The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (30 page)

‘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!’

‘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.