The Tolls of Death

Chapter Nine

When she was introduced to the two strangers, Lady Anne was struck first by Sir Baldwin’s quick, searching observation of her, and then by his smile. It lit up his whole face.

It was in the hall, early in the evening, while servants set out the table on the dais for them. This was not to be a great banquet, for the household had already taken their food at their accustomed time, a little before noon, but in the presence of such guests Anne had seen to it that there was a good selection of dishes prepared. It was only a shame that they had been so long in coming.

The hall itself was an excellent place to entertain. With the high ceiling of smoke-blackened rafters and thick thatch, it was Anne’s favourite room in the castle. Large enough to squeeze all the vill’s men inside for winter’s celebrations, yet cosy enough with a good fire for a more intimate gathering.

She had set stools and benches about the fire, which was glowing and crackling nicely, throwing light against the walls. A pair of cressets at the wall flickered warmly, and candles of good quality lit the table on the dais. There was a pair of heavy chairs for Nicholas and herself, and opposite them a bench for their guests. They could eat at the table, then relax before the fire. More than adequate, she thought.

‘My lady, I am honoured to meet you.’

‘This is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill,’ Nicholas said. ‘And his companion, Bailiff Simon Puttock.’

She saw the dark-haired knight smile. ‘Hardly my “companion”- Simon is not my servant, he is my oldest friend. We have been on pilgrimage together to Santiago de Compostela, and are on our way home. It was the merest chance that we happened to be passing here.’

‘But your presence was welcome, especially since you could confirm my suspicions about Athelina’s death.’

‘So far as we could,’ Sir Baldwin sighed.

‘And her poor children,’ said the Bailiff. Simon Puttock looked to Anne as though he had a less firm stomach than the knight. His face was decidedly pale, and she gave him an understanding smile.

‘It must have been a horrible sight. My husband told me a little about it.’

The servants entered, trays laden. This might not be the greatest castle in the land, but the men knew how to present themselves. Each carried the platters high, while all had a large towel draped over their shoulders. Anne began to usher her guests to their places at the table. As she took her own seat, she cast an eye over the dishes, but confessed herself content. Ralph, the cook, had exceeded her expectations.

Sir Baldwin sat and surveyed the dishes with a sober expression, like a man who was interested but not devoted to food; for his part the Bailiff appeared to lose his yellowness, and instead his face took on a ruddy hue. Probably the normal colour for a man who spent much of his time in the saddle, Anne thought. He was a pleasing-looking man, with his regular features, dark hair and pale-grey eyes. When he caught her glance, he grinned. ‘This makes me feel more at home! Real English food.’

‘You missed it on your travels?’

Seeing Nicholas begin to eat, Simon speared a slab of meat with his knife and almost thrust it into his mouth, only hesitating when he realised he should answer. ‘I did. Foreign food is peculiar. It isn’t so hearty as ours. Doesn’t mix well in an English stomach. Down in Galicia, I was ill for weeks. It must have been the food that did it.’

‘You must stay here as long as you like and rebuild your strength, then,’ she said warmly.

‘I am sure that there must be an inn?’ Baldwin said politely, but there was little enthusiasm in his face.

‘Yes,’ Nicholas said, ‘but it is not attractive. My wife is quite right. You must remain here with us. I am sure that there is no urgency in your journey homewards?’

‘Only the urgency of a man who misses his wife and family,’ Sir Baldwin remonstrated gently.

Lady Anne grinned broadly. ‘I wish my own husband had been so devoted, when he was on his travels!’

‘He travels much?’

‘No, but during the wars with Mortimer and the Lords Marcher, he had to go. This is the result of his homecoming,’ she smiled, patting her belly.

Sir Baldwin inclined his head graciously. ‘Any man would find it impossible to leave so beautiful a companion, let alone stay away from her.’

A compliment that was meant honestly was always a delight, but coming from a man who was so senior in rank, that made her almost light-headed with pleasure. It was kind of him, very kind.

Her husband was talking again.

‘The Coroner should be here before too long, I hope. He lives just outside Bodmin, so he could be here before noon tomorrow, if he is nearby. I only hope he hasn’t been sent away on another murder.’

Baldwin said, ‘We could wait until he arrives. It would be pleasant to speak to him, and he may have questions for us. We weren’t the First Finders, but we were early witnesses of the bodies.’

‘So long as it’s a quick inquest,’ Simon growled through a chicken bone. ‘I want to get home.’

Baldwin laughed and leaned towards Anne. ‘He is not only keen to see his wife, he has a new job.’

‘Aye, well, I’d like to get there before the end of the year,’ Simon said.

Nicholas glanced from one to the other. ‘What is that? What new job are you to take?’

‘I’ve been asked to go to Dartmouth as the Keeper of the Port for Abbot Champeaux. He has bought the farm of the port, and wants me to manage it for him,’ Simon said.

‘That is fascinating,’ Anne said. ‘You must be very pleased.’

Simon nodded, but he was keen to avoid further discussion of the matter. He kept his head down.

Anne was surprised, because from being a mere bailiff on the moors to becoming responsible for the Abbot’s Farm of the Port must represent a marvellous improvement in position. It was more than she could hope for, she thought with a pang.

Nicholas was no youngster. He was certainly valued by Sir Henry, but it was unlikely that he would ever rise beyond this little castle. He had achieved his highest position, and although he professed himself content, and Anne would never suggest that she felt otherwise, both, she knew, had a sneaking jealousy for men like this Baldwin. She would have liked to be wedded to a man who had the possibility of receiving golden spurs and a knight’s belt.

Born to rule, this Baldwin had the grace and courtesy which she associated with the best-born men in the realm. If he was ill-at-ease, he hid it. He was also clearly a man with brawn. His arms were as thick as her own husband’s, and his neck muscles were enormous: he was obviously used to wearing armour and riding a destrier.

Here, in the hall, with the different candles and torches throwing their light haphazardly, she saw a long history in his face. It was a face that had seen a lot, perhaps witnessed too much cruelty and horror. He had suffered.

They were there in Nicholas’s face too, the hard edges of a warrior’s suffering. He, like this knight, had deep gouges carved in his cheeks and forehead, the channels of pain without which no fighter could advance. If a man wished to make his living by war, he must gain such wounds, unless he won the other, less honourable signs of dissipation and excess. Such men were not to be entertained in Lady Anne’s hall, though.

‘How many men do you have here?’ Sir Baldwin was asking.

‘Including myself, twelve at present. We are a small garrison, but then our lord lives away, and his main household is with him.’

‘Excuse me, but you are not knighted?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I am afraid not, Sir Baldwin. I never earned that accolade.’

‘My friend, I am sure that you deserve it more than many a gilded parrot in the King’s court,’ Baldwin said easily. ‘You are a man who has been to war, I see, and from your look you’ve not always been on the winning side.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing, Nicholas,’ Baldwin said with raised brows. ‘I meant no insult, my friend, but it would be rare indeed for a man who fought in several wars not to have been on the side which did not win occasionally. It is no reflection upon your martial prowess, I assure you.’

‘Yes, well, a man who has been in the service of the King must have known defeats,’ Nicholas said.

‘Of course. I too have known defeats, my friend,’ Baldwin said softly, but Anne was sure that she could see sadness in his eyes as he spoke.

Anne took a little more meat from the pile in the dish. She and Nick had never discussed his past in any great detail. There was not a lot to tell, he always said, but for how wet the Welsh borders were, and how miserable the climate for a young soldier. Of the fighting he had said nothing, and Anne had not pressed him. It would have given her no pleasure to hear that he had been a brutal, violent killer. So the two avoided that subject — although now she could be tempted to find out a little. It was so strange to hear him flash out in near anger.

‘I apologise, Sir Knight. It’s just been a painful day, with that poor woman being found.’

‘Especially with her dead children,’ Anne said pensively, her hand back on her bump. She felt, rather than saw, the eyes of the three men turn to her.

The door opened, and the new squire called Warin entered. He glanced at them, crossing to a table and gesturing to a servant. Soon Richer also walked in and joined Warin.

There was something about those two which she found unsettling. Warin seemed to hold little respect for her or her husband, and she had mentioned his insolence to Nicholas already, but Nicholas had been quite short, saying only that Warin came with a letter of recommendation from their master — and if Sir Henry of Cardinham felt that this arrogant fellow was a suitable guard for his castle, who was he to disagree?

This was the age-old problem. Nicholas had more experience in his little finger than this Warin possessed in his entire soul, yet Warin was presumably well-born. He would one day be knighted, while Nicholas would remain here, mouldering slowly until he expired.

Looking up, she saw that Warin was watching Richer. The fellow seemed withdrawn, like one who was close to collapse. She wondered at that, but then she saw that Warin had turned and now studied Sir Baldwin and his friend. Nicholas noticed his interest, and called Warin and Richer over. The two were introduced to the guests, and Anne was secretly pleased to see how Sir Baldwin cast a negligent eye over them both, although he glanced at Nicholas as he was introduced to Richer. Anne herself noticed that Nicholas was as fulsome introducing Richer as he was Squire Warin. It was strange: he was respectful towards Warin, a man so much his junior, and almost affectionate towards Richer, who was a mere man-at-arms and rated no respect.

‘You are a squire?’ Sir Baldwin asked Warin.

‘Yes. I hope to be knighted before long, Sir Baldwin,’ Warin replied.

‘But until then you are here to protect the castle under the castellan here,’ Baldwin said pointedly. ‘In whose service were you before you came here?’

‘That of Sir Henry,’ Warin said.

‘You have been long in his service? That is good. Perhaps you knew the castellan before coming to serve him, then?’

‘I fear not,’ Nicholas said. ‘Sir Henry has rarely been this way, and then only for short visits. We had never met before Warin arrived here some few weeks ago. I am sure that he shall be a credit to the castle, though.’

Baldwin turned to Richer, saying, ‘You knew that woman Athelina? You seemed protective when another man belittled her.’

Richer looked at him with eyes that had dulled with loss. ‘I used to live here, but I left many years ago. When I left, I loved her. I still do.’

‘You left her?’

Richer was pale, unsettled. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and he raised a hand to his brow like a man with a headache. ‘My family died in a fire at our cottage while I was at the harvest celebrations. When I saw that they were all dead, I just wanted to get away.’

Nicholas, ever the generous-minded master, Anne thought, bless him, said, ‘Are you well, Richer? Would you like to rest?’

‘I am well, master. Just a … a slight headache, that is all.’

‘Where did you go?’ Baldwin continued.

‘I joined Sir Henry’s men, and I’ve been with him ever since. And with Squire Warin.’

Baldwin gave a sharp frown, but then Anne saw him shrug slightly as though it was of no matter. ‘Tell me, did you see her on your return? Was she so apparently crazed that she might murder in desperation?’

‘If I had seen that, I’d have saved her!’ Richer exclaimed, and then his hand returned to his head, and he gulped wine from the cup in his other. ‘No. I don’t believe that she could have murdered anyone. She was too gentle, too kind and loving.’

‘There can be little doubt,’ Nicholas said softly. ‘Who else would wish to harm her or her children?’

‘No one!’ Warin said. ‘My friend here wondered whether it could be some madman who had tried to rob her, but a felon would scarcely go to the effort of making it appear that she had hanged herself after cutting the throats of the two boys. No, she was clearly mad.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘You knew her?’

‘Not at all, no.’

‘Yet you pass judgement,’ Baldwin said, his eyes upon the miserable features of Richer.

‘Under the circumstances I am happy to do so. Can there be any doubt of her guilt?’ Warin asked, and Anne was sure that she saw his gaze flash briefly to her as though he was making a comment on her propriety! She flushed to the roots of her hair with shame and vexation. The man had no right to look at her like that! Could he know of her treachery? Did others know? she suddenly wondered with a keen fear.

That last time with her lover, walking by the river, there had been someone there, she knew. Later she had seen Athelina walking nearby with one of her whelps, smiling at her as though butter wouldn’t melt, but there had been something in her eyes … It had turned Anne’s belly to ice at the time, but then she had forgotten it. After all, she had been so lonely.

Baldwin, she was sure, had seen Warin’s look as well as her own response. Now the knight glanced again at Warin, but then looked at Anne with a smile, plainly dismissing the squire, and Anne was left with a thrilling in her heart, certain that this knight had chosen to insult the squire because of his cavalier attitude towards her husband and herself.

‘My lady, I am deeply sorry to have brought any news of death with me into this charming home,’ Baldwin said, and Anne was sure he was sincere. His serious, dark eyes bored into hers for a moment, and then he smiled, looking down at her swelling belly. ‘It is good to see that new life is coming.’

‘Yes,’ Anne returned happily, and glanced over at her husband. For some reason he was staring down at his plate with an expression of pain and bitterness on his face. Anne almost touched his arm, but then she withdrew her hand and began to chat with her guests.

Her husband was quite certainly out of sorts, she said to herself. She only hoped he was not sickening for something.

Muriel heard the hooves quite late on the following Tuesday morning, and went to the door to ensure that her sons were nowhere near the roadway. If there was a danger, they’d be likely to find and embrace it wholeheartedly.

There was more than one horse, she realised as she stepped outside into the cool of the cloudy morning. She could hear this, rather than see it, as the view from their cottage was restricted. First there was a bend in the roadway, so they couldn’t see along it until they’d walked to the edge of the logpile, but there were also the enclosing trees. From here, down in the valley, she could see their trunks rising in ranks up the hills.

People thought it a dreadfully lonely place, but that was how she liked it. Some folk enjoyed the bustle and speed of the vill, but not Muriel. Here she was safe, she felt. The place was sufficiently far from the vill for them to be secluded, yet near enough should they need urgent help. Not that there was much help in the vill. If there was a broken bone or torn muscle, Iwan the old smith could sometimes help, but there was no one else with any knowledge of leech-craft. A few older women claimed to have some understanding of plants, but Muriel would prefer to ask the priest for a little prayer to be said for an injury. Somehow the idea of mashing plants together and using them as a poultice never appealed to her, and in any case, if the Good Lord had decided to take her, she was content with His decision. So long as her children were safe, that was all that mattered. And her husband, of course, she added loyally.

She stared along the roadway and saw her sons approaching. Hamelin was sitting in the small cart and Aumery was pulling it; both lads were gurgling with delight. The scene made her laugh aloud, for their enjoyment was very infectious.

The little cart had been made by a wheelwright some years before for his own children, and when they had grown too old for it, his wife had offered it to Muriel. A simple two-wheeled vehicle with six-spoked wheels, the man had made it for fun on his pole-lathe largely to prove to himself that he could do something so delicate. For a child as young as Aumery, a two-wheeled cart would have been too easily tipped up, so the man had set a peg in the base of the cart, so that it could be pushed about the yard easily. Now there were lines in the dirt all about the cottage.

‘Here, Aumie,’ she called, and the boy turned.

She smiled at him, crouching with arms open wide, and chuckling with laughter, he pushed the cart about until it was facing her, then started to run to her.

Then the noise of hooves suddenly grew louder. In her delight at the sight of her two sons, Muriel had forgotten the riders and now she realised with horror that Aumery was only partly across the track. The horses were coming closer, faster — too fast! They must arrive here any moment! They would run down her children!

With a cry of fear, she sprang up and ran across the path. The horses had come around the bend in the road and were almost upon her. With a last desperate cry, she snatched her sons, enfolding them in a close embrace to protect them from those terrible hooves.

She’d often heard that horseshoes could grow as sharp as a razor by cobbles and paving slabs, but it wasn’t until three years ago that she’d seen how evil a weapon a horseshoe could be. A girl had been struck a glancing blow by a stallion. Instantly her face was a mass of blood. Nobody was concerned at first, because they knew a head wound would bleed appallingly. Then someone wiped away the blood and saw the the bone, sheared through as though by an axe, and the grey mass beneath. Muriel had stared for an instant, then her stomach heaved.

Now she waited with dread. It could only be a matter of seconds. She gripped Aumery’s head and pulled it to her breast, tugging Hamelin to her lap and safety as he started to wail. Aumery was already sobbing in fear, and there was a terrible rending inside her which, she suddenly understood, was her own sobbing.

There was a rush of noise, a slamming of hooves, and then a hideous blow on her head … and she toppled forward into the dull nothingness that opened to swallow her.