The Tolls of Death

Chapter Twenty

‘So what did you mean?’ Simon asked as they watched Richer angrily stamping towards the hall’s bar.

Baldwin glanced at him. ‘We know of Athelina, widowed but supported by a man who has now deserted her; Adam’s maid, with child but without a husband — presumably her lover deserted her; now we hear of this third woman, Dan’s mother, again with no one knowing who her son’s father was. A string of coincidences.’

‘There are some women who never marry,’ Roger said.

Simon shot him a look. ‘You mean she was the local …’

‘No,’ Roger smiled, guessing where his mind had already led him. ‘I mean she could be one of those unfortunate women who believed her lover when he swore marriage to her. She was given the word of a man who was less than honest, and became pregnant only to learn that her sworn husband decided to deny his oaths, or ran from his responsibilities.’

‘Or he was a wealthy man in the area,’ Baldwin mused, ‘who could afford to risk her enmity. A man who might still be here.’

‘Well, if you put it like that,’ Simon said, ‘the father could just have been a rapist who took her without her consent then denied it. Perhaps she didn’t even dare to accuse him. When she realised she’d got herself in pup she didn’t know what to do. Happens often enough.’

‘A rapist or a deceiver; and a man who fled or a man who remains,’ Baldwin breathed. ‘Who can enlighten us?’

‘At the inquest there was an elderly smith called Iwan,’ Simon said. ‘A smith would know all the rumours from the area going back many years. Might he know of Dan’s father?’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He was eyeing the man-at-arms called Warin, who stood at the stable, hands on hips, watching his mount being groomed.

‘He’s Richer’s master,’ Ivo said.

Baldwin didn’t speak, but remained gazing fixedly at the squire. ‘He is a dangerous man, that one,’ he said at last, but wouldn’t explain himself.

Iwan stood and stretched with a grunt of satisfaction. He had been taking a welcome rest from harvesting the oats. The sun was high, and he could feel the tingle of burning on his shoulders.

The sun was like a good forge, he thought, all concentrated power when you wanted it, in the summer. It made the crops grow, and put men in mind of a lithe and welcoming maid. All natural stuff. As far as he was concerned, sunshine was the essence of life. It worked on all animals, humans and plants, just as it did on metal.

He had a smith’s beliefs. A priest could warble on about God and Christ and all the saints, but then he had never stood day after day beating steel into shape. He had no idea of the malleability of a solid bar when treated the right way. Metal reacted to heat just as men would, and just as a man and a woman would come together to form a child, so pieces of steel could be joined to create something new. It all came from the smith and his own abilities, just as God had used His own arts to form man. Iwan knew that in order to create, both men and God Himself must put something of themselves into the task. To Iwan, as to all good smiths, there had been given a certain ability. It made him more than an ordinary man, as though God had touched him and taught him his craft.

Yes, smiths were a race apart. And here, watching the oats swaying in the breeze, while young Maud lay sweating after being covered by her man near the great oak, he knew that the warmth was forging new creatures. It was the natural way of things.

He swept the stone along the blade of his scythe with smooth, rhythmic strokes, top to bottom, top to bottom … only stopping when he heard the hooves.

‘Master Smith?’

‘I was,’ Iwan said. He had watched this man during the inquest, and rather liked the serious expression in those dark eyes. ‘You’re the knight.’

‘I am Sir Baldwin. This is Coroner Jules and his clerk Roger, and my friend, Bailiff Puttock of Lydford. Smith, do you have a little time to talk with us?’

‘Would I have any choice?’

‘A man of your age does not need to ask a question like that,’ Baldwin smiled.

‘Which means I don’t.’

‘You have the choice. We are not here to interrogate you for no reason, but to ask for your help.’

Iwan eyed him again, then nodded and set his scythe down, sitting beside it. ‘Ask.’

Baldwin had already swung from his mount. Now the others joined him as he hunkered down before the old smith. ‘There was a lad who died in Serlo’s mill. What can you tell us about him?’

‘Dan? He was a good fellow. Son of Matefrid from Temple. Matty, we all called her. Lovely girl — beautiful. Died two years ago when the crops last failed, like so many.’

‘Who was the father?’ Baldwin asked.

‘What makes you think I’d know a thing like that?’ Iwan asked with twinkling eyes. He waited to hear the knight’s response. He was in no hurry, and he was intrigued by Sir Baldwin’s interest.

‘I think a man like the local smith would hear all sorts of stories about the men and women in his area,’ Baldwin smiled.

‘I’m no smith now. Just an old peasant who helps his son with the fields.’

‘Once a man has forged and harnessed fire, I think he can’t lose the skill,’ Baldwin said.

‘There were tales about Dan’s father,’ Iwan nodded after some moments. ‘’Twas said, Matty had her boy sired by a rich stud.’

‘You think it was a knight?’ Jules demanded.

Baldwin held up his hand for silence without taking his eyes from Iwan.

For his part the smith sat relaxed and happy, ignoring the Coroner’s expostulation, a cheerful smile on his weather-beaten face.

Baldwin continued. ‘You don’t think it was a knight, do you?’

‘No. Where is there a knight about here?’

‘But it was a man from the castle?’

Iwan shrugged, but his steady gaze was enough for Simon and Baldwin. They exchanged a sharp glance.

‘There are two other women who’ve had lovers,’ Baldwin said. ‘Athelina had a protector, and Julia at the priest’s house has a child.’

Iwan lifted his brows. ‘Round here there aren’t many men as would take on all that. It’s said one man at the castle likes women, though.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ Simon said. ‘And you say Matefrid died before her son? She died two years ago, and he was crushed in the mill last year?’

‘That’s right.’

‘If his father was alive,’ Roger said slowly, ‘he would surely have borne a strong anger against the man who was responsible for his boy’s death so young.’

‘I would,’ Iwan agreed.

‘Do you say that this man might have killed Serlo for an accident which happened over a year ago?’ the Coroner asked doubtfully.

Baldwin raised his shoulders. ‘It makes as much sense as anything else. What more can you tell us, Iwan Smith?’

‘What more do you expect me to tell?’

‘We would be grateful for your help,’ Baldwin said. ‘Serlo’s murder was no accident. He was slaughtered like a bullock at market.’

‘Ah? Some might say he deserved it.’

‘Some might. Would you?’

Iwan slowly shook his head.

‘What can you tell us?’ Baldwin pressed him gently.

‘When I was younger, Serlo and Richer had a fight or two. Richer was the son of a local man, a bright, clever fellow. By his efforts, they got money for theirsel’s. That was good, but Richer was a bit loud, proud of his sire, like boys will be. He used to bully Serlo and laugh at him because of Serlo’s father, Almeric. Richer’s a year younger than Serlo, but no one could bully Richer, not even Alexander, because he was big enough even then. And then Richer got to want Athelina. Poor child.’

Simon was struck by the way the smile was wiped from the old man’s face. It was like seeing a picture in the sand smoothed away by a wave. In that moment Simon had a feel for the man: so old was he, Iwan must have seen almost all his childhood friends and relations die, and now he was left, the last remnant of a happy tribe. He had his children and grandchildren, it was true, but without a man’s childhood companions, what was he? A mere antique bobbing in the seas of history. And now he was seeing even youngsters die.

‘Why “poor”?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Because she loved Richer back, but he left her here. It was a long while before she found another, Hob, who suited her. When she did, he died too soon, and since then she’s been lonely.’

‘She was murdered too,’ Simon said quietly. ‘Who could have done that?’

‘If I knew that, I’d have killed him by now,’ Iwan stated flatly.

Baldwin said, ‘Tell me about Richer and Serlo.’

‘Richer left because of the way his family were wiped out. One night late in the summer, when the harvest was in and the fellows were enjoying themselves with their women, his house caught fire. When they got there, all those inside were burned. It was Serlo gave the alarm. He tried to save them.’

‘And?’ Simon prompted. ‘You saw something, didn’t you?’

‘No need to hide it now. I wasn’t at the harvest. Before the fire I was down that way, near the house. It was dark: I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a man slip away in among the trees and I thought nothing on it. Later I heard Serlo had called on the rest of the men to come and put out the fire, but they were all drunk and stupid, and took their time.’

‘So you think he may have had a part in the deaths of the atte Brook family?’ Baldwin asked.

‘A friend of mine also thought he saw Serlo hanging round just before the fire started. There weren’t that many men here who are so broad but also so short, you see. Little while later, he saw him running up to the harvest, calling out that there’d been a fire, and everyone ran back. So, he wasn’t there with all the youngsters at the harvest, and he came up to raise the alarm. Sounds like he could have been the one set fire to the place.’

‘We have heard that he hinted at something like that to Richer last night,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps he was taunting him.’

‘If so,’ Simon considered, ‘he succeeded. It looks as though Richer might have killed him.’

Baldwin frowned. ‘And yet why should he have done so in that manner?’

‘What was that, master?’ the old smith asked.

‘Serlo was killed, but then his head was deliberately crushed in the mill-wheel, just as the boy Dan’s had been.’

Iwan stared away down the gently sloping hill towards the vill. ‘So, likely it was the boy’s relation, or friend of his father or mother who killed Serlo?’

‘Or his father himself,’ Simon pointed out. ‘We don’t know who his father was, after all.’

‘Why should Serlo do that to Richer’s family?’ Roger wondered, still harking back to the fire. ‘What could drive a man to such a barbaric act?’

‘Perhaps it was retaliation for some other slight?’ Baldwin said.

Iwan nodded slowly. ‘It was only a little while after Serlo’s father Almeric lost a sheep. It strayed out from his fold and onto the lord’s land, and was forfeit because it ate his crop. That was a bit of a laugh for most of us hereabouts, but Richer, he liked it more’n most. He laughed loudest whenever Serlo was about, and that hurt Serlo. He was always irresponsible, and who knows? He himself might have left the fold open so that the beast could escape. Anyway, Serlo got thrashed, and Richer made fun of him. That could have been enough.’

‘Serlo wanted to make Richer suffer the indignity and ignominy of failure and disaster,’ Baldwin nodded. ‘It is possible.’

‘But how does that measure up with the dead boy and Serlo’s head being crushed?’ Simon demanded. ‘There are too many threads to this tapestry, and none seem to lead to the full picture.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. ‘Master Smith: this woman Matefrid. Whom could we ask about her?’

‘The priest might be able to help you.’

‘Who — Adam here at the church?’ Simon demanded with surprise. ‘What could he know of this woman?’

‘Not him: the other priest. Matty came from Temple, see. Father John may know something about the apprentice, if only by rumour. He was helped to win the place by Sir Henry — although it’s said that he was a Lancastrian.’

‘Who, the priest was?’ Roger asked.

‘Aye, so it’s said,’ Iwan nodded. ‘He’s a priest though, so it’s none of my affair.’

But it was a matter of interest to others, Simon knew. Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, had died after Boroughbridge, and his leading adherents slaughtered, because the King wanted no one to survive that war who had ever held arms against him or his friends the Despensers. Even a cleric could be fearful of past loyalty coming to light.

Simon glanced at Baldwin, but he saw that his friend’s thoughts were elsewhere.

‘Temple?’ Baldwin repeated mildly, but Simon saw how his eyes lit up at the name. There were many manors up and down the country which had been owned by the Knights Templar, and Baldwin loved to visit their churches, reminding himself of his own past serving in the Order.

‘It was where the pagan knights used to have a small manor,’ Iwan said dismissively. ‘The manor’s still there, if the heretics are gone.’

‘Thank you,’ Baldwin said, but with considerably less warmth than before.

Richer was still fuming when he left the bar of the hall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and almost strode into Warin outside.

‘Whoa! Watch where you go so carelessly, friend Richer,’ Warin cautioned. ‘Where do you go in such a fury?’

‘Nowhere!’ Richer declared bitterly. ‘I am not permitted.’

‘By whom — Nicholas?’ Warin asked with some surprise. ‘Do you care what he says, when you know your position?’

‘Not him, no. It’s that knight and his friend the Bailiff,’ Richer said sourly. ‘They all but accused me of murder. Have you heard about the miller?’

‘No. I have been considering other matters,’ Warin said loftily. ‘Why — what’s happened to him?’

‘Murdered, apparently, and his head thrust into the machinery of that damned mill of his. Someone took umbrage at his corruption, I daresay, and now the knight and Bailiff are trying to convince the Coroner that I was responsible.’

‘Why should they do that?’ Warin asked, but there was a certain quiet intensity to his voice, like a man not wholly convinced of his companion’s innocence.

‘Because of our past,’ Richer said. This was painful. He put a hand to his temple. There was almost a feeling of regret at the passing of another soul from his youth. And he was aware that his story must make him appear suspicious in any man’s eyes. Still, he must trust his squire. Warin was his master: if Richer couldn’t trust him, he could trust no one.

‘When we were lads, we neither of us liked each other. By the time we were old enough to fight, we would scrap at any opportunity. We’d do anything which might upset the other. Once … I can’t hide it from you. Once I released one of his father’s sheep from the fold. The beast escaped onto Sir Henry’s lands and was forfeit. That gave the vill a good laugh for months. Everyone knew how dissipated and ridiculous Serlo’s father was, and seeing that he could lose his own sheep made everyone amused.’

‘Other than Serlo and his brother, I assume,’ Warin said flatly.

‘Well, yes. They weren’t happy, obviously. Both were beaten by their father, because he thought Serlo had left the gate open, and Alexander tried to protect him.’

‘So your enmity grew because you had lost his family their wealth?’

Richer winced at Warin’s cold tone. ‘I suppose so. Until my family died and I fled.’

‘So he won,’ Warin said wonderingly. ‘I suppose that’s what people might say, that you fled, leaving him the victor, and that when you returned many years later — now — you were determined to take your revenge.’

‘Except you know that’s nonsense.’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course! I couldn’t have killed the man. I’ve killed before, but never like an assassin. Only ever in a fair fight.’

‘Then you should deny it,’ Warin said. ‘Else the people of Cardinham will say that you are guilty. Why should they say something like that?’

‘There is one more thing,’ Richer said slowly.

‘Aha! Isn’t there usually one more detail?’ Warin said lightly. Then his voice hardened. ‘What?’

‘Apparently the night before he died, Serlo implied that he himself set fire to my parents’ home.’

‘He suggested that he was guilty of arson and murder?’

‘It is what is being said, apparently.’

‘Apparently?’ Warin’s face was like flint. ‘How did you hear this?’

‘The Coroner and that knight Sir Baldwin. They told me today.’

‘Did you hear Serlo say this?’

Richer looked away. ‘I was there when he spoke, but I swear on my mother’s soul that I didn’t understand. I saw him in the tavern, and left; he was grieving for his son.’

Warin smiled unpleasantly. ‘Why leave? To seek a suitable ambush?’

Richer glanced at him. ‘Warin, this is serious.’

‘I rather think so,’ the squire agreed. ‘If people believe you killed him, it would not reflect well on us here at the castle.’

Richer stared at him open-mouthed, and then turned his gaze towards the gate to the castle as though he could look through it and see beyond it to his old home, the timber-framed house with the wattle and daubed walls substantial enough to keep out the worst of even a cold winter. He could see it again in his mind’s eye, feel the leaden mass in his belly as he saw the flames dancing like frenzied devils all about the roof, the thick coils of smoke rising, green and faintly luminous from the damp thatch … He could hear the screams again as though it was only last night. He could hear them … Christ’s pains, but he could hear them yet!

‘If you did murder him, I suppose many could honour you,’ Warin said absently, as though it was of little significance. ‘Although some will not.’

‘Alexander.’

‘Precisely. He will want to have his revenge upon you for daring to level the score. And I don’t think we should permit that. So you would be well advised to prove that you feel you have nothing to hide.’

‘How can I do that?’

‘We shall go to the vill and demonstrate that you aren’t evading capture by hiding behind the Coroner’s hosen.’

‘If I do that, I may get killed,’ Richer said with deliberation. ‘You are gambling with my life, Squire.’

‘Better that than bringing the castle and all within it into disrepute,’ Warin snapped. ‘We cannot afford that. I cannot. Especially now.’

Richer nodded sourly. ‘Not with Mortimer free.’

Warin glanced about them and then muttered angrily, ‘Keep your voice down, fool — unless you want me to still it for you!’