The Devil's Acolyte (2002) (42 page)

There was no sign of his servant, and he set his jaw. Art wasn’t bright enough to come here – or perhaps he was
too
bright. Anyone must think of coming here and taking a
squint at the poor buggers all lined up in a row ready to march. Joining Sir Tristram’s group would be an easy means of escaping.

It was while he was leaving the camp that the bald lad’s face came back to him, the pale features with the large bright eyes. Why should someone shave his pate? Monks did it as a sign of
their devotion; others might do it to change their appearance. Damn it! Even a monk might want to change his appearance, and how easy it would be to conceal a tonsure by shaving all the hair about
it.

Especially, he thought with a dawning realisation, if the hair were red. Like Gerard’s.

That morning, Baldwin and Simon broke their fast with the Coroner, and then spoke to a servant and requested Peter to join them in the guest rooms.

Without preamble, Baldwin asked the Almoner, ‘Sir Tristram was in the Northern Marches at the same time as you and Walwynus, wasn’t he? He knew the dead man – we know that from
the way he reacted to seeing Walwynus’ body. Could he have ridden out to the moors and killed him?’

‘I wouldn’t know. It’s possible. He knew of Wally in the north, and he hated all Scots. Aye, but didn’t Sir Tristram arrive here only after the coining?’

‘We have to verify that,’ Coroner Roger said.

Simon mused, ‘He wasn’t in the Abbey, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t near. Maybe he was staying in Tavistock.’

Peter gazed at him. ‘Why so much interest in
him
?’

‘From all that you’ve said, he is violent enough to kill,’ said the Coroner.

Simon considered. Sir Tristram had been there in the Northern Marches at the same time as Wally. He had hated the man, that much was clear from his spitting into the corpse’s bloated face.
‘Peter, have you seen Sir Tristram down here before? Has he come here as Arrayer at any other time?’

‘Not so far as I know, no.’

From the look Baldwin gave Simon, it was clear that he had reached the same conclusion. ‘What of the man killed yesterday?’ he asked.

‘Hamelin? He was a tinner up on the moor not far from Wally. I think they knew each other a little, but not too well. They were not bosom companions,’ Peter responded slowly.
‘How was he killed? Was he stabbed? There was lots of blood.’

‘Hamelin was stabbed, Brother Peter,’ the Coroner pronounced. ‘Yes, no one in the roadway admits to the faintest idea why he should have been killed. They all say he was but a
likeable man.’

‘Aye, well, that is often the way of it, isn’t it? The poor man was found by his wife,’ Peter added sadly. ‘Poor Emma is half out of her mind. It is a terrible thing to
have this happen!’

‘A knight would be as able to stab a man as any other, wouldn’t he?’ Simon said. ‘And Sir Tristram knew Wally. Perhaps the Arrayer chose to finish some of his business.
He came here during the coining, saw Wally, recognised him, chose to kill him to settle some score from years ago, and presumably left Wally’s purse unopened because he wouldn’t need
the money. But he counted without Hamelin. Hamelin saw him attack Wally and when he rushed down to the body, he found his friend dead and the purse there for the taking. It’s no surprise if
he took it, for he had great need of money, and he brought it here for his wife. But while in Tavistock he stumbled into Sir Tristram – and the knight executed him. It makes more sense than
Wally buying Hamelin’s debt!’

Peter had been listening carefully, but now he interrupted them. It was time to speak. ‘Lordings, the answers may be closer to home than Sir Tristram. I heard yesterday that Sir
Tristram’s Sergeant recognised a man in the crowd. It was Joce Blakemoor. The Sergeant saw him in Scotland, where he was the leader of Wally and Martyn Armstrong. It was he, according to this
Sergeant, who killed and raped my Agnes.’

‘How could he know that?’ Simon wondered. ‘Was he witness to the rape and murder?’

‘I do not know,’ Peter admitted. ‘I am confused. If Blakemoor killed my Agnes, perhaps he was also the man who did this to me,’ he added, fingering his scar.

Simon gave a low whistle. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Joce left Tavistock to trade, or so he told everyone. But he could have gone anywhere: all people here know is that he returned
with a purse of gold.’

Baldwin said, ‘Absence from here doesn’t necessarily make him guilty.’

‘No.’ Simon was thinking quickly. ‘And why should Joce want Wally dead? Because he was a threat to Joce’s future, knowing too much of his past? What of Hamelin? Could he
have seen Joce? But then, Sir Tristram might have recognised Wally and chosen to execute him. Hamelin again could have witnessed the attack.’

‘I still wonder about this weapon, though,’ Baldwin objected. ‘I do not understand why he should have taken a club to kill. Surely either man would have preferred a dagger or
sword?’

‘Yes, but surely he’s been trying to throw us off the scent. That was why he made his own morning star from timbers he found lying about in Hal’s mine. He came across them and
thought he might as well use them.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘Let us go and ask them.’

Simon set his jaw grimly. He could not help but observe that Baldwin was tugging at his sword hilt, easing the blade in the sheath like a man expecting a fight.

‘Who do you want to talk to first, Baldwin?’ he asked.

Baldwin looked at Coroner Roger. ‘My choice would be to see Sir Tristram, because as soon as we have talked to him, we can use his men to help us arrest Joce. If it is true that Joce was
this . . .’

‘ “Red Hand”,’ Peter supplied helpfully.

‘Thank you,’ Baldwin said, ‘ “Red Hand”, then we may need more than a few men to corner him. He sounds thoroughly unscrupulous and determined.’

Sir Tristram was awake when the three arrived at his camp, and he watched them with a sour expression as they rode into the clearing. They secured their mounts to the horse
line, a rope stretched between two trees, and picked their way through the still-sleeping bodies to where he stood.

‘Sir Tristram, we have some more questions for you,’ Coroner Roger said gruffly. He never much liked to have to question his peers. He always had a sneaking suspicion that justice
was something that should be imposed upon the poorer folk; it wasn’t intended to control the richer and more important men like Sir Tristram.

‘Well, you’ll have to ask them while I eat, then. I haven’t had anything yet today.’

‘Certainly, Sir Tristram. So long as you don’t mind us sitting with you,’ Coroner Roger said politely.

‘Where is your Sergeant?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He was hit on the head yesterday in Tavistock during a scuffle. I sent to tell him to rest overnight in the tavern and I’d collect him today. Why?’

‘What were you doing yesterday?’ Simon asked bluntly.

‘Me? When? I am a busy man.’

‘In the afternoon. I doubt Hamelin was dead before noon.’

‘What? Do you propose to accuse me of some stranger’s death?’

‘Another miner found killed. Where were you?’

‘Damn your impudence, man! I shall report this to the King himself, I assure you!’ Sir Tristram’s face was as red as his crimson tunic, and he felt almost apoplectic. He held
the same views as the Coroner in some matters; it was unthinkable that a knight should be forced to answer questions like any serf, especially while eating. He almost stood, but then the expression
on Baldwin’s face persuaded him to remain where he was.

Simon leaned against a tree, his left hand resting on his hilt, his right thumb hooked into his belt. ‘Well?’

‘I was with my men, as I should have been. What business is it of yours?’

‘And where were you on the morning after the coining?’

‘What, last Friday?’ Sir Tristram’s temper, never cool, was warming rapidly. He was tempted to draw his sword and see how these impudent fools answered then. ‘I was on my
way to the Abbey with my Sergeant. What of it?’

‘You knew Walwynus.’

‘So?’

‘And hated him, from the way you spat in his face last night.’

Slowly and menacingly, Sir Tristram brought himself upright, holding Simon’s gaze with a fury that was unfeigned. ‘You mean to accuse me of murder, Bailiff? If you dare, say the
words, and I’ll carve the word “innocent” on your forehead. Go on! Say it. Say you accuse me, and see what happens.’

‘If you try to attack the Bailiff, you will have to fight two knights first,’ the Coroner stated flatly.

‘I would do so gladly,’ Sir Tristram replied. ‘Do you offer trial by combat?’

‘Be silent!’ Baldwin roared. ‘Christ Jesus! Do you want us to accuse you? We are here to establish your innocence, but if you wish to prove guilt, continue! There are enough
questions which suggest you might be a murderer, but there are others which suggest you could be innocent.’

‘Which have you decided upon, Sir Knight?’ Sir Tristram sneered. He watched the three men through narrowed eyes, expecting a bitter rejoinder, and was somewhat surprised when Simon
set his head to one side and surveyed him pensively.

‘I have almost convinced myself you must be innocent, but I do not know why. I find it hard to believe that you could have found your way to the miners’ camp and selected a balk of
timber and a handful of nails and constructed a morning star. Such premeditation seems unlike your character.’

‘Should I be grateful for that?’

Simon ignored him. ‘If you were angry with a man, I think you are bloodthirsty enough to take a sword or axe or mace and use it. Thinking about protecting your good name wouldn’t
occur to you. No, I think you would avenge an insult or remembered slight with a swift response. If you hated Walwynus enough to want to kill him, you would take a sword to him and damn the
consequences. You are a fighter. You would scorn subterfuge. Also, you would not have known Wally was here, let alone where he lived. Perhaps you saw Wally and Peter, and followed them up to the
moors, but then you’d have got to Hal’s mine after Hal, and he’d have seen you steal his timber. If you came up
before
Wally, how would you know where to find him later?
And how could you know where to go for wood and nails? No, I don’t think you could have killed Wally.’

‘A thousand thanks for that, dear Bailiff.’

‘Of course, it all depends on what you say about where you were last night and on the day that Wally died.’

‘Look – I hated Walwynus. I’ll admit to that gladly. He was a Scotch reiver, a murderer. That fool Peter rescued him and saved him when I and my men nearly had him. He would
have died, him and that evil shit Martyn Scot, Armstrong as he was called. If they had, Peter would never have received that wound, so I suppose there is some justice.’

‘You tried to kill Wally; Peter saved him, and then Peter’s woman was raped.’

‘So?’

‘Wally denied doing it.’

‘Perhaps it was Armstrong, then.’

Simon closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again to stare at Sir Tristram. ‘This woman had saved his life with her diligent nursing. And you suppose he would have taken two friends
of his to see her so that they could rape her. Does that sound credible?’

‘Have you ever fought in a war, Bailiff?’ the knight asked scathingly. ‘If you had, you would know that the worst actions are always possible. Sometimes they are inevitable. A
man who is desperate for a woman will take her wherever he may, and if he has companions, he will offer them the same woman. It’s a matter of courtesy.’

Baldwin took a deep, angry breath. ‘I have fought in many wars, and I have
never
heard of a man who was saved by a woman and who then repaid her courage and kindness by raping her
and offering her to his comrades, finally killing her. That, to me, does not sound true. If it were, it would be the act of a callous and unchivalrous coward.’

‘You can say what you want. I merely offer one possibility.’

‘I offer you another,’ Simon said. ‘You adored this woman Agnes. You craved her, and
that
was why you hated Peter! He had her; you didn’t. So
you
raped
her. You took her the only way you could, at the point of a dagger. And then you killed her, just so that she couldn’t tell Peter and embarrass you.’

‘That is a disgraceful lie!’ Sir Tristram exploded. ‘You pathetic little turd, you spawn of a poxed sow and a drunken Scotch reiver, you—’

‘Swear it on the Bible.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. If I am wrong, we can prove it. You may swear your denial on the Bible before the Abbot.’

‘Never!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it is nonsense!’

‘Your own Sergeant might not realise you were guilty,’ Simon speculated. ‘If you were haring about the country searching for outlaws, you could have come across this woman and
taken her, later laying the blame for her violation and death at the door of known felons.’

‘This is rubbish!’

‘If you knew her already and desired her, it would make a perfect crime, wouldn’t it? And if you later mentioned to your Sergeant or others that the felons had taken another victim,
who would argue?’

‘I say I did not!’

‘Perhaps,’ Simon said. ‘But I believe you are innocent of the murder of Walwynus and I can see no reason why you should have killed Hamelin, but by God Himself, I believe you
could have murdered the girl Agnes –
and
instructed your Sergeant to accuse another to protect yourself!’

‘Her death is nothing to do with you here, though, is it? She died in Scotland, not in England. Different country, different times,’ Sir Tristram sneered.

Baldwin looked at him. ‘Your smugness seems proof of your guilt. It may be true that we cannot pursue you here, but your soul will suffer if you don’t seek penance. Remember that,
man! You may have succeeded here, but God will seek you out when you die, and punish you.’

‘Yes, well, if He wants, I’ll take His punishment, but not for something I didn’t do! In the meantime I won’t sit listening to lectures from another knight. You declare
me guilty. I say I am not. I leave it up to Him to decide.’