The Tolls of Death

Chapter Thirty-One

They were back in the vill late that evening. On the way they met with one other party, which included Richer, and left Gervase with them while Simon, Baldwin, Warin and Nicholas continued on their way.

‘What is your rush?’ Warin demanded as they clattered into the vill.

‘When there is something to be learned, there is always a need to hurry,’ Simon said shortly. It was galling to be so out of breath; he wasn’t as used to fast riding as he once had been. All he could think about now was a warm fire, the chance to throw off his clothes and commandeer a bench to sleep on or, failing that, a cosy hayloft, than confronting a murderer.

Baldwin looked entirely fresh again. He had the knack of absorbing any pain and weariness when he had mental activity to stimulate him, and now he was frowning at the road, deep in thought. Simon knew why. The idea that Serlo’s murderer could be his own brother was so appalling, and yet so logical, if Danny was Alexander’s son. That gave them the motive of revenge for Serlo’s negligence, added to his theft of the tolls. With regard to the death of Athelina, Alexander might well have killed her to remove her from the cottage which he and his brother owned.

‘There is another thing,’ Baldwin murmured as he drew up outside Alexander’s house. ‘The killer tried to strike again last night — at Julia. I had a feeling that the attacker was not Gervase, which was why I told Ivo to return to his woman and protect her.’

‘Why’d anyone attack her?’ Warin asked.

‘Perhaps to distract us and confuse our enquiries? Or perhaps he detests women who have children out of wedlock. A jealous man whose marriage is barren might well form an irrational hatred of women who breed without effort.’

‘If the boy Danny wasn’t his, what then?’ Simon asked as they dismounted.

‘He must have been,’ Baldwin said with quiet certainty, and drew his sword before beating on the door with his pommel.

The door gave way when he tried the latch, and Baldwin entered warily, his sword at the ready. There was no sound from within, and he walked into the chilly room with the hackles rising on his neck. This felt like a dead house. It was a simple hall, with the hearth in the middle of the room, a pair of stools, a bench, and a table at one end. Tapestries hung from the walls and a thick layer of rushes covered part of the floor. A tripod with a big pot stood over the cold fire. At the far wall was a thickly rolled palliasse.

Baldwin had a dreadful premonition. As Simon and Warin walked in and stared about them, he strode to the palliasse and pushed it over. His worst fears weren’t realised, thank God. It fell open, displaying rugs and blankets, but no body.

He went through the screens passage to the buttery and pantry. Empty. He turned back and marched past the other two men, through the hall to the door at the rear. There might be a solar block where the couple slept, he thought, but when he opened the door, he found only another storeroom, containing two big chests. Baldwin looked at them: both were padlocked. By one there lay a number of bags. This, he thought, was where the man kept his wealth. And then he saw a small stain, and his belly lurched.

‘Simon! Bring a light.’

‘What is it? Oh, Christ’s bones!’

Baldwin was crouching at the long red trickle, and as Simon entered, he looked up, his face haggard. ‘This is my fault, Simon. I should have realised this before! It’s all my fault!’

He squatted, staring at the chest, while Simon fetched an axe. It didn’t take him long, and when he came back, he gave it to the knight. Baldwin swung it twice. At the second blow the padlock flew off. Baldwin took a deep breath and raised the lid.

There inside, neatly folded to fit the space, and with a small cushion under her head as though to give her some comfort, lay Letitia. The small stream of blood came from the savage slash in her neck, which had emptied the blood from her veins to form a pool in the bottom of the chest.

‘So it was Alexander,’ Simon breathed.

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said sadly. ‘He killed them all.’

Ivo had left Julia early, thinking that he’d be able to get back to the castle in time for Baldwin and Simon’s return, because he was keen to see whether they’d had any luck in their search for the steward. On his way, he heard hoofbeats approaching.

The first rider was a man-at-arms from the castle, who spat in his direction when he called out, asking whether they’d been successful. Ivo bit his thumb at him when he was safely past. Then a man Ivo had been friendly enough with rode past, and he shouted out that yes, they’d caught the bastard. The castellan was bringing him back, and God save him when he was thrown into the castle gaol, after what he’d done.

Ivo realised there was little point now in heading back to the castle. The place would be empty for some while, he had the news he wanted, and although the food was better in the castle, it was a long walk away and there were undoubted attractions to remaining in Julia’s bed. He wavered, but only for a moment or two, and then set off back towards the vill and Adam’s house.

The hall was dark and empty-looking when he arrived, and he walked straight through to the back, where Julia’s room was. Just as he rounded the corner, he heard a strange noise, a kind of loud report, like a wooden peg snapping. Then as he peered ahead he saw a line of bright light in the darkness from her open door, a figure standing in it with a large bar in his hand. He heard the man laugh, then a scream, and in that moment, he flung himself across the twenty feet or so of yard.

He caught the man squarely in the back, and hurled him into the room, narrowly missing Julia, who stood with her hands balled at her cheeks as she screamed. The sudden eruption of her lover caused her to fall silent for a moment, but then Ivo and his target fell onto her palliasse, almost crushing little Ned, and her cries were renewed.

Ivo felt a hand strike his temple, then nails raked along his cheek, but in the meantime he seemed incapable of finding his own target. The man squirmed and wriggled so much, Ivo could scarce guess where his head would be from one moment to the next, let alone hit it. There was a rasp, and then Ivo saw the knife. He reached for the hand that gripped it, but missed and caught the blade itself. He felt the shearing of his muscles and the grating of the knife against his bones, and was struck with horror as he realised his hand was ruined. If he could, this man would kill him, he sensed, and he grabbed for the nearest implement. It was the iron bar the man had used to break open the door. Ivo raised it, even as his left hand grew slick with his blood; then he brought the bar down upon the man’s head, once, twice, and then a third time, until he stopped trying to pull his knife from Ivo’s grasp.

At breakfast, Anne watched her husband cautiously. He still loved her, she was sure, but his discovery of her unfaithfulness had hurt him dreadfully, as it must. There weren’t enough words for her to explain how the emptiness of loss had affected her when she convinced herself that he was dead, nor that she still loved him. It was too late for all that. All she could do was wait, and hope, that he would rediscover his love for her.

At their table was a special guest. Gervase, clad in clean tunic but looking pale and fraught, was at his side as usual, but today without a trencher in front of him. The food was all for other people. Again Gervase must endure hunger, knowing that the only offering for him would be the stale, leftover crusts.

Nicholas finished his meal, and then stared at Gervase blankly for a long time, his expression utterly unfathomable. Then, ‘So, are you ready to answer the Coroner?’

‘Of course I am. I’ll tell him the truth.’

Gervase couldn’t meet his eye. Anne felt a fleeting sympathy for him, trapped here, with no way out. His face was mottled and bruised from the blows Nicholas had aimed at him yesterday, although Warin had ensured that he was safe enough when he returned to the castle. Warin said he wanted Gervase alive at least until he could brief Warin on the papers and records of the manor. The steward was a pitiful creature now, and the Lady Anne shuddered to see him.

‘In front of the vill?’ Nicholas rasped. ‘You’d shame her like that?’

Anne could feel her face flush. She put a hand on her belly, the other on the table to steady herself. Would Gervase really do that — confess his crime with her, her adultery, before the whole mass of peasants and farmers? She’d never be able to look the villeins in the eye again.

Gervase looked unhappy. ‘I wish … I am so sorry, Nicholas. This shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t mean it to … It was just something that-’

‘Will you shame her before the vill?’

‘I don’t want to, I hate the idea!’ Gervase was staring at her now, a kind of desperation in his eyes, the eyes of a stag at bay before the hunters rode in with their lances.

‘Will you shame her, I asked!’ Nicholas rasped.

‘I’ll have to tell the truth. There have been enough lies.’

‘I see,’ Nicholas said, and there was a sudden calmness in his voice. His two fists were set upon the tabletop and he leaned back, studying the man beside him with loathing. Then he almost lazily slammed a fist into Gervase’s already broken nose.

The steward was hurled from his stool, weeping as the blood flew from his nostrils. He gave a shrill cry, making the blood bubble, then rolled on to all fours and vomited.

Nicholas stood and walked about him, and then lifted a boot and kicked with all the full force of his malice. Anne winced as she saw the boot crashing into the man’s belly, and had to cover her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see any man suffer, nor could she bear to see the hatred in her own husband’s face.

‘Puke it up, churl! And get used to pain, because if I see you accuse my lady of adultery in front of the jury, I’ll ensure you receive more suffering than you could ever imagine!’

Gervase toppled, choking, to his side.

‘My wife means more to me than anything. I’ll protect her with the full extent of my power, and if that means I have to kill you, I will!’

Suddenly, Nicholas was overcome with uncontrollable rage. He kicked Gervase again and again, and Anne had to cover her eyes and ears as best she could against the terrible cries of the steward as the heavy boot crashed into his belly and breast, but when she heard his armbone crack with a noise like a mace striking a shield, she fled from the room even as Warin and Richer stormed in and pulled the castellan away.

Simon and Baldwin were already at the vill’s church house; they’d been there since a little after dawn. Simon was unhappy to be up at such an unpleasant hour for the second day running, but the urgency of their need to learn the truth bore them both up. They had returned to the castle to hear that Ivo had caught the murderer. He was waiting in the hall to explain what had happened.

The culprit was being held in the church house, and Baldwin had been all for going straight to him, but Ivo said that he’d knocked the man out with an iron bar, and Simon had persuaded Baldwin both to stop interrogating Ivo, who was as pale as a candle from loss of blood, and to forget the idea of questioning a man who had almost had his head crushed. Baldwin had reluctantly agreed to leave things until next morning. Alexander wasn’t going to escape them, after all.

But now, hurrying to the church house, he experienced an overwhelming urge to learn what this murderer could tell him. The man had killed so many, including his own wife, and the motives for the crimes were, at best, nebulous.

They thundered on the door, and a slightly bloodshot eye peered out at them before the door opened. A scruffy peasant yawned widely to display only five gleaming teeth, shuffled to lock the door again, and then led them to the figure bound on the rushes.

Baldwin knelt. ‘Alexander?’

‘Why, Keeper! You thought to come and visit me? That was kind,’ Alexander said. ‘Please — will you tell this churl to release me at once! He doesn’t seem to realise I’m the Constable here!’

‘We’ll arrange for your release as soon as we can,’ Baldwin said. ‘But you have to tell us what has happened.’

‘It was the steward,’ Alexander said quickly. ‘I saw him. Last night, he was trying to kill Julia — obviously he wanted to kill all the women he had polluted and got in pup, to try to atone for his fornication. I saw him entering the priest’s house, so I smashed down the door to arrest him, when some fool ran me down and broke my head …’

‘He wasn’t there, Alexander,’ Baldwin said gently. ‘The man trying to break in to hurt Julia was you. We know that. We have witnesses.’

‘No, that’s wrong.’

‘Why did you kill your brother?’

‘Serlo?’ Alexander looked up at him and tears started. ‘I loved him. Always had. Serlo was my little brother, my best friend. I didn’t want to see him hurt in any way.’

‘Why kill him then?’

‘He … It was Richer, because Richer heard Serlo fired his parents’ house. Richer killed him.’

‘Richer didn’t realise Serlo had done that,’ Baldwin said, his voice level and calm.

Simon stood behind Baldwin. Alexander was by turns calm, then furious; he hardly seemed to know his own mind, and to Simon this was the most terrifying thing: the man had lost his reason.

Baldwin was continuing just as patiently. ‘Why did Athelina die, Alexander? Was it because of the money?’

‘Of course it was! Serlo was furious with her. Do you know what he said to her? He said that she should go and whore, if she couldn’t find the cash. And do you know, she tried! The bitch even tried it on with me — the Constable. It wasn’t our fault, was it, if her man had left her high and dry? No. But she refused to clear off. Dug her heels in. We couldn’t allow that. We needed the money. I mean, Serlo did.’

Even the doorman heard that, the way that the miller’s name was added as an afterthought.

‘Serlo needed money to pay his fines and bills, didn’t he?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes. I helped as far as I could, of course, because he was my kid brother, but there’s only so much a man can … and he was proud, you see. Serlo didn’t like taking charity. Last time I offered him money, he was upset. Very upset. He threw his plate across the room and said he didn’t need my alms. I can see why, of course. Letty was hurt, though. Well, she can’t understand what it’s like, having a brother. She never was so close to her family.’

‘Did you kill her because of that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Kill Letty?’ Alexander peered up at him in amazement. ‘How could I do that? I love her. She’s the only bright light in my life, now Serlo’s dead. Poor Serlo.’ He began to sob, then stopped abruptly.

‘It must have been very difficult,’ Baldwin observed.

‘What?’

‘Having a child by Matty, when Letty couldn’t conceive.’

‘My Danny was no trouble.’

Simon felt his heart thunder. This was the proof, at last!

Baldwin nodded understandingly. ‘But you were terribly hurt by Serlo’s callous attitude after Danny died so tragically.’

‘It was a very bad time,’ Alexander agreed. ‘Serlo didn’t understand why I was so upset.’

‘So why did you kill Serlo?’

Alexander looked as though he was about to deny it, but then his head dropped slightly and he stared at the floor. There came a time, Simon had observed, when a man stopped bothering to deny what was so obviously true, and this appeared to be still more the case with Alexander. If his mind was twisted and corrupted with madness, how much more difficult was it for him to invent a new tale? The truth was easier.

‘He proved that he didn’t deserve to continue living. I was hurt when he made disparaging comments about my son, my only son; I was hurt again when I heard he’d been taking gifts from people to escape the tolls, because that was taking money from my pocket too; and then I saw that he couldn’t even protect his own boy. He left Aumie and Ham alone, and cost one of them his life. A man who was so selfish and stupid didn’t deserve to live. I killed him, and I’d do it again.’

‘And you went on to try to kill Julia. What had she done to you?’

‘That slut? I thought if she died, it would prove that Gervase was guilty. He deserved to suffer anyway, for his disloyalty. Adultery is a terrible thing.’

‘You committed adultery. You fathered Danny on Matty,’ Simon said.

‘That was different. She was only a peasant — little better than a whore. Lady Anne is the wife to the castellan. Gervase deserved his punishment! So did Julia. She gave birth to that boy. She was no better than any other stale.’

‘Men have said that they saw Serlo near Richer’s house when it was burned,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘I don’t think he set fire to it, though.’

‘Serlo? He couldn’t have — he didn’t have the guts. Me, I have always been able to fight back when someone tries to ruin me. That fool Richer made sure that Serlo and I were thrashed when he let our beast loose. The lord of the manor took it for himself, and my father beat us so furiously, I had thought he might kill us. At the harvest, when all were busy in the fields, I went to Richer’s house and set it alight. Serlo was nearby, but when he saw it was ablaze, he ran to fetch help and put it out, the idiot! I loved him, you know, but he was so stupid! His negligence cost me my son, and then he allowed his own son to die. How could I let him live after that?’

‘What about your wife?’

‘You asked me that before! What of her? She would keep going on and on about things … I put her in a trunk to keep her quiet, that’s all. I wouldn’t hurt my Letty. It’s she who kept me sane after Danny’s death. I love her.’

‘What did she go on about?’

‘Oh, she knew I’d killed Serlo. There was blood on my coat, you see, and she realised when she heard that Serlo was dead, that I must have done it. She wanted me to confess to Adam, to do a penance, but like I said to her, I wasn’t going to do that, not when the man was openly carrying on with that slut in his own house. Oh no, I wasn’t going to confess anything to him. But she would keep going on and on at me about it. In the end, I was so angry, I shut her in the chest in my strongroom.’

‘You killed her first. You cut her throat.’

‘No!’ Alexander looked at him with anger in his eyes. ‘You’re lying. She’s fine, she’s just resting. I couldn’t hurt my Letty. I love her.’

Just as you loved your brother, Simon thought.