simon’s.