Sword of Shame

ACT THREE

At least four people might have seen the body and hadn’t admitted to it before Hob the Miller caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye that Monday morning.

He was strolling along beside his tired old packhorse, sacks of flour tied to the beast ready to be delivered to his lord’s little castle at Nymet Tracy. It was a journey he must have completed many scores of times since he took over the running of the mill from his father. At least once a fortnight he came this way. Otherwise he’d take the road north to Bow for his provisions.

This lane, the leaves overhead dappling the nettles and thick grass with shadows, was as familiar to him as the mill itself. He knew all the ruts and potholes, the thin undergrowth where a man who had drunk too much could relieve himself; the denser brambles, which at this time of year were lethal, with thorns that would shred a fellow’s hosen, but which would soon be sought by all the families when the thick, juicy berries were ready to be picked.

The boot lay beneath one of the dense thickets of bramble.

God’s pain, but it was tempting to leave the fellow, just as the others had; there were plenty of footprints all about here to bear witness to the fact. It was not unusual for the man who discovered a dead body to walk away. The first finder would have to pay a surety, and no one wanted to be fined for no reason.

He knelt by the body. It wasn’t as if he had been carefully concealed. Probably some traveller who had been knocked on the head by a footpad and hurriedly dragged from the path. It was common enough. As Hob halted and poked with his staff in the bushes, a cloud of flies rose, and Hob tasted acid in his throat. The murder wasn’t very recent, from the smell. It hadn’t happened today. In this heat…

Hob was conscientious. If a man committed murder, everyone was in danger. Better that good people should learn who was responsible and bring him to justice. So Hob squatted, nose wrinkled against the foul odour, a short, heavy-set man in his mid-thirties, with pale brown hair protruding from under his hood. He had eyes of grey/blue that held chips of ice as they darted about the ground seeking clues to the killer’s identity.

‘Who did this to ’un, eh?’ he muttered. There were savage slashes which had ripped through the man’s cotehardie. Some wounds had toothmarks: wild dogs or maybe a fox or two had come to gnaw at him. The man’s head was covered by a cowl, and Hob, grimacing, took his staff and lifted the front.

In this, the seventeenth year of King Edward II, or as the priests would say, in the thirteen hundred and twenty fourth year of Our Lord, men were well enough used to the sight of death, and Hob could see this poor fellow had tried to defend himself. There was a great blow to his head, which must surely have killed him if all the stabs hadn’t. Even his hands were badly cut, his right hand was cut almost in two, as though a sword had fallen between his middle fingers. Hob looked more closely at the distorted features, then he pushed the cowl back farther, peered closer, and swore.

He had a choice: he could hurry on and ignore it, as others had, or declare it. Grunting, he stood a while, then took his horse and continued on to the castle.

Others had pretended not to see this fellow; Hob pulled a sour face. Damn his arse, he was a Christian, and he wouldn’t leave a man’s corpse to rot in the wilds, no matter how high the fine. No, he’d tell Sir William, and ask for the coroner to be called.

In his small castle, Sir William was unhappy to hear that his miller craved a few minutes of his time.

‘What? Why? Can’t you see I am busy?’ he demanded testily of his steward.

‘He is very insistent, Sir William.’

‘Fetch the fool in. I daresay he’s found another fault with my damned wheel, or the shaft, or more cogs have broken. Why can’t he mend the thing himself instead of troubling me?’

Even in a small manor like this there were always too many distractions for he who craved solitude. Sir William tapped his foot as he waited, profoundly irritated. A man should be granted peace when he had so many concerns. All he sought was an opportunity to leave this place and seek the quiet of the cloister, where he might reflect and beg God’s forgiveness for his sins, yet the petty trials and difficulties of the poorer folk in his demesne were constantly intruding. He had a letter to write to the Abbot of Tavistock, an important letter, now that his main concern in life was gone at last.

‘You should be more generous, husband,’ his wife chided gently.

Sir William bit back the rejoinder. She could not comprehend the troubles he endured. He had heard her describe him as ‘petulant’, as though he was some sort of froward child. If he had been more forceful, she would have felt his belt before now, but that was not his way. No, he had been under her spell from the moment he first saw her, all those years ago. Perhaps, if he had never met her, God would not now punish him like this. Yet soon his misery would be done.

She continued soothingly: ‘He is a sensible man, and his mill earns a good profit each year. I am sure that if he needs to speak to you, it is for an important reason.’

He forbore to point out that the most important thing to any man should be the protection of his immortal soul. Turning from her and returning to his seat, he reminded himself that this frail woman couldn’t be expected to comprehend.

She had no concept of guilt for a crime as vast as that which rested on his shoulders. Christ Jesus! the guilt would never leave him! he thought with a shudder.

The door opened. Sir William turned to scowl at Hob. ‘Well?’

‘Sir, I’ve found a man’s body on the way here.’

Sir William curled his lip. ‘Tell the steward and have him call the coroner.’

‘I thought you should know: it’s Walter Coule, sir. Sir John’s reeve.’

Hob later recalled that meeting, and when he did, all he could remember was Sir William’s appalled expression.

‘Don’t worry, lady.’

Mistress Alice felt her heart lurch at the sly voice behind her, and her hand rose to her breast as the after-shock of thundering blood raced along her veins. ‘You fool,’ she hissed. ‘Roger, you nearly sent me to my grave!’

‘I think it would take more than a little surprise to do that to you, lady-don’t you?’

Roger de Tracy, her brother-in-law, unfolded himself from the corner where he had been lounging. Tall, he always gave the impression of bending slightly, as though there was not the room built that was tall enough for his great height. He loomed over her by at least six inches.

He was good-looking; many of the local women would have been keen to take him to their beds. Slim of waist, with the broad shoulders of a warrior, he wore his clothing with style. The latest, tight fashions might have been designed for him. The red sleeves of his gipon showing his well-muscled arms, while the crimson cotehardie set off his powerful torso.

But Roger was restless and wild. She was never entirely comfortable with him…probably it was foolish, but she had an intuition that he desired her. He always had. And now it was there in his eyes: no matter how urbane and sophisticated he appeared, his eyes were all over her.

‘Why should I worry?’ she demanded as her heart began to return to its normal pace.

‘No need to retreat, lady. I was simply attempting to soothe your fears,’ he said smoothly. ‘Your husband wouldn’t have murdered him. Why, just because he’s…what? bitter towards Coule’s master, that doesn’t mean he’d kill Coule. His master’s slights aren’t Coule’s fault, are they? Of course, some men might wish to see Coule dead. I would have no pity for him myself, if I were master of this manor. But I am not, of course.’

‘No. You aren’t,’ she said acidly.

‘Nay.’ His eyes were on her for a moment, and she saw that they had lost any feeling for that instant, as though just then he was contemplating her not as a sister, but as a foe. It was a look that made her wish to draw away from him.

‘I must return.’

‘You don’t believe me?’ he smiled then, and it gave a horrible aspect to his features as he lifted his eyebrows in mock innocence. ‘Why Alice-surely you don’t believe your husband capable of murder?’

‘Get away from me!’ she spat, and as she span on her heel, she saw that farther down the corridor Denis, her husband’s man of law, was standing and glowering at Roger.

‘Until later, madam,’ Roger said, and pushed past her with a chuckle.

There were two coroners who lived in the north of the county and held inquests, and a third who lived in the east, but when there was a death here in the hundred of North Tawton, it was often easier to contact Sir Richard de Welles, the coroner of the Lifton hundred, because he lived closer to hand and was less encumbered with the sudden deaths of the populations of Exeter and the larger market towns.

Hob knew of him, and when the demand came the next day for him to attend the inquest, he was merely glad that the affair would soon be over. If he had to pay a fine for finding a body, better that he should learn sooner rather than later how much it would be. And he was nervous enough already. He wanted the whole matter over and done with as soon as it may be.

Sir Richard was a tall man with an almost perfectly round face and a thick bush of beard that covered his upper breast like a gorget. His flesh was the colour of tanned hide, his eyes brown and shrewd, his voice like a bull’s bellow, as though incapable of quiet speech. He stood before the juries as the men mumbled their way through the unfamiliar words he recited, and raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes as they stumbled.

‘God’s blood, where did you find this lot? Eh? All are here, I suppose. We may as well open proceedings. ALL THOSE WHO HAVE ANY KNOWLEDGE OF THIS MAN’S DEATH, COME FORTH!’

The hoarse roar silenced the crowd, but there was a comfort in his authority. The jurors knew they must investigate and see whether or not anyone could come to a conclusion about the death. Who wished him dead; who killed him; what weapon was used…there were many questions to be answered, and Sir Richard was experienced in his job.

Hob was first to be called. ‘I found him, sir.’

‘He was here?’ Sir Richard demanded. ‘Good Christ, man! Answer!’

‘I don’t think he’s been moved,’ Hob nodded, glancing at the corpse. He could feel a light sweat forming on his back at the sight.

‘I congratulate the vill on protecting the corpse so well,’ the coroner said sarcastically. ‘Although who’d be likely to approach that! Come! Let’s have the body brought into the open.’

Unwilling men barged through the low vegetation, dragging the noisome figure out on his back.

Lady Alice had to turn away. The cotehardie’s breast was black with dried blood, and even from this distance, some twenty yards away, she could smell the rotten flesh. It was enough to make her gag. It was hard to believe that only a short time ago this was a hale, living man.

‘Roll him over, then,’ the coroner said testily. ‘Do you expect us to guess at his damned injuries?’

The two pulled and heaved the heavy body over.

‘I’d guess this was no accident, then,’ Sir Richard said.

‘Time, I think, to strip him,’ the coroner continued, clapping his hands together happily. ‘Any chance of a jug of wine, Sir William? I’m parched here.’

The procedure continued. Naked, the body was turned over and over before the juries from neighbouring vills while the coroner intoned his conclusions and his clerk scribbled down his findings. The number of wounds was counted, and the length and depth of each gauged, not that the coroner was over-happy about poking in some of the stab wounds: they were already filled with maggots.

‘Well, I find this man was set upon and slain by someone unknown. The weapon was long-bladed, and stabbed right through him on three occasions-all from in front of him. There were more wounds on his hands, where he tried to defend himself. One great slash at his head. It’s likely the weapon was a heavy bladed sword with weight behind it. A weapon like that would cost not less than six shillings, so I’ll guess that to be a fair fine. Now, can anyone prove he was English?’

‘I can vouch for him,’ said one man from the vill, and then a shorter man at the back of the group of witnesses stepped forward.

‘So can I. He was my reeve.’

‘You are?’

‘Sir John de Curterne.’

‘I see you, sir. I accept his Englishry. When did you last see him?’

‘On Friday last. When he left my hall to go to Sir William’s castle at Nymet Tracy. I have not seen him since.’

‘You did not report his disappearance?’

‘He had been going on pilgrimage to Canterbury to visit the shrine of St Thomas a Becket,’ Sir John said, and he stared as he spoke at Sir William, who studiously avoided meeting his eye.

Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, keeper of the king’s peace for Crediton, was staying with his wife at her small manor of Liddinstone when the man arrived from Nymet Tracy.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said when the rider had given his message, panting slightly from his hasty journey in the hot, dusty weather.

‘Perhaps if you had given him time to pause and rest, his meaning would be more comprehensible?’ his wife Jeanne chided him and turned to the fellow. ‘You look tired; please, sit and drink some wine or ale. Have you eaten?’

‘My lady, I’m very grateful. Yes, I should be most grateful for refreshment.’

‘You are the brother of Sir William de Tracy?’ Baldwin said. ‘Yet he did not wish to send for my help?’

‘I fear…this is a matter too close to his heart. He means well, but…’

‘You say the reeve was murdered?’ This was from the other man in the room, a tall, ruddy-complexioned man with calm grey eyes who had been introduced as the Bailiff, Simon Puttock, a friend of Sir Baldwin. He stood leaning against the wall near the door.

Roger gratefully took the heavy pewter goblet from Sir Baldwin’s wife and drained half in one long draught. Soon the wine was coursing through his body, and a delicious tingling began in his belly, rippling through his frame.

‘Last Friday this man Coule, our neighbour’s reeve, came to the hall to speak with my brother. He was left in the hall while my sister-in-law fetched my brother, but when he arrived, Coule had already left. Thinking little of it, Sir William cursed the man, and went about his business. And then the body of this reeve was found. My brother thought immediately of his sword. It had been kept in a locked chest in the hall, but when he looked it was gone. Stolen.’

‘It’s no doubt a matter of annoyance to have an heirloom stolen, but what of it? If the man Coule had it, would he not defend himself with it?’ said Sir Baldwin.

‘His master is a powerful man; Sir John de Curterne. We are not on terms of friendship. He would like to have our sword, I expect, because it is a fine thing and he covets fine things. And by killing off his reeve, he would put suspicion for the murder onto us.’

‘You have just explained a perfect motive for killing the man yourself-or for your brother to do so. There is a feud between your families: why should I not believe that you took this sword when you heard Coule was in your castle, killed him, and hid the sword to make it appear that it was stolen, later dragging his body to the country and throwing the sword away?’

‘He visited our hall often enough. Why should I kill him this time? No, Sir Baldwin. I think that Curterne has stolen our sword, and sought to put the blame for his man’s death on us. Why else would he not declare his man missing?’

‘He did not?’ Baldwin asked, interested despite himself.

‘No. He said Coule had asked to be released for a pilgrimage to Canterbury.’

Baldwin absorbed that, then: ‘Why should a master have his servant murdered?’

‘Ah!’ Roger grinned as a servant refilled his goblet. ‘His reeve was the most fractious and difficult man for many miles. He did get the harvest in, but only at the expense of many arguments and much strife. I think Sir John is delighted to be rid of him.’

‘And this sword was taken, too. Was there anything about it to identify it?’

Roger allowed a fleeting doubt to pass over his brow. ‘It’s more than just a sword, Sir Baldwin. It’s the Tracy sword.’

Sir Baldwin smiled. ‘Ah?’

‘Which means you’ve no idea what it is, doesn’t it?’ said Simon Puttock with a chuckle. ‘Well, I have no shame about confessing ignorance. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, so please tell us the significance of this sword.’

‘It is the sword of my fathers and grandfathers in direct line all the way back to the invasion of the country under the glorious William of Normandy,’ Roger de Tracy said eagerly. ‘It’s invaluable!’

Baldwin looked at Simon and shrugged. ‘It’s worth some shillings, I don’t doubt.’

‘And it’s been stolen. That means you, as keeper, have a duty to seek out the thief.’

Baldwin’s expression stilled. He disliked being ordered, and he had only recently returned to his quiet manor after a troubling series of Gaol Delivery trials. Simon hurriedly cleared his own throat. ‘Did you call out the hue and cry?’

‘It was too late. As soon as we realized it was gone, we searched for it in the castle itself, leaving no box unopened. I did that myself. But it’s clearly gone.’

‘How long ago?’ Baldwin growled.

‘I personally saw it on that Friday morning.’

‘That is almost a week ago! It’s Thursday now.’

‘You thought you might come and demand help now?’ Simon said disbelievingly.

‘You must, sir! It is our inheritance!’

‘There is no law to say I must,’ Baldwin grated. ‘You come here and tell me what I must and must not do? You should have asked me to help sooner, if you wished for my aid.’

Roger looked at him and Lady Jeanne was sure she saw desperation in his eyes. ‘A man has been killed, and I fear that Sir John seeks to see us condemned for his murder. I beg you, any help you can give, please give it.’

Denis de Topcliffe was used to the gloomy atmosphere in the castle at Nymet Tracy, but it was rare indeed that he heard Madam Alice weeping. She was too strong and proud.

It was a dreadful sound. The deep sobbing of a mature woman wrenched at a man’s heart like no other noise, and he wanted to go to her, but as he put his hand to the door handle, he told himself how stupid that would be.

He was only a servant: he was paid to advise and assist Sir William, mainly in his continuing litigation over lands and his disputes with neighbours. That was all. He certainly had no responsibility to soothe a distressed woman; that was a task for her husband. Not that the fool would. He was so bound up in his fear and desperation over the stolen sword that he had no idea what his wife was feeling. It was as though they were already divorced.

It was some years since Denis had first come here, back in the days when Sir Humphrey was still the master of the castle, and his older son was yet a squire. He and Roger had got on better in those far-off days before that cursed sword arrived and reminded Sir William of the actions of his appalling ancestor. What on earth had persuaded Sir Humphrey to name William after the Sir William de Tracy who had committed the murder? It was enough to turn any poor devil’s head.

In William’s case it had made him appreciate the true depths of his family’s disgrace. Recently even catching sight of the sword would make Sir William shudder. Denis had seen him. It was as though there was a malevolent spirit about the thing that would tear at William’s soul whenever he came near.

Not only his soul, from the way Madam Alice was crying.

Again his hand went to the door, and he hesitated for a moment, but then he raised the latch.

‘My lady, I’m sorry, I thought that the hall was empty.’

Alice had jerked away from the table where she had been sitting with her head bent. Now she swept away the tears with a hurried rub of her hand, her back to him. She sniffed and took a deep breath, then turned to face him with a brittle smile on her face. ‘Ah, Denis. Did you want me or my husband?’

‘Neither, lady. I sought my penner-I put it down somewhere about here, I think. Have you seen it?’

She shook her head shortly. ‘Not here, no.’

He grunted. ‘Ah, there it is on the table. And how are you this fine morning?’

She smiled, but her face was blotched, her eyes damp. ‘I am well, I thank you. The weather makes all seem good, doesn’t it?’

He nodded, and pointedly looked away so that his attention would not cause her shame or embarrassment. ‘Sir William is still upset? He has not spoken to me today.’

‘Upset? No, not today. He is gleeful!’ She looked at him wildly. ‘Now the sword is gone, he says he will go to the convent-and that I must to a nunnery as a dutiful wife! My God! What about me? He never thinks to ask me what I want!’

The next day Baldwin and Simon ambled their way along the lanes towards the hundred of North Tawton accompanied by Roger de Tracy.

‘Come, then, Baldwin. What made you decide to come all this way?’ Simon whispered.

‘It was an intriguing conundrum: I can see no earthly reason why they should demand my assistance now,’ Baldwin confessed. He wore a puzzled expression at the memory of the conversation with the brother of Sir William de Tracy. ‘If they were keen to find some felon who had stolen their property, I should have expected them to come to me as soon as they knew the thing was taken. But they waited a week. And now, when the coroner’s already been there and buried the body, they come and ask for help. What help can I be? If the sword could be found, surely the coroner himself would have found it. Yet now, when all is done, they ask me to go along and seek their sword for them. It makes little sense.’

‘Some swords can be valuable,’ Simon said.

‘I am a knight,’ his friend snorted. ‘I know the value of good metalwork. But why did they wait so long?’

‘Perhaps as he said, they just didn’t notice it was missing?’

‘Aye. That’s a possibility. And then they called me because they could think of nothing else.’

‘They must have heard marvellous reports of your abilities,’ Simon said lightly.

‘Perhaps. And asking me to waste my time is acceptable to a poorly rural knight like this Sir William.’

‘Ah, I shouldn’t be too hard. Not all rural knights are thick as a peasant with cow muck between his ears,’ Simon said happily, and ducked quickly under the gloved fist that flew at his jaw.

‘Next time you won’t duck quickly enough,’ Baldwin growled, ‘to be missed by this example of a rural knight.’

‘I shiver in my boots.’

Baldwin chuckled, then called ahead to their guide. ‘Master de Tracy, what led you to come to me?’

Roger had clearly anticipated that question. ‘It is an important sword. Our man of law was most keen to have no stone left unturned in seeking it. He demanded that I come to you to find it. Denis has heard great things of your skills at uncovering the truth. Of course we had thought to enlist the help of Sir Richard de Welles, but you know some coroners can be so preoccupied with money that their thoughts can become blurred. We thought that the coroner from Lifton would be more free of such motives, but it became clear that he had his own interests in pursuing our sword.’

‘What would they be?’

‘It is ancient. Many men would covet a weapon with such a history.’

Baldwin muttered something under his breath.

‘Sir?’ Roger asked, blankly.

‘My companion was marking what you said,’ Simon said with a grin. Better that Roger didn’t hear Baldwin’s sour ‘Fools, the lot of them.’

Roger nodded uncertainly, unsure how to take these two men. The last thing he wanted was to have the sword found again in a hurry, but he wasn’t sure that Denis’s faith in this Keeper was well-founded.

Baldwin looked bright enough, but more likely was used to brute force rather than intellect. He was a rangy fellow who looked as though he’d been in plenty of battles. His frame was as broad as any fighter’s, and there was a scar that reached down his cheek almost from his eyebrow to his chin that hinted at a dangerous past; but this friend of his, the bailiff, seemed altogether too light-hearted, as though he could not treat any matter with any seriousness. ‘It’s a very important affair to us,’ he said, looking at the bailiff.

‘I’m sure it is,’ Simon said affably. ‘So! This man who was killed: Walter Coule. He was reeve to Sir John de Curterne, you said?’

‘Yes. Sir John is our neighbour. We used to be friends with him when we were all younger. In those days, he was the third son, but the family suffered a number of set-backs. The eldest fell from his horse and drowned in the river, the second was crushed by an ox in their stable, and Sir John took the manor in his turn.’

Baldwin nodded and crossed himself. For a parent to lose a child was appalling, and he feared always that his own precious Richalda might fall prey to an accident. No one could prevent deaths, but it did not make the loss any easier for the parents. Sir John’s family had been unfortunate, but crushings by large beasts were common, as were drownings, whether in rivers or wells.

‘And Coule’s body was found on whose land?’ Simon asked.

‘On ours. But that means nothing. He could have been dragged there.’

Baldwin grunted at that. It was all too natural that a body might be moved. A murderer would remove a body so that any evidence which may exist would be divorced from the corpse. Then again, the vill in which a murder took place would be fined: often innocent villagers would move a body so that they would not be punished for the breaking of the King’s Peace. If evidence about a murder was lost because the actual location of the murder was never found, it made the investigation that much more difficult.

‘You said this Coule was unpopular?’ Baldwin demanded after a moment’s reflection.

‘Many had reason to dislike him. He was grasping; he took as much as he could from the peasants on the estate, and they detested him. It made for a lot of trouble. If he exacted more than he should, the peasants complained bitterly, and only last year they took up sticks and attacked the poor devils sent to collect the grains and dues he had demanded from them. Sir John had to arm his men and suppress his own peasants!’

Baldwin studied his laughing face with an expression that could have been carved from moorstone. ‘Open revolt?’

‘Near enough. It amused us.’

‘So I see. Where were you on the Friday Coule died?’

‘Me?’ Roger blinked with surprise. ‘I was out hunting with my raches. I have several pairs of them as well as greyhounds.’

‘You were not in the castle?’

‘No!’

‘I see. Tell me: what is the cause of your enmity with this knight?’

‘It’s nothing. Not now.’

‘Humour me.’

Roger appeared to hestitate. ‘Many years ago our lands were in the control of the king. Our old manor of Bradninch escheated to the king.’

‘Bradninch was forfeit to the crown?’ Simon said with surprise. When a lord died without issue, his land reverted or ‘escheated’ to the king, his lord. But since there was an heir here telling Simon about the story, the land must have been taken for some other reason; perhaps because of a serious offence: treason. ‘That must have been a long time ago.’

‘Over a hundred years…perhaps a hundred and fifty. In any case, the king gave it to a Curterne, and it was lost to us. It’s not in the forefront of our minds, but it means we can enjoy the discomfiture of the Curternes when something goes wrong for them.’

‘Your family recovered its fortunes?’

‘After a while. After a fashion.’ Roger became quiet then, musing, before saying, ‘As I say, it doesn’t upset us now. It was a very long time ago.’

‘So to return to Coule-you say that almost any of the peasants could have had reason to wish him dead?’

‘The folk on Curterne’s lands, yes. Curterne owns territory all over the county, but it’s at Down St Mary where he really has trouble. That’s where Coule was in charge.’

‘I know of it,’ Baldwin said.

Simon knew the area. When he and Baldwin had first met, they had ridden out that way in pursuit of trail-bastons who had slaughtered a party of travellers. Down St Mary was a pleasant vill in rolling hills north and east of Bow, while Nymet Tracy was south. Bow had been created sixty years before as a new town so that the Tracys could take advantage of the income that a market and fair could bring, and they had set aside land on a busy road. They would sell blocks to merchants to come and build houses, and so far as Simon was aware, the market was thriving. It would bring in a goodly sum to the master who owned the place.

‘So you and your family own the market at Bow?’ Simon said. ‘I doubt whether there’s any need for you to be jealous of losing Bradninch, then.’

‘You think so?’ Roger snapped. ‘Do you know how much money they make at Bradninch market every week?’

Simon smiled. For all Roger’s protestations that the affair was far in the past, it clearly still rankled. ‘Don’t you make enough at Bow? It has always looked busy enough.’

‘Perhaps that is so,’ Roger agreed and stared at the ground. ‘But when you are a second son like me, all you see is what you’ve missed out on. If that had been our land still, I could have gone there to look to my older brother’s interests. As it is…another has the advantage. And my family is deprived of our natural inheritance.’

‘Does your brother feel as upset as you?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘Sir William used to be, years ago, but not now,’ Roger’s tone became cold and a little distant.

‘He has a castle, I suppose,’ Simon said, unable to stop himself rubbing salt into the wound.

‘And money, yes, but that’s not it. My brother is extremely pious. You know, if our roles were reversed, I think that he would be delighted.’

‘If he were younger, you mean?’ Baldwin pressed.

‘Yes. If he were the idle one, and I were the knight with the demesne, he would be perfectly content. He would go to a convent and retire from the world without a second thought. The life would suit him. He has always had a hankering for prayer. The idea of being able to abase himself at the cross every day would appeal to him immensely.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said, but in his mind’s eye he saw a man gripped with fury in the knowledge that his property had been taken, gripping one of the few remaining family treasures of any value in both hands and using it to hack at a thief.

No matter how religious a man was, being robbed could deprive even a monk of the inclination to turn the other cheek.

Alice de Tracy heard the hooves approaching and felt her heart begin to thud painfully. She lived in perpetual dread of the future now, and those hoofbeats sounded like the drums of doom.

Waving irritably at the maid brushing her hair, she rose from the stool and stood indecisively, unwilling to go straight to the window. Instead she snapped at the maid to leave, and only when the door had closed, the wooden latch dropping into its slot, did she hurry to the window.

The yard was in its usual state of busyness. Henry the under-groom was grooming Sir William’s great horse while it tried to nip and kick at him; stable-boys were fetching fresh hay and sweeping out the old straw; the steward was shouting at the brewery, demanding to know what had happened to the gallon of strong ale he’d ordered earlier, and all in all the place was a mess. It was into this commotion that the riders came, led by Roger.

Her lips compressed into a thin line. She knew that it was Denis’s idea to fetch someone, but she would have hoped for another messenger to have been sent. Roger had demanded the right to go, and the very presumptuousness of his action made her feel a cold dread. He could have soured the keeper and his companion against her and her husband. It was the sort of thing Roger would do.

The two with him were used to authority. One, the elder of the two from his greying hair, appeared to be a knight, and not one of those modern, primping coxcombs, but a fighting man. He had the breadth of shoulder, the muscled arms, and the air of command. If she had to guess, he was the keeper.

When she looked at the other, she saw a younger man, perhaps only ten years senior to her own two-and-twenty years. Still, from the way he cocked his leg over his mount’s neck and slid quickly to the ground, standing with the arrogance born of confidence, she wondered fleetingly whether her estimation might have been wrong. But then she lost interest in the two men as she caught sight of Roger, staring up at her with a vindictive smile on his face.

It chilled her blood.

The castle was only small, obviously built early in the days after the pacification of the country. William of Normandy had given tracts of lands like this to all his most loyal vassals and mercenaries after the invasion, the only stipulation being that the recipients of his largesse should build their own strongholds to keep the peasants under control.

A low motte had been built, and at the top stood a stone keep. Over the years the original single tower had been expanded, and now there was a thatched hall at its foot, stables, a brewery, storehouses, and even a small blacksmith’s, all enclosed within a sturdy wall of grey moorstone. When their horses had been led away to be fed and watered, Roger led them up a staircase to a doorway on the first floor of the hall. There he stood aside to let the guests enter.

‘Madame de Tracy, I am pleased to meet you,’ Baldwin said as he entered the hall.

‘You know me?’

‘I have heard of your beauty, madam-and your brother-in-law said you were here,’ he admitted with a smile.

She smiled, and Baldwin was pleased to see that the appearance of nervousness and fear left her as she did so. Dimples appeared in both cheeks, and her blue eyes seemed to light with an inner glow. ‘You are generous, friend.’

‘My name is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. This is my companion, Bailiff Simon Puttock, the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth under the Abbot of Tavistock.’

Standing back as Simon bowed, Baldwin saw her fear begin to return even though her dimples remained.

‘You must be exhausted after your long journey,’ she said.

‘Exhausted? I should think we are!’ Roger said as he marched into the hall tugging at his riding gloves, slapping them against his thigh to clear the dust of the road from them. The dirt rose from his cotehardie and hosen as a fine mist, and he waved it away.

‘Command wine, then, brother,’ she said, and there was tartness in her tone, Baldwin noted.

‘Ale for me,’ Simon asked. ‘And a little bread and meat?’

When the bottler had brought them food and jugs of drink, Simon and Baldwin sat at the table.

‘Tell me, lady, where is your husband? I thought he would be here to meet us on our arrival,’ Baldwin said.

‘He wanted to be here to see you,’ she said in a rush. ‘He was desperate to hear what help you might be able to give him in this affair.’

‘He has been called away, apparently,’ Roger said comfortably, leaning back in his chair with a large mazer of wine in his hand. He took a deep draught and continued, ‘A matter of the arrangements for the market up at Bow.’

‘There must be many things to do in preparation for a market the size of Bow’s,’ Baldwin said easily.

‘He meant no insult to you, I do assure you,’ Alice said, and in her eyes there was a fleeting hatred as she glanced at Roger. ‘But the bailiff of the market is ill and may not recover, so my husband wished to assure himself that all was in hand.’

‘I understand perfectly,’ Baldwin said. ‘I have been involved in the organization of Crediton fair on occasion, and there is always much to do. When you are not so used to a life of responsibility, it is easy to underestimate the effort required,’ he added.

Roger was still for a moment. ‘Was that a calculated insult?’

Baldwin had taken a mouthful of meat, and he chewed quietly while contemplating the man. ‘I am sure that if I wished to insult you, I should succeed. Just as, if you were to try to insult me, I should take notice.’

‘Lady Alice,’ Simon interrupted quickly, ‘where was this sword kept? It seems curious to me that someone could walk in here and take a weapon with the heritage of this one.’

‘You have heard its story?’ she said, and her gaze returned to her brother-in-law.

Baldwin raised his brows. There was more to this than Roger had said. ‘It is old-we know that. If there is more we should know, perhaps you could tell us?’

‘No. It is not my part. My husband should do that,’ she responded. ‘But to answer your question, Bailiff, it was there, in the chest by the wall.’

This was an older hall, and there was no chimney. Instead there was a large blackened hearth in the middle of the floor, and the rafters and inner thatch spoke of the number of fires that had roared in here. Beyond the fire was a strong chest of wood bound with iron, and a massive lock in the lid.

‘It was locked in there?’ Baldwin asked with frank surprise.

‘I fear not. If it had been locked, it would be inside still. No, I had asked my husband to open it for me to fetch a necklace and it was not locked again. He blames me for the theft.’

‘Coule was not seen alive after visiting here? You believe he died that same day?’

‘Yes. I fear so,’ she said quietly.

‘The man who stole it was neither liked nor trusted by you, yet he was allowed in here alone?’

It was Roger who answered. ‘Walter Coule came ostensibly to discuss a matter before the courts: some of his merchants have been demanding freedom from tolls at our fair, and we see no reason to accommodate them. He came here and was allowed into the hall, but when my brother returned, Coule was gone. As was the sword.’

‘I was in here and received him,’ Alice said bitterly. ‘I went to fetch Sir William myself. It was my own mistake. I was a fool to leave him alone in here!’

‘You are sure it was gone then?’

She nodded. ‘Denis saw that the chest was unlocked that afternoon. He relocked it and gave the key to my husband that day. It was only when the body was found that we opened it again.’

‘What happened when your husband realized Coule was gone?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘William was angry, of course, but none of us thought more of it, other than it showed how boorish and unthoughtful Coule could be.’

‘Really,’ Baldwin said. ‘There were how many witnesses to Coule leaving the castle?’

‘The ostler, grooms, perhaps the steward…any number.’

‘None saw him carrying the sword?’

‘No. But few would have recognized the sword. It was not out on display all the time.’

‘He could have had it wrapped in his cloak or concealed some other way,’ Roger said eagerly.

‘Of course,’ Simon said, smiling understandingly at the woman. She was plainly upset, blaming herself for the theft. Her husband would not have been happy to learn that she had left the man in the hall alone. Especially since she had herself caused the chest to be opened, he reminded himself, and his face hardened. Perhaps Coule’s arrival was more than a coincidence. Could this woman have planned it?

Baldwin said nothing. He looked at Roger, then let his eyes move toward Alice. She, he noticed, had begun to flush, her throat reddening. He considered. ‘We heard this Coule was often here. Would you usually leave him unguarded?’

Alice lifted her chin slightly. ‘I do not expect every visitor who accepts our hospitality to rob us, if that is what you mean. But yes, Coule would come here once each month or so to speak with my husband on matters that affected our manors. My husband and Sir John do not get on well. Their mutual affairs are conducted by others. We tended to have my husband’s man of law, Denis de Topcliffe, speak with Coule.

Simon had another question which troubled him. ‘Roger told us that Coule was an unpopular man with his peasants. How did your folk respond to him?’

Alice took up her mazer and swallowed hurriedly. ‘I don’t think that they were troubled by him. Not like his own people at Down St Mary. If he had tried to bully our people, I am sure my husband would have seen to his being punished.’

‘Which he did, I assume,’ Baldwin said.

‘I don’t understand?’

‘Coule came here and stole from you. Surely your husband went to demand the sword’s return from Sir John?’

‘We didn’t realize it was gone until the inquest,’ she said defensively. ‘Otherwise I am sure my husband would have spoken with Sir John when the disappearance was noticed.’

‘Through an intermediary,’ Baldwin noted drily.

Simon continued, ‘Does your husband never talk to your neighbour?’

‘Sir John de Curterne? No.’

Roger said, ‘I told you: we are not friends with him.’

‘The lands you lost?’

She nodded. ‘It was a blow to the family, I think. But it was a long, long time ago. I am sure that my husband holds no ill-feeling about it. He used to be a good friend of the Curterne family. It was only after…since I knew my husband that the two manors have been at loggerheads.’

Roger sniggered at that, and the unpleasant sound stuck in Baldwin’s ears. ‘You say “since I knew my husband”-do you mean that in some way it was because of your marriage that the two men fell out?’

‘Perhaps-I was to have married Sir John’s brother. We had been betrothed for some months when he died.’

‘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.

‘The king had no jurisdiction, for this was a murder of a clergyman in a church. He had to ask the pope what should be done with the three. The pope urged that the three should fast and live a life of continual penance, and that they should be banished from the country and travel to the Holy Land where they might take up arms against the Saracens. De Tracy became a Knight Templar, I understand.’

Simon understood his quietness suddenly. Sir Baldwin had been one of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, a Knight Templar, and had only survived the persecution, torture and slaughter of the suppression of the holy order because he had been out of the Temple in Paris when his comrades were all arrested. Yet there was more: a quizzical, doubtful expression had come into his eyes.

Simon looked at Hob. ‘Is that true? Did de Tracy die in the Holy Kingdom?’

‘I don’t know about that. The sword came back only two years ago, though, Sir. It was Sir Humphrey, Sir William’s father, who brought it back. He was there in Acre at the fall of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. I think he found it again while he was abroad-in Acre or on his way there-and brought it back for his family.’

Baldwin frowned pensively. ‘He was at the siege?’

‘One of the few brave men who travelled there to defend our faith and Christ’s birthplace,’ Hob agreed.

‘You reckon he found it out there?’ Simon said. ‘How would he know it was his ancestor’s sword?’

‘There are ways,’ Baldwin said, but in his mind’s eye, all he saw was that terrible battlefield: the great city of Acre, last stronghold of the crusaders, being reduced steadily by the thundering artillery of the hordes outside. The crash and rumble of masonry collapsing as the great rocks were flung at them by the catapults, then the shrieks as the enemy managed to enter the city, swords dripping with blood, eyes filled with the desire for slaughter. There were many died there.

‘Yes, well, maybe there are,’ Simon conceded. ‘Yet a man would have to be entirely convinced to think a sword found so long after being lost was the correct one, surely?’

‘The man who sold it told of its provenance, I suppose,’ Hob said vaguely. ‘Sir Humphrey, Sir William’s sire, must have been assured. He looked on it as a sign that his family’s crime was forgotten. God had forgiven them.’

‘Sir William was happy to have it returned to him, I suppose?’ Simon said, ignoring Baldwin’s derisive snort.

‘Hardly! He is pious. To be named for the ancestor who executed a poor saint, that was bad enough, but to have the sword brought back as well! I think he felt it was cursed-and that was easy to believe since Sir Humphrey died soon after he returned. He had a fever that burst his heart. Many say that the sword should be destroyed for its crime against St Thomas.’

Simon nodded. He had always been prone to an awareness of atmosphere, the sense of evil, the feeling of a devil’s presence-the sort of thing that Baldwin laughingly called ‘superstitious rubbish’, but which Simon knew was a proof of his sensitivity. There had been times when…but Baldwin would only laugh. Still, a sword that ended such an important life would likely be cursed until blessed in church to expiate the crime.

Baldwin had no patience with such feelings. ‘Well, if you believe that a sword can take on a man’s guilt, that is fine. Perhaps it ought to be destroyed…but for now, I think I should like to find this weapon and see whether it was used to murder Coule. We have heard that he was unpopular with the villeins on his estate, but was there any one man who hated him enough to murder him?’

‘Perhaps only his own master.’

‘This man Sir John de Curterne?’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Sir John always wanted placid, untroubled serfs. Coule wanted his peasants cowed.’

‘Sir John is enlightened, or he has suffered in the past from mutiny and rebellion?’ Baldwin asked.

Hob considered. ‘I think a little of both. He’s no weakling, but his father used to bully the folk too much and he did have a rebellion. Sir John wants no repeat of that. His trouble is, Coule never feared him. The man was determined to get his own way, and he’d argue with his master in front of the villeins.’

‘Any fool who tried that with me would get a taste of the lash himself,’ Baldwin growled.

‘I think it was close with him. When he disappeared, they thought he’d gone on pilgrimage. Everyone could believe that! He had lots to be forgiven for!’

‘He didn’t fear losing his position and livelihood?’ Simon said.

‘I never saw him afraid,’ Hob said.

‘Sir John is well rid of him,’ Simon said. He motioned to the sky. ‘It’s growing late, Baldwin. If we’re to get to the town and then back, we should ride on soon.’

Sir John de Curterne was generally a mild-mannered man, and he smiled indulgently at his young son, Matthew. The two-year-old was steady on his legs, and was beginning to talk as he ran about the hall, grasping at balls, sticks and any and every other bauble that took his fancy. He was a son to be proud of. Sir John felt sure that he would be a brave, bold fellow as he grew. The idea made him grin to himself. He had no desire to force his son into a particular mode of thinking or behaviour.

His own father had tried to do that with him. Sir Edward had been convinced that his eldest son, Godfrey, would be a bold, adventurous man with a good estate behind him. He had seen to the marriage with Alice to take over her manors, for her father was wealthy and had no son. Sir Edward had done all he could to promote Godfrey, seeing to his training with a master of defence, acquiring a cleric to teach him how to read and write, as well as the arts of management of estates. He had done well, and until that dreadful day when Godfrey had drowned, he had been a model young warrior.

And then he died, and before long, when Sir John was still a young fellow, his second brother died when the ox fell on him, and suddenly Sir John was the sole remaining heir and must learn a new life of responsibility and duty.

Now in his early thirties, he was proud that he was not at all like his father. Sir Edward had been more keen to impose his will on all those who lived on his lands, and on upholding the ancient liberties and privileges of the manor. Over time the continual struggle had harmed the family. Too much money was extorted from the vills on his lands, and the peasants grew impatient with the constant demands for more taxes, until at last he had been forced to resort to armed strength to keep them quiet.

Not for Sir John a life of litigation and strife. He preferred to negotiate and agree terms that were acceptable to all. His peasants were generally passive, content with their lot. Complaints were few, and he could count on the peasants working harder, now their profits were taxed more sensibly. He was farming his serfs more effectively than his father ever had. It was a source of pride to him, as was his reputation for coolness in adversity and his ability to remain detached and affable under the worst of provocations.

Today, though, as the man was brought to him, he sat back and felt the anger begin to bite at his heart. It was hard to remain in the same room as this arrogant prickle.

‘So, Master Roger. You wished to speak with me?’

‘Your tone is so bitter, Sir John. Do I deserve your enmity?’

Sir John eyed him calmly. For a moment or two he did not speak.

It was long before the birth of either of them that the argument over the land had first risen; it had been back in the days of old Sir Hugh de Curterne, who had received the lands from King Richard. All this trouble over Bradninch stemmed from that transaction.

When they had all been lads, none of them had cared about the affair. They had been boys together, playing as equals: Sir William with Godfrey, Ralph and John with Roger. Then, when Godfrey died, William appeared to withdraw from that world. Everyone had thought it was because he had always been fonder of Godfrey, but John knew different. He had spoken to William not long afterwards, and William had told him that his family was little better than thieves. They had taken his manor of Bradninch from him, and he would do all he could to retrieve it. Now Sir William would never speak to him unless there was absolutely no alternative, as though it was Sir John’s fault that Bradninch had been taken from him. The fool!

Yet if he was a fool, this brother of his was a snake, and a snake all the more poisonous for the apparent friendliness. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘Oh, Sir John, there’s no need to be suspicious,’ Roger said, holding his hands up in mock hurt. ‘I am here to help.’

‘Why would you want to help me?’

‘Why should I not? You are a close neighbour, after all.’

‘Don’t piss lies into my ear! Whatever you give freely, you give because you want something in return.’

‘In that case, let me be frank,’ Roger said. ‘I have heard that my brother is considering giving up the secular world. You know he is a keen, pious man? He feels the urge to go into a convent most keenly. Since he has lost our family’s most precious possession, shame is likely to hurry that ambition.’

‘The sword?’ Sir John said. He leaned forward, elbow on his knee, resting his chin on his fist.

‘The sword. While he possessed it, it was a source of immense embarrassment, naturally, and now he’s lost it, he’s keen to hide himself from the world-urgently, before anything comparable can arrive to unsettle him.’

‘What’s all that got to do with me?’

‘The sword has to remain hidden. If it is found, Sir William will stay. If it’s gone…then he will go too, and I will become master of Nymet Tracy. And I’d be a better neighbour than my brother.’

Sir John leaned back again, his head tilted as he studied his guest quizzically. ‘You’re a devious little bastard, aren’t you? You murder my man, take the sword from him, and now you say you want me to take it from you and hide it? Why? To protect you? After you murdered my man?’

Roger’s smile broadened. ‘I’ll bring it here for you and your family. For all time, as a proof of my friendship. We were comrades once. Why can we not be so again? It is very valuable.’

Sir William was in the market hall, an open building with rough wooden palings to act as a screen from the worst of the weather, when Denis appeared riding slowly down the high street. He rose, walking out to the roadway as Denis drew to a halt.

‘They are here?’

Denis nodded. ‘They are questioning Hob just now. They wanted to speak to him first, before coming to see you.’

Sir William’s jaw clenched as he considered all the work he had to do before he could rest that day, and then he nodded curtly. ‘Ride back to the castle and tell my wife I shall be back as soon as I may. I have business to attend to while this precious keeper idles away his time with my miller!’

The man of law nodded, relieved to be escaping with no curse ringing in his ears, and Sir William returned to the market hall to the papers and the pasty-faced, unwell port-reeve. ‘Come! Let’s finish our business this week, eh?’

It had not been perfect, but perhaps that was too much to expect after the last years of strife. Still, Roger reckoned the meeting with Sir John had been satisfactory, and he rode back at a steady pace. The knight would agree once he had considered Roger’s offer, he was sure of that, and when Sir William departed, that would seal the contract. There would be an end to this daft dispute between the two manors, and the lawyers could at last pack up their books: Denis could go back to whichever stone from beneath which he’d crawled before coming here and taking the family’s money.

Roger’s road did not lead direct to the castle. In preference he would go to Bow and take an ale or two at the inn. There was a new maid there who had caught his eye recently, a delightful filly who looked as though she’d give him a good gallop-and ah! when his damned brother had left the manor, life would be so much more sweet! She would certainly be more interesting than a return to the castle. It had all the charm and warmth of a charnel house recently: better, he may stay the night at the inn. There he could keep the sword safe, too.

He had hoped that Sir John would take the thing as soon as it was offered, but perhaps that was a little too much to hope for. As he said, if he took the thing, he could be accused of murder, and he was not yet happy to trust Roger with that responsibility. However, his eyes were easier at the end of their meeting, and Roger thought that they would be able to enjoy a better relationship when Roger was in charge of the manor. No bad thing, either, for Sir John to know that Roger could be ruthless when necessary. Yes. All in all, a good day’s work. He deserved his ale.

William would be happier in a convent. There was no point in his remaining in the world when all he wanted was a hermit-like existence in a monastery. Roger was ensuring that he would achieve the ambition he had craved for so long.

He turned one of the last bends in the road on the way to Bow, and suddenly a cloak was hurled at his horse. His beast leapt into the air, neighing with surprise. Roger gripped hard with his thighs, his fingers curled into talons as he clutched the reins. ‘Easy! Easy!’ he called, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

The beast was startled, but he couldn’t seek the culprit as his horse plunged and reared: his concentration was on his mount. Even as he felt the first slip of steel beneath his ribs, he could not face his danger. His mind was so fixed upon his horse that even as the sword thrust upwards, he was at first convinced that it was a strained muscle.

It was only when the strain became a flowering agony that his eyes opened wide with horror. There was a liquid thundering in his breast as blood was pumped into his lungs, and he was starting to drown even before the sword’s point burst through his fashionable tight gipon in front of his anguished eyes. He tried to scream, but as he toppled backwards, his weight slipping him down the blade made slick with his own blood, only a gurgling would come from his throat, and he vomited a gush of blood as he died.

Sir William was in the court of the castle still when the two men arrived.

‘You are the keeper who told my man of law to come and tell me to wait?’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill,’ Baldwin said coldly. He was not happy to have ridden up to Bow only to learn that he had missed Sir William. The knight had returned to his castle.

At first sight Baldwin thought the peevish knight would be best suited to a convent, just as Hob had hinted. Sir William had that sallow, unhealthsome complexion that was always so common with monks and clerics who took fasting too seriously.

‘I had no spare time to wait. Come inside and have a little wine.’

The hall was empty but for the three. Sir William sat on his chair in the far corner, watching them with a grim expression on his face as they entered.

‘Baldwin, have you ever seen a cat staring at an approaching hound?’ Simon whispered. ‘That man hates us: he knows we could destroy him, but reckons he can scratch our noses first.’

‘He most certainly has the look of a man expecting to suffer.’

‘Enter, Sir Knight, and take your ease. Your man will find ale and cups at the table. Bring me one, too.’

Baldwin opened his mouth, but the knight was already staring up at the wide empty window space with a distracted air. ‘Simon, I apologize. I shall…’

Simon showed his teeth. ‘An easy error to make: he thinks you provide me with these rich clothes? He must consider you a most parsimonious knight!’

Baldwin sat. ‘You did not think to seek my help, I believe?’

‘No! I would prefer this whole matter was forgotten. I see little need to expose our foolishness further. That fool of a lawyer of mine suggested you to my brother, and he took it on himself…No. I see no need for all this!’

Simon had passed wine to Sir William. Now he took a large cupful for himself and another for Baldwin before sitting at Baldwin’s side.

‘You! We have affairs to discuss. You can leave us,’ Sir William grated.

Simon smiled, and Baldwin eyed the knight coldly. ‘This is Bailiff Simon Puttock. He is stannary bailiff to Abbot Champeaux of Tavistock and a king’s officer. He is here to assist me.’

‘Oh? I am sorry, Bailiff. My apologies.’

Simon, enormously enjoying the knight’s discomfiture, smiled. ‘It’s nothing, sir.’

Sir William shook his head. ‘My brother and my wife both felt it would be best for someone who could investigate this theft. I think it’s ridiculous. What good can it serve? The thing’s gone, and that’s all that matters.’

‘You don’t want it back?’

Sir William looked up, and his face twisted. ‘Want it back? I would rather cut off my own hand than touch that thing again! It’s evil! Evil! I am delighted not to have to look at it. It was a constant reminder of my family’s crime.’ Sir William gave a short, twisted grin. ‘I don’t like it. I am grateful that someone has taken it. If I’d thought of it sooner, I’d have paid a man to remove it, and thereby save me from keeping it any longer. With it gone, I can happily give up my position here, leave the castle and find a monastery to my liking, there to live in praise of God and seeking His peace. But now…’

‘Yes? Now?’

‘The thing is gone. I am glad of the fact, because to me it seems God has forgiven me. In taking the thing, He has shown me that I am not to worry about it any more. But my wife does not agree. She thinks one felon escaping the law damages all justice.’

‘Perhaps that is not your concern. Leave justice to the judges.’

‘True. But if I were to enter a monastery, I would expect Alice also to join a convent. She knows that. It colours her judgement. If the sword is found again, perhaps I should remain here to guard it. If it comes back, God doesn’t consider me deserving of the peace life in a monastery would grant me. Ach, I don’t know! What should I do? If you find the thing, I will be bound to remain here-if you don’t, I shall be better pleased.’

‘One issue concerns me,’ Simon said. ‘How can you be so sure that this was your sword? I heard that it was discovered recently by your father and he brought it back. Had he seen it before?’

‘My father was convinced when he bought it. That’s enough for me.’

‘Where did he find it?’

‘A trader in Cyprus with some outlandish name. Zuliani or something, who said it was definitely the sword which Sir William de Tracy had used to murder St Thomas. There was no doubt.’

Baldwin said nothing to that. He had met traders in Cyprus and other bazaars about the world, and if he had met an honest one, the experience had evaded his notice. ‘What was your father doing out there?’

‘I think he had the urge to follow in Sir William de Tracy’s footsteps. He only reached as far as Cyprus, but he was able to visit shrines and pilgrimage sites even so. When he brought it back, he was proud! Proud! I wanted nothing to do with it, and when my father died only a short while later, I put it to rest, safely locked in that trunk.’

‘Except on that day of all days you left the chest unlocked. You had a good reason to wish the sword to be lost. Who else would have desired it gone?’

Sir William’s face darkened and he took a long draught of ale. ‘Plainly the thief who walked into my hall and took it,’ he spat.

‘So you say, but what would he have done with it?’ Baldwin asked. ‘It is a pretty thing, I daresay, but what use is beauty in a weapon that can never be shown or used? If he had ever drawn that steel, he would have been instantly accused of stealing it. I find this idea that he wandered aimlessly into your hall and stole this valuable and famous sword quite incomprehensible. Unless he had been paid to take it, there is no reason why he should have taken it. Someone else must either have wanted it, or wanted it to be gone. It is fair to say that you wanted it gone, and could have paid this man to remove it. Who else had a similar desire?’

Sir William lifted his head truculently, staring. ‘You accuse me of having my own sword stolen?’

His voice was low and little more than a whisper. Seeing how his face had paled, Baldwin nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps you should consider telling the truth now, Sir William.’

That evening was quiet in the castle. The servants had felt the mood of their master, and all were reserved and cautious in his presence. Simon and Baldwin sat with the lord and his wife on the dais to eat, while half his household ate in the main hall.

Simon and Baldwin spoke little, which was much to the bailiff’s taste. Today he felt that talking would be a foolish occupation. He was happier filling his belly with good meat and wine than chatting with the depressing company about the table. There was a sense almost of despair about the place. Simon was almost sad that Roger was not with them.

Sir William spoke not at all, but sat grimly toying with his food, while his wife chewed at hers with a grim determination, with many a loving look at her man. As she finished, she set her hand on his, affectionately, so Simon thought.

If it was intended to comfort or strengthen him, it failed. He snatched his hand away, and she looked desolate. ‘My love!’

Sir William shook his head, then eyed her slyly and raised his goblet in a toast. ‘No, dear. No longer. Gentlemen! Please, raise your glasses to honour us! As soon as I may I shall leave here and all will go to Roger. I shall expect my wife to join a convent to serve Christ as I go to Tavistock to serve God. It is good! Freedom from the world at last!’

‘Where is your brother tonight?’ Simon asked after he had drained his mazer.

‘He rode off earlier. Often he will go into town to mingle with the folk there,’ Sir William said with distaste. ‘He may deign to return later. If he has any sense, he’ll stay there the night: he knows I won’t have my gates opened between sunset and dawn without good reason. If he stays in Bow, all well and good. If he behaves in the way I expect, he’d find it hard to mount his horse in any case. I only hope we don’t have complaints from another peasant’s father about a squalling brat in nine months.’

Later, Simon and Baldwin went to walk about the walls where they could be alone.

Simon muttered, ‘I’ve visited happier tombs.’

‘There is a great deal of restrained anguish in this place,’ Baldwin said. ‘I shall be glad to leave. This is not a happy home. The sword has brought only misery.’

‘They were all happier when it was gone.’

‘Yes. A curious superstition.’

Simon winced. Baldwin had always been scathing about those who ascribed evil fortune to the devil, and had often derided the bailiff’s sensible precautions against the evil eye or the other signs of bad luck. ‘If it’s truly evil, it’s sensible to be glad to be rid of it.’

‘Then they might throw it away. The idea that an inanimate slab of metal has the ability or desire to harm people is ridiculous. A man does not discover an urge to kill by proximity with a weapon.’

‘A man might kill in a rash fit of rage if he has access to a weapon, though.’

‘And if he has no sword or mace, if there is no knife or dagger available, he will reach for a club, a rock or a walking staff. What would you do, remove all tools from a man’s hand in case it might be used as a weapon in the future?’

‘Of course not!’

‘No. It is a facile, ridiculous solution. And no more than the innocent stone snatched up to brain a man, or the entirely unmalicious walking staff, or a kindly fist, no more does that sword represent evil. There is nothing evil in a lump of metal, Simon; only in the mind of the man who wields it. The sword is innocent. The man who gripped it is the murderer. It is he whom we must catch!’

‘Is there much possibility of that?’

Baldwin glanced at him, then stared out over the dark land below the walls. ‘I hope so, Simon. I hope so. Tomorrow we must ride to Down St Mary and speak to Sir John de Curterne. Perhaps we shall learn more there.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ Simon said, but then he touched Baldwin’s sleeve. Down in the court he had seen a pair of figures, and even as Baldwin followed his pointing finger, and the two people stepped silently into the shadows, Simon breathed, ‘So what would Madam Alice have to say so urgently to Denis, do you think?’

‘I am not sure,’ Baldwin said, but his face was troubled.

Sir John de Curterne eyed his visitors with a degree of amusement mixed with suspicion. ‘So, let me guess: this is about that damned sword of Sir William’s? And you want to ask me whether I wanted to have my own reeve murdered, I suppose?’

Baldwin took the seat proffered. ‘No. We know why your man stole the sword.’

‘You accuse a dead man?’ Sir John’s face darkened. ‘That is vile: slandering a man who is unable to defend himself. Speak no ill of the dead!’

‘He was paid handsomely to steal that sword, Sir John. And then someone else decided to retrieve it.’

‘Sir William’s brother?’

The shrewdness of the knight’s eyes made Baldwin frown quickly. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘He wishes the sword to be gone, for then his brother might relinquish the world and step inside a convent. There is no secret about this: Sir William has willingly told all he meets that he wishes to be free of the guilt he feels for his name and the sword’s crime.’

‘Why would Roger wish to take back the sword that can guarantee him a manor of his own, then?’

‘Perhaps he reckoned to keep it for himself? I would not be surprised to hear it. It’s a valuable weapon. Maybe he chose to take it, keep it safely concealed, and then, once his brother was safely out of the way, he could bring it out and have it for himself again?’

‘You think he would be so devious?’

‘There is little which would surprise me about that man,’ Sir John said coldly. ‘He came here yesterday to ask me to help him. He wished me to agree to keep the sword. He offered it to me, so long as I kept it secret until his brother had left the manor.’

‘He admitted he had killed your reeve?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘He said he saw Walter leave the castle with something hidden as he rode back himself. Roger went to the hall, saw the open chest and guessed at Walter’s theft. That is what he told me. And he killed Walter because he thought the man had robbed his brother. Only later, he said, did he realize that the disappearance of the sword would serve him quite well, so he hid the body and concealed the sword. It makes sense. It’s the way he would act-the damned fool!’

‘You said that to him?’

‘In my own hall I see no need to conceal my feelings, Sir Knight.’

There was a noise at the tapestry behind him, and Sir John turned. Seeing his son, his face broke into a broad beaming smile, and he reached down to the toddler before he could fall. ‘Careful, Matt! Walking at that speed is too dangerous for a boy.’

‘It’s hard when they’re that age,’ Baldwin observed.

‘You have a son?’

‘A daughter. My friend here has a little fellow.’

‘Yes,’ Simon grinned. ‘But he’s a fair amount older, and I don’t worry about him when he falls.’

‘We all fear for our children, though, don’t we?’ Sir John said, sitting with his boy on his knee. ‘We wish them to be safe and happy.’

Simon nodded, and then frowned musingly. ‘Is that why Sir Humphrey brought back that sword? Did he think it would ease Sir William’s mind?’

Sir John shook his head. ‘I don’t think he ever believed the thing was the same as the one that killed St Thomas. He merely thought it a pretty thing with a good balance.’

‘That would make sense,’ Baldwin said. ‘I’ve seen nothing to suggest the sword was the same as the one lost by Tracy’s ancestor. Tell me: we have heard that Sir William was a close friend to you and your brothers. Is that true?’

‘He was-and Roger. But William was closer to my oldest brother, Godfrey. He drowned many years ago now. After that, Sir William stopped seeing us. I felt…’

‘What?’

‘That he was embarrassed. You see he snatched Lady Alice and married her as soon as it was known that Godfrey was dead. I think he was ashamed of being so quick. But who could blame him? She was, is, beautiful. Any man would be keen to win her.’

Simon stopped making faces to amuse the toddler on his lap, his expression suddenly stilled. ‘You mean you think he could have killed to win her?’

Sir John’s face retained its smile, but his eyes had no humour in them. ‘I have never seen anything to prove that.’

Baldwin was frowning. ‘So you consider it possible?’

‘Sir William had an alibi. He was with someone else when my brother died.’

‘Do you remember who?’

‘Alice, his wife.’

Simon was watching Baldwin, and fleetingly he saw an expression of shock on his face. Simon pointed out, ‘It is Roger who admits killing Coule. Not Sir William.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Sir John, we have heard you made no enquiries when Coule didn’t turn up when he was dead. Why was that?’

‘He had said he must go for a short while. He had asked to go on a pilgrimage to Canterbury.’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. Simon said, ‘It’s just as he said last night, then.’

‘Who? What was said last night?’ Sir John demanded sharply.

Baldwin eyed him measuringly. ‘I should prefer that this remains between us, Sir John. Yesterday Sir William told us that he himself paid your reeve to steal the sword because once the thing was lost, Sir William would feel free. He wanted to be able to go into the convent with an easy heart. He told Coule he wanted the thing taken to Canterbury, there to be given to the church. He wanted the guilt to be expiated in the manner best suited to the crime. He wanted it to be kept there, secure.’

‘So he paid my man to enter his hall and take it?’ Sir John said wonderingly. His face hardened. ‘And then Roger killed him!’

‘Sir William told us that every time he touched it, it made his skin crawl,’ Simon said.

‘He appears very concerned about it,’ Baldwin muttered. ‘Your brother-when he was found, there were no stab wounds, I assume?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Were there any wounds on his person?’

‘He had a bruise on his head, but that was from where he fell into the water. I think that’s why he drowned, because he fell on a stone.’

‘I see. So he died and soon afterwards your neighbour became engaged to Alice. Now that Sir William wants to go into a convent, the sword is stolen and the thief was killed by Roger.’ He frowned. ‘There must be some sense in all this! If it’s gone, where is it? Sir William wanted it gone so he could join the convent, and so did his brother, presumably, so he could inherit the manor. But Sir William’s wife wanted it kept safe so she was safe from the nunnery, unless I misread her…’

‘I don’t understand,’ Sir John said.

‘It’s a common difficulty for those who try to speak to him,’ Simon said understandingly. ‘I find it’s best not to worry.’

Baldwin frowned. ‘Why did Roger want to come here to offer you the sword?’

‘He said that it had been moved while he was journeying to fetch you two. Someone had found out where he had hidden it.’

‘Gracious God!’ Baldwin stood, his face suddenly pale. ‘Simon, we may be too late! We have to find Roger-quickly, man! Sir John, I thank you for your hospitality, but we have to leave immediately!’

Denis was strolling from the hall to his small chamber when he heard the excited chattering from outside. He stopped, wondering, and then made a decision, and walked out to the doorway that gave out on to the court.

In the little space inside the wall, five grooms, a brewer and a smith were talking animatedly with Hob. Denis eyed them with a frown. There was no sign of the Keeper, nor of his master. ‘What is this? Why all the noise?’

Hob, flushed and anxious, bowed his head respectfully. ‘Master clerk, I found this today by the road.’

Denis felt his mouth gape as Hob unwrapped a filthy piece of old sacking, and brought out the stained and marked sword.

‘But how could you have…?’ he spluttered.

Sir William had arrived in the court with his wife, and now he stared bleakly at Denis, then at Hob. He motioned with a jerk of his chin towards the sword. ‘Where was it?’

‘Under a bush near the place where Coule was killed, sir,’ Hob said deferentially. He glanced up at Sir William, then Denis and Madam Alice, who stood a little way behind the other two. ‘It was well wrapped and covered in leaves, sir.’

Sir William nodded, eyeing the weapon with chill disgust. When he heard the calls from the court, he had been in the process of composing a letter to the abbot of Tavistock, Robert Champeaux, requesting that he might be permitted to join the convent. He had felt, for the first time in many years, as though a weight had been lifted from his back. And now it was back, he would be damned if he would give up that hope. Its shame could never be fully expunged from his family, but the sword itself could be. He knew now what he must do, before any more blood was spilled over it.

‘Sir William?’ It was his steward. The man was at Hob’s side, and he looked with concern at his master. ‘Sir, do you want me to send for the Keeper and his Bailiff?’

‘Do as you will! Give me that sword,’ Sir William snapped, and carried it into the hall.

Baldwin and Simon rode as fast as a Dartmoor farmer with the devil’s wish-hounds at their backs. Every so often Simon would throw an anxious look at his friend, but all he could see was a troubled desperation as the knight raked his spurs along his mount’s flanks, whipping the reins and staring ahead.

Simon usually enjoyed the thrill of a race along a roadway, the wind crackling and snapping at his cloak, the rush in his ears, the roar and clatter of hooves on the metalled surfaces, but not today. There was something deeply troubling Baldwin, and that thought was uppermost in his mind as they leaned into the corners, ever trying to increase their speed. The lanes narrowed, then widened, and suddenly they were at the Bow road, and could hurtle along, then drop down the hillside into the town itself.

He had assumed that they were aiming for the town’s market hall, for no specific reason, but Baldwin reined to a halt at the inn a little farther down the hill. He threw himself from the horse, shoved the reins through a ring in the wall, and waited impatiently for Simon before throwing the door wide and bellowing for the innkeeper.

‘Last night-did Roger de Tracy stay here?’

‘Him? No.’

Baldwin swore under his breath.

‘So that’s it? He had the sword all along. He murdered Coule, and now he’s bolted because he feels we’re too close to him,’ Simon said bitterly.

Baldwin gazed at him in surprise. ‘Roger? In Good God’s name, no! I fear he’s been killed too!’

It took Baldwin a little time to track down the local watchmen. In the end he took the simple expedient of grabbing the horn from the belt of a passing man and blowing on that. Before long, several men had arrived and were standing watching him with suspicious, surly faces.

‘I’m the constable. What’s the hue and cry for?’

‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. I am seeking master Roger de Tracy. He didn’t return home last night, and he didn’t stay at the inn here. I want you to organize a posse and find him. If he’s not in the town itself, he may be injured and lying in a ditch somewhere between Sir John de Curterne’s house or the castle at Nymet Tracy.’

‘That might take days!’

‘Then you had best hurry yourself, master constable, hadn’t you?’ Baldwin said nastily. ‘And in the meantime, send a man to the castle to let them know.’

The constable had taken a step back as the knight had leaned towards him, anxious to have upset a man of such power, but now, as he was about to shout for a lad to ride to the castle, there was a rattle of hooves coming down the lane, and Simon recognized one of the grooms from the castle. ‘What’s he want?’

Baldwin chewed at his lip. ‘This is all going ill, I fear.’

‘Where was the thing?’ Baldwin demanded of Hob.

The miller stood disconsolate at his harsh tone, his head hanging. Simon was sitting near Sir William, while Alice had a seat a short distance behind them. Baldwin gripped the sword in his right hand, studying the metalwork.

‘It was right near the place where Coule’s body had lain. I think it was shoved there in a hurry, for it was not well hidden. Just had some leaves and twigs thrown over it.’

‘It was wrapped in that?’ Baldwin prodded the folds of sacking with the point of the sword. The point was scratched and marked, he saw. It needed a good polish.

‘Yes. And shoved under a blackthorn. I only saw it because I caught a glint from it when I rode past.’

‘Why was it not seen before?’ Simon wondered.

‘I don’t know. But the blade has blood on it still. Perhaps some creature smelled that, and pulled the cloth aside to see if there was food inside?’

Simon nodded. Hob had lost all his earlier affability, and now stood as though terrified. Well, that was understandable. Many were petrified when questioned in front of their master, and this fellow was a villein. ‘And you happened to be wandering this way?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Why?’ he asked gently.

‘Sir?’

‘Why were you wandering over here? You said yesterday that you rarely came this way except when you brought milled flour for the castle. When were you here last?’

‘Day before that.’

‘And you were asked to return only two days later?’ Simon asked smoothly.

Baldwin sucked at his teeth, glanced at Simon, and jerked his head to the door. ‘You must take us there and show us exactly where you found the thing. Sir William, do you wish to accompany us?’

Sir William shrugged sulkily and motioned with his hand. ‘You go. I’ve things to do.’

Simon threw him a look as he left the hall. Sir William’s eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the sword, and there was in his face an expression of such revulsion and loathing, Simon was shocked for a moment. He stood still, staring, even as Alice rose from her seat and went to her man, her arms going about his stiff shoulders. In her face, Simon saw relief as well as resignation, but when she looked across at him, he was chilled by her expression. It was sly delight.

‘Here?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘Yes, sir,’ Hob replied quietly.

They had hurried as quickly as Hob’s casual trot allowed. He had no riding horse, and had never learned the skill of horsemanship, so the other two were forced to travel at little more than a gentle amble. By the time they reached the spot, it was well past noon, and the sun was in their eyes as they turned westwards along Hob’s lane.

Baldwin glanced about him, then dropped from his horse. ‘When do you say you found the thing?’

‘It was this morning. I took it to the castle as soon as I found it.’

‘Why were you coming along here today?’

Hob’s mouth opened, but his dismayed expression told Baldwin enough.

‘Hold! Good Miller, don’t lie to me! It won’t do. You should have invented a reason before going to the castle.’

As he spoke he was moving swiftly about the roadway, glancing this way and that. Soon he found a patch of dried soil, and he bent to study it. Up again, he strode to the bush Hob had indicated. ‘It lay just here?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You must have good eyesight. Come here!’ He stood behind Hob and gripped his shoulders. ‘Where were you standing when you saw it?’

‘Master, I…’

‘This is a few yards from where the body was found. Only a very few. And you suggest to me that the coroner and juries could have missed it? There are footprints all over this place. If the sword had lain there, someone would have stumbled over it.’

‘But I saw it!’

Baldwin smiled grimly. ‘From where, master Miller? Where were you when you say you saw it?’

There was a silence. Simon dropped from his horse and his face wore a harder expression now as he joined the other two. ‘Well?’

Baldwin released the miserable miller, who covered his face with his hands and stood quietly trembling.

‘Perhaps if I tell you, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘There was a visitor to you today, who told you to be cautious, to be very careful, and who gave you that sword. Isn’t that right? And told you to bring the thing to the castle and say you found it here. Yes?’

‘I can’t say, sir! If I say yes, I’ll be dead. If I say no, you’ll have me arrested. What would you have me do? Condemn myself for opening my mouth?’

‘You already have, Miller,’ Baldwin said uncompromisingly.

The body was discovered in the late afternoon. One of Sir John’s peasants saw crows and magpies squabbling, and set off to learn why. When he reached the woods where they had been, he found the corpse.

‘Sir William, I am sorry,’ the port reeve said, and his expression told better than his words how true was the sentiment. It was not unknown for a man to lose his reason and attack the bearer of such tidings.

The knight sat in his seat with his right hand clenched on the arm rest. His face betrayed no emotion, other than the tic that pulled at his right eyelid every few moments. At his side his wife rested a hand on his shoulder, and he petulantly pushed it away. ‘Leave me! All of you. Now!’

Gleaming on the table, freshly cleaned, the object of his hatred lay pointing at him like an accusation, and he felt it like the finger of God.

This sword was the cause of his shame and despair. It had twisted him, making him no better than the murderer Sir William de Tracy who had stormed into the cathedral at Canterbury all those years before, with this sword drawn, and hacked at the saint there in his own church. Abysmal, cursed action! It had tainted and destroyed him, just as it had others. He had been torn from the path of decency and honour, and his life was ruined.

He could not bear to have that thing pointing at him any longer. Standing, he walked around the table, looking down at it with loathing. The thing shone like a new tool, as though it was innocent of any offence. Yet he knew its nature: evil, like a weapon of the devil. It should be destroyed.

It could be destroyed. It would be destroyed! He took it up, revulsion on his face, and carried it to the door. ‘Call the smith to me!’

Baldwin and Simon rode into the court after questioning the miller to find the place quiet.

‘Now what has happened?’ Baldwin said.

‘It’s a bit grim and brooding, isn’t it?’ Simon said glowering about him.

This late in the day the place should have been a mess of men hurrying about finishing the last tasks before nightfall. Grooms and cooks should have been running to their jobs, but tonight all was still, as though the place was deserted.

‘Hoi! Groom!’ Simon bellowed.

There was no immediate response, but then a tousled head appeared in a doorway near the stables.

‘Come on, boy! Get over here,’ Simon roared, growing irritable.

The lad was clearly upset at being called, but he trotted over to them and took their reins from them as they dropped to the floor.

‘Where is everyone?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘The steward sent many to the body to protect it.’

‘Master Roger?’ Baldwin snapped.

‘Yes, sir. He was dead. Murdered.’

‘How?’

‘Run through with a sword, they say, and left in the woods to rot.’

‘Which woods? Quickly, boy, where?’

He was shocked by the intensity in Baldwin’s voice. ‘Up near the town, sir, north and east of Bow, so they say. A groom’s been sent to the coroner already.’

Baldwin sighed. ‘So I was right, then. Where is your master?’

‘Sir William’s in the smithy, sir. He’s having the forge lit.’

‘Nonsense!’ Baldwin muttered to himself. ‘Come, Simon. Let’s stop this foolishness.’

Simon opened his mouth, and then closed it again. With a muted curse against all keepers, and especially mad ones from the wilder parts of Devon, he trailed after Baldwin into the smithy.

It was a small chamber, and not yet hot. The coals had been allowed to cool after the day’s work was done, and now a small fire had been lit in the middle: tinder was glowing beneath kindling, while the smith blew carefully on it. A boy stood nearby with a bellows in his hand, ready to begin fanning the flames and adding coals.

‘You are in time to see this foul thing destroyed!’ Sir William spat.

He stood in the far corner of the smithy, in the dark. All Simon could see of him after the light outside was a gleam every so often from the sword’s blade.

Baldwin eyed the fire. ‘What are you doing?’

‘My master wants the blade destroyed,’ the smith said nervously, eyeing his master.

‘He will change his mind. You can both leave us,’ Baldwin said flatly.

The smith looked at him, then at his master. He motioned to the boy, who scampered off, and then with a second glance at Sir William, the smith nodded and left.

Baldwin went to the forge and scattered the kindling. ‘It would achieve nothing, Sir William.’

‘My brother is dead.’

‘I am sorry about that. I feared as much.’

‘He was spitted like a boar on a spear, and left to rot in among the trees,’ Sir William said softly.

‘It is not the fault of the sword, though,’ Baldwin said. ‘The sword had nothing to do with it.’

‘You think so?’

Sir William strode forward and stood before Baldwin, the sword in his fist. He lifted it, and Simon automatically reached for his own hilt, only hesitating when he saw that Baldwin had not flinched.

‘See this, Sir Baldwin? It looks so fine, so pretty! But it’s the sword that killed St Thomas. They say Sir William hacked at the saint’s head as he lay on the ground and opened his skull, spilling his brains on the ground. I expect that’s how the point got so scratched and marked, because it clashed on the stone flags of the floor.’

‘A sword is not evil. Only the man who wields it,’ Baldwin said mildly.

‘Or woman, yes,’ Sir William grunted, his voice almost a sob. ‘Yes, you are right. It’s me. Me who is evil, not this! I have tainted all I have touched. I am cursed!’

‘You are guilty of murder. You have broken two of God’s commandments.’

‘I know!’ Sir William put his hands to his face, the sword’s point almost catching in a beam overhead. ‘I could not help it, though.’

‘You may destroy this thing if you wish, but it will stop nothing. It will serve no purpose. The guilty person is the one who should pay. Not some lump of metal.’

‘I can’t!’

‘There are three deaths already, including your brother.’

‘It’s all because she won’t go to the convent. She has seduced someone to do her bidding, and he has killed for her,’ Sir William said brokenly. ‘To kill for her ambition and pride.’

‘Her?’ Simon asked.

‘My wife never wished for an arranged marriage between herself and Godfrey de Curterne. So she told me that she had fallen desperately in love with me. I was a willing tool in her hands, a boy whom she had grown to know as she was introduced to Godfrey’s friends. Knowing me, it was easy for her to twist my affections and make me love her.

‘And that would have been enough. But then this sword arrived back. And with it, the memory of the murder of St Thomas. My God, but it is an evil tale!’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But it’s not your tale, and it’s not the sword’s. You knew of the story before the sword appeared, did you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you were intending to go to the monastery?’

Sir William let his hands fall. ‘The guilt of killing Godfrey has been eating at me for years. I was his best, his closest, friend and I killed him with a rock. I knocked him into the water, and then held him under while he struggled, so that I may keep his woman for my own. Oh, my God!’

‘When the sword reappeared, what then?’

‘She saw her chance. She said she didn’t want it in the castle, said it reminded her of the murder of St Thomas. I could never forget the thing. Nor the murders. My ancestor’s and mine. And then I felt I could not remain while the sword existed. I had a duty to keep it safe. That was what she told me: it was my duty. She showed me how it would be the deepest cowardice to leave the sword behind. I should have destroyed it long ago!’

‘All this has nothing to do with the sword,’ Baldwin said more harshly. ‘It’s people who have killed. A man killed Godfrey, a man killed Coule, and a man killed your brother.’

‘She has her talons in another man now.’

‘Who?’

‘Until the news today…I know she had already won the heart of Roger…I had thought he would kill me. I welcomed it. The end of the guilt; the end of the memories of poor Godfrey’s face…’

‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps in the hall.’

‘Let us seek her out, Sir William. It is time this whole matter was done.’

‘Yes. Yes, it is time.’

Later Baldwin recalled guessing the truth in those moments on the way to the hall, but all Simon was aware of was an emptiness in his heart. Sir William was a broken man, his soul ravaged because of the terrible crime he had committed for this woman; killing his closest friend. His brother had been tempted by her, and now was dead because he sought to win her love. Now, apparently, a third had been polluted by her.

Deceit, treachery, and death. They had trailed her footsteps like shadows, and all who crossed her would suffer.

‘Husband! I was worried about you,’ she said. She was sitting in the hall, a jug of wine at her hand, and she stood and smiled sweetly at the men.

Baldwin was in front, but he paused before crossing the room. This was to be a difficult interrogation, the more so because her husband was the man with the real jurisdiction here in his own hall.

Sir William, too, slowed as he entered. His pale features were drawn and anguished. ‘Madam, you have seen to the murder of your last man.’

‘Which man is that?’ she asked, her face pale. ‘Please, husband, I know you feel unwell. I’ve seen it in your eyes. It is that fearful sword. Cast it down, and come and rest with me. Let me pour you some…’

‘Poison? Is that what you have there?’ Sir William grated. ‘You have no wish for my companionship any longer, do you?’

She stood quietly, a brittle smile on her lips, and then poured a large measure into the mazer beside her, and drank it off in one draught. ‘No poison, husband. I have no need of such things.’

‘Everything about you is poisonous!’

She shook her head, the picture of humility and hurt pride. ‘Husband, dear, all I have ever sought is your advantage. You are mistaken if you think that I am trying to harm you. I love you.’

‘Even when you flaunted yourself before Roger? When you ordered Hob to bring the sword back here after you gave it to him? When you asked me to murder my own best friend so I could gain you for myself?’

‘Why should I do that?’ she asked sadly.

Simon leaned against the table. ‘Madam, you wanted to marry into Sir William’s family because you were offended to be allied to a man without your approval. Sir Godfrey died for that familiarity. Coule had to die because you knew that once that sword was gone, your husband would take himself to the monastery and insist that you went to a nunnery too. And Roger has died because…why? He rejected your advances?’

Her face was white. ‘I have killed no one. I have no reason to want Roger dead-what reason could I have for wanting him harmed? It would be ridiculous! I made no advances to him. He kept making advances to me!’

‘Perhaps that was why Roger died, then. Because you were seen with him, and your lover could not bear to see you in his arms?’

‘That is…’

‘Enough lies, woman!’ Sir William snapped. ‘You made Roger kill Coule because you wanted me gone, and now you’ve brought this thing back since Roger’s dead. You think I didn’t know? I saw it in his room, but how you had it “discovered” by Hob, I don’t know!’

Baldwin suddenly felt his mouth fall wide. ‘Stand back, Sir William!’ he commanded.

‘She must die!’

‘One problem with Roger’s death is there are so many roads from Down St Mary. How could someone know his route?’

‘Who cares?’ Sir William blustered.

‘His brother might, if his brother had travelled that way with Roger. As you did while you were both young. You alone knew his way.’

‘She did too!’

‘You think so? She was with Sir John’s brother in those days, not you. And when Godfrey died and you stole his wife, you lost all contact with Sir John. You didn’t go that way, did you? She never knew your brother’s favourite paths to Down St Mary.’

‘Enough of this!’

‘You found the sword in Roger’s room,’ Baldwin repeated. ‘You killed your brother, because he had killed Coule and thwarted your plan of retirement. It was you, Sir William, not your wife!’

Sir William’s face grew ferocious with rage, and he turned to his wife again. The tapestry rippled behind Baldwin, and he shot a look over his shoulder in time to see the blade appear, stepping back to give himself fighting room, drawing his own sword in one fluid movement as Denis ran at Sir William.

Sir William was bearing down on her, the sword still in his hand, lifting it to strike. As Simon watched dumbstruck, Denis swung his sword inexpertly. It was not sharp, and slammed into Sir William’s upper neck, slashing a thick wedge of muscle from his skull down to his shoulder, then Denis raised the sword again and brought it down on Sir William’s head, breaking open his skull.

There was a fine explosion of blood, and Baldwin heard Madam Alice scream as a spray jetted across her face.

Then Baldwin was on him, and his peacock-blue blade flashed as he lifted it and slammed the pommel hard onto Denis’s head a little above his left ear. Denis gasped, and his body stiffened, just for a moment, before collapsing like a poleaxed ox, falling vertically to his knees, his haunches dropping to rest on his ankles, and then toppling slowly to his right to fall over Sir William’s still-twitching legs.

‘I want a rider to fetch Sir Richard de Welles immediately,’ Baldwin said. ‘You! Get wine and a bowl of warmed water. Hurry!’

He had resheathed his sword, and now he took charge in the room, striding across the floor to where Madam Alice sat in her chair, her face marked with a streak of crimson.

‘Madam, I am sorry for all that has happened,’ Baldwin said. ‘But I was determined that your husband would confess. I had no idea that Denis was there.’

No, he had had no idea that he was there, but he should have anticipated it, though, as he told himself angrily. ‘You will wish to leave this room until the coroner’s inquest. There is no need to remain in here with the corpse.’

‘I shall…shall go to my chamber,’ Alice said weakly, and stood, only to slump back in her seat as though drained of all energy.

‘Where is this lady’s maid?’ Baldwin bellowed, and soon a pair of women were helping Alice through the door. She paused once in the doorway, her eyes going to the body on the floor, the messy puddle of blood about his broken skull, and then she coughed, or it may be she sobbed, and was led from the hall.

‘CAN YOU ALL HEAR ME?’

Baldwin winced at the dull bellow. In a confined space Sir Richard de Welles was deafening. ‘They can hear you, Sir Richard.’

‘Very well, I call you all to witness this…’

After so many years as Keeper of the King’s Peace, Baldwin was perfectly used to the routine of an inquest, and his mind wandered until he was called upon to state what he had seen that afternoon when Sir William died.

‘I believe that Sir William intended to kill his wife in front of us.’

‘Why d’you think that?’ the coroner rumbled.

‘Sir William was eaten with guilt for a murder which he committed many years ago, in order to win the hand of this beautiful lady. He murdered his own best friend, her betrothed, and that crime has remained with him ever since. Every time he looked at her, she reminded him that he had killed to win her. In the end, he persuaded himself that she was herself responsible, I think. His mind was weakened with shame and guilt.’

‘Proof?’

‘He confessed to the crime before my friend Bailiff Puttock and myself,’ Baldwin said shortly. ‘It led him to seek absolution. Recently, his father acquired this sword, which Sir William believed was the sword which his ancestor used to kill St Thomas. It seemed to him to indicate God’s displeasure at his murder, as though the return to his family of the weapon that had executed Becket was proof of God’s anger. Sending it to Canterbury meant the cathedral could dispose of it as they wished. At the same time He could commit himself to perpetual penance by entering the cloister at Tavistock.’

‘All clear enough,’ the coroner boomed. ‘But then the sword was stolen.’

‘Not entirely! He paid Coule to take it to Canterbury. Coule gained permission from his master to go, and all seemed well, except Coule was seen leaving by Roger. Perhaps Roger noticed Coule was hiding something, and decided to overtake him. Coule tried to escape to the nearest house, Hob the miller’s, but to no avail, clearly.

‘Roger had no idea that Sir William was disposing of it intentionally, so Roger struck down Coule as a felon. But then I think he recognized that if the sword was lost, his brother would leave the manor. All would go to him. So Roger concealed the sword and waited.

‘Sir William was devastated. His plans had gone awry, and he saw this as further evidence of God’s displeasure. Even his attempt at atonement was thwarted…but then he realized that he had no duty of guardianship any longer. He began to plan his retreat from the world.’

‘Except the sword reappeared,’ the coroner said in a muted thunder.

‘Exactly. He found it himself. After the murder of Coule, there was a search for the missing sword, but Roger told me he organized the search himself. Sir William must have suspected him. When Roger came to me, Sir William did not prevent him. While Roger was with me, Sir William found the sword among Roger’s belongings. It persuaded him that his brother and wife were plotting to murder him.

‘He was a jealous husband, and always feared that she might seduce another as he thought she had him. His wife had no vocation, and disliked the idea of the convent. He knew that. But if she was to escape the convent against his wishes, she must have had a means of removing him. The easiest way to achieve that would be to kill him. But to do that, she would need an accomplice. That was his reasoning.

‘Sir William knew the sword was in Roger’s room, so he decided to kill Roger. On Roger’s body, he found the sword, because Roger had been trying to dispose of it. He brought the sword back and concealed it.’

‘He killed his own brother?’ Sir Richard growled, his voice setting the plates rattling on the sideboard.

‘In his eyes, I suppose, it was self defence. He would have killed his wife; he couldn’t leave her alive to plot his death with another-he persuaded himself that she could turn the head of any of his staff, even the lawyer.’

‘Quite understandable,’ the coroner murmured gallantly.

‘And the last piece of proof for him was Hob finding the sword again,’ Baldwin said.

Madam Alice shook herself. ‘I was stupid! I was sure that Roger had the sword, and I looked in his chamber, and found it in his chest. Roger wanted the manor, and he didn’t care what happened to me, so he was happy to conceal it. Or so I thought. I sent Denis with it to tell Hob to say that he’d just found it.’

‘But Sir William had put it there in a hurry after killing Roger. He simply put it back where Roger had hidden it before,’ Baldwin said. ‘So when it turned up, he thought it proved his wife was in league with his dead brother.’

‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ the coroner demanded, turning to the battered lawyer.

Denis closed his eyes against his headache. The Keeper had probably saved his life the day he’d killed Sir William, but he could perhaps have used a little less force. He felt sick again, and hoped he wouldn’t vomit. ‘Sir, I could see how Sir William had turned against his wife, and I was worried for her safety.’

‘Was it your place to worry about her?’

‘I thought so, Coroner. I believe any man has a duty to protect those weaker than himself if set upon by a madman.’

‘So you hid yourself from Sir William that day?’ Baldwin pressed him.

‘Yes. To save her life.’

Baldwin turned to face the coroner again. ‘You see? Sir William thought that his wife would keep the sword here. While it remained, he could not leave; he must get it to Canterbury. When he found that his own brother had concealed the sword, he was enraged-especially since he thought his wife had plotted to save herself from the convent, so he thought, at the expense of his immortal soul.’

‘This lawyer protected her by slaying her husband?’

‘Precisely. Denis saved her life. And I saved his by knocking him out so that others wouldn’t chase and kill him.’

‘That sword is clearly cursed. To kill St Thomas and then these others…it says much for the foulness of the blade. I consider Sir William had the right idea. It should be sent without delay to Canterbury to atone for its crimes.’

Baldwin made a gesture of disgust. ‘You would accuse the sword? It is a lump of inanimate metal, Coroner!’

‘You said it was the weapon that killed…’

‘Sir William de Tracy killed Becket with his sword; Roger killed Coule with his; Roger was killed with Sir William’s riding sword; Sir William died from a blow by Denis’s. Not one of those deaths was committed with this sword.’

‘Saint…’

Baldwin irritably cut him off. ‘That is the greatest irony. This is not the sword that killed St Thomas. That was with Sir William when he joined the Knights Templar as his penance and set sail for the Holy Land. He died on the way. I have seen his grave in Sicily, and in his grave, so I was told by the priest, was the sword that struck down St Thomas, so that when his body rose again on the day of judgement, he would be reminded of his crime. This is not his sword.’

‘Then whose is it?’ the coroner growled.

‘Just below the cross there is a mark,’ Baldwin said, picking up the sword and pointing. ‘It looks like a shield, and the name “de la Pomeroy”, I think.’

Sir Richard bent his head and peered. ‘Could be…But if it’s not the Tracy sword, why is it here?’

‘I doubt that Sir Humphrey thought for a moment that it was the genuine de Tracy sword,’ Baldwin said. ‘I knew Sir Humphrey a little. He was cynical fellow. I’m sure he liked to say that it could have been the original sword, but he bought it for a more mundane reason.’

‘What?’

‘Pick it up and handle it,’ Baldwin urged. ‘It has a feel all of its own. Light, nimble, and balanced. He bought it because it is excellent, I deem.’

The inquest took little time. As the jurors filed from the hall and the clerk scratched at his parchment, Sir Richard picked up the sword to pass back to Madam Alice. ‘This is yours, lady.’

She flinched. ‘I want nothing to do with that thing! Throw it in the river. Or, better still, carry out my husband’s last wish and destroy it. I will not have it in the hall here. I want never to see it again.’

‘I understand that Sir John was offered it by Roger,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘If you really wish to see the sword disposed of, I can take it to him.’

‘Please, just take it away from me. I feel as though I am under a curse all the time that shameful weapon stays here!’

When the sword was given to him, Sir John could only laugh at the fortune that had brought it to him. As soon as he picked it up, he could feel the life in the blade. The way that it moved through the air spoke of the marvellous construction, the careful effort taken over the hilt, the bonding of wood and steel and iron together to create such a piece of workmanship.

‘This is ours now, Matthew,’ he said as his son teetered at his side, standing without support for a moment.

The boy reached up and touched the pommel, and Sir John laughed, bringing the blade lower so he could feel it, but as he did so, the little boy tottered forward. His hand slipped forward and ran down the blade: only a short distance, but far enough to open his palm on the sharp blade.

As Sir John threw the sword aside and grabbed urgently at his son, he felt his heart pound uncomfortably, and he cast one suspicious look at the weapon lying innocently on the ground, but then he was calling to the maids to bring him water to wash his son’s wound and cloths to bind it.

No, it was only a sword, he told himself. Only a sword.