[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (13 page)

'No. That I forbid on pain of my greatest displeasure. In Innes Woodsman's eyes, I have done him an injury, and I refuse to add the insult of having him taken into custody.' And when I would have protested, she again betrayed impatience. 'No! I'll not argue with you. My mind is made up on that point.'

'But yesterday, you told him one more chance. He's had that chance and thrown it away.'

'Roger! If you value our friendship, say no more on the subject.'

I realized with a tinge of sadness that the former mood between us had vanished, and was not to be recaptured. It was by now midday, the sun standing directly overhead and the shadows reduced almost to nothing. I should be on my way: what was there to keep me? Besides, I must visit the Cozins' dwelling and inform Master Oliver that I accepted his offer to remain in Eudo Colet's house at least until Saturday, and longer if he wished it. And there might be more information to be gleaned from him, if I went about the matter carefully.

'I have to go,' I said. 'Sleep with your neighbours for as long as they'll allow it, but if you must stay in the cottage at night, bolt the door and shutters.' I did not add that the woodsman worried me far more than the outlaws, sensing that such a sentiment would prove unacceptable to Grizelda in her present mood. 'Do I still have your permission to inquire into the disappearance of the children?'
 

'Yes. But I repeat, I'm afraid you'll have no success. For, reluctant as I am to admit it, I don't believe there is anything more to discover. The truth is the sum of what we already know. Wasn't it William of Occam who adjured us to make the least possible number of assumptions when trying to explain things?'

I kept my promise to top up Grizelda's water barrel before departing, making two trips with the bucket down to the river's edge and returning without too much spillage. But it was hard work, even for the great strong lad that I was in those days, and I offered up a prayer of thankfulness for the recent rains, which had filled the cask three quarters full.

As soon as I had completed my task, I set off towards Totnes, for the journey took over an hour on foot. But I hardly noticed the weary miles as I trudged along the forest paths, my mind being too busy with everything that Grizelda had told me. All very well, I thought, for her to quote William of Occam; and while I had the greatest respect for old Dr 'Singularis et Invincibilis', and his axiom entia non sunt multiplicanda, there were none the less many occasions upon which I had found that the simplest assumption was not necessarily the right one. And William had been in his grave for well over a century. With the arrogance of youth, I decided that modern life and the people it produced were of a far greater sophistication and complexity than he could possibly have anticipated. Of course, I'm wiser now: I realize that every generation thinks the same.

By the time I passed once again through the West Gate, it had grown hot enough for me to remove my leather jerkin and the cap from my head. The gatekeeper, a ruddy-faced man with huge forearms bared to the elbow, greeted me in the friendly manner of one who is having an easy day.

'All quiet, then, friend?' I asked, and he nodded.

'Aye. Mind you, it's not often like this. Most times it's nothing but clatter.'

'I don't doubt it for a moment.' I smiled, at my most conciliatory. 'Not a job I could do. I haven't the patience.' He was flattered and disposed to gossip, in order to enliven the tedium. I saw my chance and took it.

'Are you the regular keeper on this gate?'

'Mostly.' He sucked his teeth, probing with his tongue to dislodge some sliver of meat or bread that had lodged itself among them. 'I have a deputy for when I'm sick or on festival days, but he's a young lad, green and none too bright, so I'm on duty as much as possible.'

'And you were here, no doubt, that day last January when the stepchildren of Master Eudo Colet went astray?' The gatekeeper raised two bushy eyebrows and regarded me quizzically.

'So! You've ferreted out that story mighty quick. Yet I'll swear I only saw you for the first time yesterday morning, when you passed through the gate near dinnertime. You were chatting to Tom the drover. I remember thinking to myself that I'd not seen you around these parts before. You're a pedlar if I'm not mistaken. What have you done with your pack?'

'It's at my lodging,' I answered. 'As for the story about the children, I had it from Jacinta at the castle tavern, when I supped there last evening.'

The gatekeeper laughed. 'Oh, her! She has a nose in everybody's business, that one. Bound to, I guess, in her calling. And that son of hers can't be much of a companion. A miserable cur, with very little to say for himself.'
 

'I barely saw him, but yes, you're right, he did seem a taciturn fellow. To return, however, to Andrew and Mary Skelton. The story captured my imagination, as I suppose any unresolved mystery is bound to do.'

My companion interrupted me. 'No mystery, friend, and not unresolved, neither. The varmints went adventuring in the woods and fell into the hands of the outlaws. That's all there is to it.' Here, obviously, was a man of whom William of Occam would have approved.

'But according to the cook, Agatha Tenter, and the maid, Bridget Praule, they couldn't possibly have left the house without being seen. Or so I've been informed.'

The gatekeeper gave a roar of laughter and clapped me on the back with one of his enormous hands.

'They would say that, wouldn't they, to safeguard themselves? Who'd take the word of a couple of silly, empty-headed women? And it's as plain as the nose on your face, that whatever those two say, the children escaped somehow, or their bodies would never have been found, six weeks later, on the banks of the Harbourne.'

'They didn't pass through this gate, though, or surely you would have seen them?'

'As it happens, I didn't see them, no. But as I told all the civic busybodies who came inquiring, there were the usual number of carts going in and out that day, piled high with their various cargoes. And not knowing then that anything was amiss, I let them all pass through, once the toll was paid, without searching the contents. So, who's to say that those two children weren't curled up somewhere between bales of cloth being transported to the quay, or hidden away under some sacking?'

I considered this answer to the problem with a sinking heart. The man was right; it was a possibility which could not be lightly dismissed, and one which Grizelda had not seen fit to mention. Nor had it occurred to me, though I felt now that it should have done. Both of us had been blinded into looking for a more sinister explanation; she by her hatred of Eudo Colet and I by my desire to dazzle her with my cleverness.

'All the same,' I persisted, 'you did not, with your own two eyes, see either Andrew or Mary Skelton?'

'I've told you, no!' The gatekeeper showed a touch of impatience. 'Nor were they marked by either of my fellow gatekeepers, for we were all questioned together by the Sheriff, in the guardroom of the castle.'

'Would those men have any cause to lie?' I queried.

He gave me a pitying look, as though I were a fool, irritating but harmless.

'Why should they? They'd nothing to gain by denial.'
 

'Not unless they were in league with the outlaws,' I agreed, musing aloud rather than making any real accusation.

But the effect on my companion was to swell his chest to almost twice its normal size and banish all his former comradeship. The massive arm, which had been laid in friendly fashion across my shoulders, now tightened its grip until I could almost hear the cracking of my bones. The big red face advanced to within half an inch of mine.

'Now, listen to me, chapman! I've known these men all my life. Boys and men, we've grown up together. They're good, honest, God-fearing citizens of this borough, and I'll not listen quietly while anyone, let alone a stranger, implies otherwise. If you value your hide,' he added menacingly, 'you'll not repeat that suggestion.'

'You mistake me,' I said hurriedly. 'It was not meant as it sounded. I was merely clearing my mind of even the remotest possibilities before searching elsewhere for a solution.' The arm about my shoulders relaxed a little, but was not immediately removed. Nor did the ruddy face so close to mine lose one jot of its grimness.

'There's no solution to find, my friend. It's there, plain for all to see. Those two children got out of the house and clear of the town one way or another, and with all the cunning that younglings bent on mischief employ in such matters. I don't hold with Master Eudo Colet no more than the next man, but you can't hold him guilty of a crime he hasn't committed because you don't like him. If that were the case, there are a great many acquaintances of mine, and of yours, too, I daresay, who'd end up on the gallows, dangling at the end of a rope.'

'You're very right,' I heartily agreed, at which he finally released me and grew more amiable. I ventured a further inquiry. 'You referred to the children just now as varmints. Yet they have been described to me as two little innocents, almost contenders for sainthood.'

The gatekeeper snorted violently. 'Sainthood, is it? I've never known any youngling who'd qualify for that description, and I doubt you have, either. No, young Andrew and his sister were no better - nor no worse, mark you! - than other children of their age from what I saw of them. But saints they weren't. Whoever told you that, took you for a fool, my lad.'

I shook my head. 'The landlady at the castle ale-house described the girl as a little angel, and her brother not far short of one. And I'd take my oath she meant every word. I was doubtful, remembering myself at that age. But recollecting that Mistress Cozin had called them a pair of holy innocents, I thought maybe Jacinta was right after all. And Mistress Harbourne was devoted to her charges.' The gatekeeper regarded me curiously, his animosity fading and his tufted eyebrows climbing once more up his forehead.

'Dang me, chapman, you've been busy since you got here! Been in touch with half the town, I reckon. This affair of the young Skeltons seems to have taken a powerful hold on your imagination. But Jacinta Jessard's a maudlin old woman who thinks any child with a whit more manners than that graceless son of hers a veritable wonder, while Mistress Cozin is a sweet and pleasant lady who'd think no ill of anyone, let alone a child, for all she's three young minxes of her own to give her the lie. As for Grizelda Harboume, of course she'd think her little dearlings perfect. She was mother, aye and father to them, too, from the moment they were born, for their true mother had no time for them. A selfish piece, Rosamund Crouchback was, with never a thought in her silly head except her own pleasure. So, no, you'd hear nothing but praise from Grizelda, that's only natural. But take it from me, they could be just as naughty and mischievous as other children when the fancy took them, which is why I say they made their way out of the town somehow or another on that morning. There'd been great trouble between them and Master Colet, I understand. Enough, at any rate, to drive Mistress Harbourne to leave the house, and for that, they'd want to punish him. How better than to disappear for an hour or two and cause him an agony of worry?'

I had to concede that there was much sense in his argument, but had no opportunity to counter it with the fact that Eudo Colet had benefited from the children's timely disappearance and subsequent murder. At that moment, a party of men who had been hocking in the surrounding districts, entered the gatehouse and claimed the immediate attention of the gatekeeper. He knew all of them well, and was concerned to know what success they had had that morning. There was much chuckling, winking, nudging and grinning, while the leader of the group held up a leather pouch, jingling with coins, given as recompense by those women who were unwilling, or too maidenly, to pay the forfeits demanded of them.

'A good haul for the Priory coffers,' he said, 'although not all, by any means, found it necessary to be parted from their money.'

Again, there was a deal of chaff and self-congratulatory laughter, and I could see that it was time to move on. I could no longer hope for the gatekeeper's undivided attention, now that his friends had arrived with their list of triumphs and failures - their catalogue of who had and who had not been game to pay the price demanded of them. I walked on along the High Street, pausing momentarily to cast a glance at Eudo Colet's front door as I passed, then followed the curve of the road round by the pillory until I came to Thomas Cozin's house, in the lee of St Mary's Priory. I raised my hand and knocked.

As on my visit of the previous day, the door was answered by the little maid, Jenny, but the youngest daughter of the house was not far behind, anxious to discover the identity, and interest to herself of any visitor. She emerged from the downstairs parlour and smiled cheekily when she saw me.

'It's that handsome pedlar you fancied, Joan! And you, Elizabeth!' she shouted up the stairs.

I blushed and the maid remonstrated, 'You'd best watch that tongue of yours, Mistress Ursula! Your sisters'll have your hide for garters, if you go on provoking them like you do.'

'I - I've come to see Master Oliver Cozin,' I stammered. 'He -, He might be expecting me. Is he within?'

'I'll see, if you'll step inside a moment.'

Jenny vanished into the parlour and I heard her run upstairs. Ursula Cozin and I were left confronting one another, with me shuffling my feet, while she compressed her lips to stop herself giggling aloud at my embarrassment. The gatekeeper had been right, about this one, at least. This youngest daughter of Thomas Cozin was most certainly a minx.