The Tolls of Death

Chapter Nineteen

Baldwin was interested in the period between Serlo’s leaving the tavern the previous evening and his actual murder. When Roger returned with a cart and some of the men from the castle to take the body back to the vill, Ivo was with him. He immediately walked over to Baldwin.

‘Sir Baldwin, I thought you ought to know-’ he began.

‘Not now, man. I am busy,’ Baldwin said without turning.

‘This is only quick: rumour is, Athelina was having it away with a rich man, and she is dead because he dumped her. She’d been trying to get him back, see. Maybe he was angry that she kept pestering him.’

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘No. Julia didn’t tell me that.’

Baldwin thanked him and filed the information away for later. Soon the cart was rumbling back towards the vill, Roger going with it to guard the body, Alexander bringing up the rear. When they were alone again, Baldwin suggested that they might sensibly begin their investigation into Serlo’s death at the tavern.

‘What of the dead child?’ Jules asked with a frown. ‘At least we could dispose of that inquest swiftly enough before looking into this latest murder.’

‘I think not,’ Baldwin said with a short sigh. ‘The child is a straightforward matter, but you still need witnesses.’

‘Yes.’

‘There are two: his four-year-old brother, and his mother Muriel who is not only distraught at losing her son, but also has a debilitating injury. Now she has lost her husband as well. I feel it would be too unkind to impose a Coroner’s court on a woman in such affliction.’

Jules grimaced. ‘Perhaps it would be a little unfair — yet I should seek to close at least one case.’

Baldwin nodded. Then he peered at Jules from the corner of his eye. ‘Of course, it’s possible that the murders weren’t committed by the same man.’

‘Unless Alexander’s right,’ Simon mused. ‘And Richer was responsible for all.’

‘You really think he could be guilty?’ Jules scoffed.

‘I consider it entirely unlikely, but possible,’ Baldwin said briskly. ‘Which is why I think that we should speak to Richer urgently, as soon as we are done at the tavern. If Simon can imagine Alexander being right, you may be assured that others in the vill will feel the same, and that could lead to more violence.’

Jules nodded, and soon they were walking back towards the vill.

On the way, Simon couldn’t help but notice Alexander. He stood outside the last home at this side of the vill, and on seeing the three, he quickly withdrew. Simon was sure that it was his own house, and he studied it with interest.

The Constable’s dwelling was much in the style of a large Devon longhouse, but with more outbuildings, as befitted a wealthy man. And it was no surprise that he was wealthy, Simon thought. Money grew money; Alexander had helped Serlo buy the mill, so the two controlled all the flour used in the vill; the Farm of the Ovens was owned by Alexander, so every loaf baked brought in more money. Every loaf baked meant payments to Serlo and Alexander. That was surely a cause for bitter resentment.

Comparing Alexander’s wealth to the general poverty all about, Simon wondered whether jealousies had sprung up between the Constable and his neighbours. Perhaps that was why Serlo had been so arrogant, because he felt secure while his brother ran the place — and if that was so, maybe someone had attacked and killed Serlo in order to get back at Alex. It was astonishing the lengths to which some men would go in order to gain revenge on another. Simon decided he should mention it to Baldwin later.

The tavern was a welcome sight. As soon as Simon saw it, and smelled the odour of pies and meat, he recalled that he had not yet broken his fast. He shot a look at Baldwin, but his friend was peering down at the ground before him like a man who was about to launch himself on the most important journey of his life and who doubted whether he would ever see these stones and pebbles again. There was an air of anxiety about him which Simon had not noticed before, and the sight gave him pause for thought. If the murders here were enough to make Baldwin pensive, Simon was justified in being worried.

‘Wine!’ Jules shouted rudely as soon as they entered.

Susan glanced at them with a frown. Sighing without pleasure, she crossed the floor to them. This early in the morning, the place was empty, apart from two grim-looking customers at the bar, to whom she had been talking.

‘You don’t have to shout, and a little politeness would cost you nothing, my lords,’ she said stiffly.

Baldwin smiled up at her. ‘Susan, could we prevail upon you for three goodly jugs of your finest wine, as well as a little bread and meat?’

‘Yes, of course, Sir Baldwin,’ she said with a glance at Jules that could have frozen an ocean, and left them to fetch their order.

Ignoring her, the Coroner said, ‘What is your opinion, Sir Baldwin?’

‘I say that we should question all about Richer’s dispute with Serlo, and see whether there could be some link between him and these deaths, if only to prove that Alexander’s accusations are false.’

‘Why should we bother wasting time on such matters?’ Jules snapped. ‘We should only trouble ourselves with those issues which have a direct bearing upon the murders, surely?’

‘You are a Coroner,’ Baldwin said mildly, ‘and must focus on the discovery of the killer so that the Justices know whom to execute, as well as keeping a track of all the fines and forfeits for the law. I am a Keeper of the King’s Peace. I am keen to prevent further bloodshed; that is my focus. If we find the killer, but do not prove that Richer was innocent, we shall be leaving trouble behind when we depart, and that will mean Alex or Richer may soon die, and you will return. I trust you do not wish that?’ he added with gentle sarcasm.

‘In the name of my mother’s sire, no!’ Jules stated.

‘Then we should learn all we can about this enmity,’ Baldwin said, and leaned back against the wall as he awaited Susan’s return.

As soon as she had served them a platter piled with cold meats from the previous day’s cooking and a pair of loaves fresh from the oven at their side, Baldwin asked her to fetch a cup for herself.

‘I don’t have time for wine at this time of day, Sir Knight,’ she said pleasantly enough.

‘Today you do,’ Baldwin said, a hint of steel in his voice.

‘What makes you say that?’

Simon answered her. ‘You were discussing the reason why over there with those two men, weren’t you? This is about Serlo.’

‘There are others you can ask.’

‘I suppose this bread came from his brother’s oven?’ Simon enquired.

‘Not his, no! The lord’s! Alex just takes our money to use it,’ she said bitterly.

‘Would someone kill Serlo because of Alexander’s Farm of the Ovens?’ Simon pressed. ‘Or would they kill him because of his own farm — the mill?’

‘Why would someone kill him for that?’ she demanded with a twist of her lip.

‘If he was taking more multure than he should, people might have rebelled,’ Simon guessed. ‘Someone could have grown hot-headed.’

‘I don’t know anything about Serlo’s death,’ she said, and would have turned away, had not Baldwin gripped her forearm, not harshly, but tightly enough to keep her there.

‘Maid, we have to ask questions about his death. You know that, and you know why: to stop unrest in the vill. Please help us.’

She stood with her chin high, but then gave a slight nod and accepted the space on the bench which Simon indicated for her.

‘Serlo was here last night,’ Baldwin continued when she was seated. ‘Did he leave here alone?’

‘No, he went with Angot,’ she said. ‘I told Angot to get him home safely, because he wouldn’t make it there on his own.’

‘Angot is here?’ Baldwin enquired, looking at the two at the bar.

‘Yes. He’s there.’ She pointed.

Baldwin beckoned the man, and soon Angot was behind Susan, standing nervously with a pot in his hand. ‘You helped Serlo home?’

‘Yes, I took him home.’

‘All the way to his door?’

‘Nearly,’ Angot admitted. He was terrified as he spoke, knowing that he was the last man to see Serlo. He briefly explained why he had left Serlo on the way to the mill. ‘He didn’t want my help any more. He was bitter. Turned very nasty.’

‘How was Serlo when he left here?’ Baldwin asked Susan.

‘Very drunk, but what else would you expect? His son was dead.’

‘Whom do you know who might wish to kill Serlo?’ Simon asked Angot outright, waiting to hear Richer’s name.

The man shrugged. ‘He was a miller; always took his tenth of the grain, and sometimes, when the customer wasn’t watching, he took more. That didn’t exactly make him popular.’

Simon nodded. ‘What of the tolls? He was taking gifts from travellers, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. He was always short of cash lately.’ Angot pulled a face. ‘Since Dan’s death, he’d been hit hard with costs. He had the deodand to pay, and the funeral, as well as replacing broken bits of his machine. It’s all expensive.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I see. In your opinion, is there anyone in particular who might have wished to see him dead?’

Angot laughed shortly. ‘He managed to insult loads of people over the years.’

Susan chipped in: ‘He took his brother’s position seriously. If a man insulted Serlo, he insulted Constable Alexander. Serlo was so used to being related to the most powerful man here, he thought he could get away with anything. And Alex saw to it that he did, generally.’

‘It’s not just that,’ Angot said, gaining confidence now. ‘He put on a bold front, but he wasn’t brave himself. He was a younger brother, you see. Alexander was his hero, he looked up to him all the time, and he wanted to prove himself to Alex. The trouble was, anything Alex touched turned to gold, while everything Serlo tried failed. All he could do was mill. Everything else was a disaster.’

‘Alexander alleges that Richer atte Brooke could have been responsible. What do you know of that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Richer?’ Susan said, and she began to smile disbelievingly, but then she recalled Serlo’s words the previous day and the smile died on her lips.

‘What?’ Baldwin pressed. ‘You have remembered something. What is it?’

‘It was something Serlo said yesterday. Richer came in, but when he saw Serlo, he turned to leave; said he’d go, to save Serlo further grief. But Serlo said something … I can’t recall exactly, but it was something about he’d only lost one boy, while Richer had lost all his family. It made Richer go quite pale as he walked out. Did you hear that, Angot?’

He shook his head. ‘I was drunk.’

‘What did you think Serlo meant?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘He was implying that he might have had something to do with Richer’s family’s death. I don’t believe it, but there was something in Serlo’s voice as he saw Richer going: cruelty, you know? And there have been rumours for a while now.’

‘Rumours of what?’

‘That Serlo was up near Richer’s house on the night of the fire. It was long ago, and I was only a child. But I can remember Iwan telling someone about seeing Serlo up there on that night.’

‘So he could have been guilty of arson; he could have killed all Richer’s family?’ Simon breathed.

‘No!’ Angot protested. ‘He could bully to get his own way, but kill a whole family? Never. Anyway, I think it was him went to the field to call the rest to help with the fire. Why’d he do that if he was the arsonist?’

‘We cannot ask him now,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘Susan, if you’re right, do you think Richer could have heard him and guessed what he … wait!’ The sight of Richer, sitting with his head in his hands came back to him, and he knew that the question was unnecessary. ‘This was mid-afternoon? A little before we came in?’

‘Yes. Quite early in the afternoon.’

Baldwin stood. ‘I think we should go and seek Richer.’

Simon looked down at the plate of meats. ‘Yes. In a moment.’

‘No, now, while the scent is still fresh,’ Baldwin said, and started towards the door.

‘Fine. You go, I’ll have some food first.’

‘Can’t you get something later?’ Baldwin asked, a trace of peevishness in his tone.

‘No,’ Simon said bluntly, taking up a slice of meat and studying it with satisfaction. ‘And neither can the good Coroner, so sit down again and wait a short while. Susan, you cook a good piece of beef!’

Richer was sitting outside the castle’s hall on an old saw-horse which the grooms used to polish the saddles.

He had tried to eat, but his belly was too weakly today. His humours were all unbalanced since hearing of the death of Athelina. It still seemed incomprehensible to him that she had been taken away just at the time when he was hoping to marry her at last. Most of the time he had little fragments of thoughts, things he would like to talk to her about, half-born ideas that he squashed. He was used to death, God knew, but he couldn’t really believe that she was gone. She was so vital, so vivid …

‘Richer.’

He opened his eyes, to find himself confronted by the Coroner, the Keeper and the Bailiff. The elderly clerk was standing behind them.

‘Godspeed, friends,’ he said without pleasure.

‘We have some questions for you. Have you heard the news?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes. It’s … um …’ Almost too late he realised that he should say nothing that could show his personal allegiance. ‘Astonishing.’

‘What do you know of it?’ Coroner Jules said quickly, like a man who was determined to get a word in before others took over the conversation.

Richer was irritated by his manner. He had better things to consider, today of all days. ‘The same as you, I suppose. Why?’

‘We’ve heard you may have been responsible.’

Richer almost smiled, thinking this was some form of pleasantry at his expense, but it faded when he saw that they were all watching him with unreserved gravity. ‘How could I have been involved? I’ve been in the castle for a few weeks now. It would take an age to ride to London and back.’

Simon blinked, then looked at Baldwin, and suddenly gave a laugh. ‘We are fools! We came here asking about news, and all friend Richer can think of is the escape of Lord Mortimer from the Tower! No, Richer,’ he continued, his smile disappearing like the first waft of smoke from an open fire on the moors. ‘We wanted to hear about Serlo. What did he have to do with you?’

‘Serlo?’

‘He was murdered last night. Stabbed, and then his head thrust into his machine and crushed,’ Baldwin said bluntly. ‘We have heard that he suggested last afternoon that he was in part at least responsible for the death of your family.’

‘Surely not!’

‘He said so as you walked from the tavern, did he not?’

‘Was that it? He did say something as I left. I paid him no heed.’

‘Yet a short while later I saw you, and you had suddenly developed a bad migraine. That is a strange coincidence — a man hints that he killed your entire family in an arson attack, and although you didn’t hear him, you nonetheless have a terrible head only a short while afterwards.’

Richer closed his eyes. There was a prickle of pain behind his right eye, at the very back of the socket. Christ Jesus, he hoped it wasn’t another damned migraine coming on! ‘Sir Baldwin, I know you are right to be suspicious, but I walked from the alehouse in order to avoid a fight with Serlo. He made some comments as I left, but I chose not to pick a dispute with a man who had just lost his son. He had his grief, and I had mine from losing Athelina. I left the tavern and a short while later, as you say, I had a terrible migraine. Perhaps it is a coincidence that the two should have been unrelated, but I cannot help that. I cannot change facts. I deny having had any part in that man’s death. Why, I knew nothing of it until you informed me just now!’

‘You were at daggers drawn with him when you lived here?’ Simon asked.

‘Yes,’ Richer growled. ‘But that was a long time ago. I confess that I hated him for what he did to others. He was a bully, but that doesn’t mean I wanted his death.’

‘If Serlo had committed arson upon that house,’ Baldwin said, ‘you would have had double the reason to detest him, wouldn’t you: for killing your family, and for losing you your chance at marriage. Is that what you thought last night?’

‘I told you I had nothing to do with his death. I couldn’t. My head was too bad. Can you imagine a man with a migraine being capable of attacking another? It’s ridiculous.’

Simon, whose ruddy face spoke of his own rude health, said, ‘Why? It’s only a headache, isn’t it?’

Richer stared at him with disbelief.

Roger had been quiet, but now he looked at Jules and Baldwin, and said, ‘I do not understand why the miller should be thrown into the machine after he was already dead.’

Richer shrugged. ‘He was a miller — maybe the murderer thought it would look like an accident.’

‘Hardly. He had already all but cut Serlo’s head from his shoulders,’ the Coroner said, shuddering at the memory.

‘We have heard that a boy fell into his machinery in a similar way,’ Baldwin said. ‘Over a year ago, that was. Have you heard about this?’

‘A boy falling into the mill?’ Richer shook his head.

‘It was a lad called Dan,’ Baldwin prompted him.

‘I’ve been away for fifteen years. If he was apprenticed to Serlo, he was likely born after I left here,’ Richer pointed out reasonably.

‘Sir Baldwin! Ah, I am glad to find you.’

Baldwin’s eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘Ivo,’ he said, attempting a false heartiness. ‘How pleasing to see you again.’

‘You know, I’ve got to get home before too long, Sir Baldwin,’ Ivo said. ‘I didn’t agree to stay with you all year, only for a journey to Lydford. I didn’t think I’d be stuck here like this.’

‘You will be compensated,’ Baldwin said.

Simon grinned. Baldwin sounded like a man about to grind his teeth. The thought of Ivo rambling on with his foul stories all the weary way from here to his home clearly pained him deeply. Lydford, he thought. Where his wife and daughter and son all waited for him. Suddenly the loneliness of separation attacked him with renewed savagery. It seemed as though the nearer he came to his home, the longer this journey took.

His mind was on his wife as Baldwin told Roger all they had learned about Dan the apprentice from Alexander. Afterwards Roger stared up at the hall, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps there is a hint there. The boy Dan had a mother, Matefrid or Matty, but no father.’

‘What of it?’ Simon asked, still thinking of Meg.

He felt slow on the uptake when Baldwin nodded thoughtfully and said, ‘You may have a point, Roger. That is another avenue we should investigate. And meantime,’ he continued, looking at Richer, ‘I should remain here at the castle, if I were you.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ Richer demanded.

‘No, but at present Serlo’s brother is convinced that you murdered his brother, and if you go to the vill, your life will be worth very little. Stay here, or run the risk of death!’