The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (45 page)

There was a renewed pounding on her door, and she nearly died of fright, but then she heard Ivo’s voice, and with a blessed burst of relief, pulled the slat aside to let him in.

Baldwin woke with a tearing pain in his flank, and he pulled a grimace as he rolled sideways off the bench.

‘This is too much!’ he groaned.

There had been a time when he would have been happy to roll off a bench in the early morning. When he had been a Knight Templar, he would have woken earlier, and fresher, even if there had been neither bench nor rug. He would have been able to spring awake, leaping from his mat on the floor with the excitement of the new dawn. Not now. He was grown lazy and fat, and the last few weeks of travel had tired his frame. Even his bones seemed to ache and complain.

This wrenching pain was a little different, though. It felt as though he had torn a muscle in his side and he felt the area gingerly as he sat on the bench. It wasn’t serious, he thought, but it would slow him today.

It was still dark. From here, at the top of the steps, Baldwin could see the thin glimmering on the eastern horizon, but as yet the only light here came from the torches and braziers, their yellow and red hues flickering, throwing up occasional sparks. The castle was already awake. There was a shouting and the clattering of hooves from the stables, which showed that Nicholas’s men had heeded his command that they should
all be ready to leave at first light, and there was a swirling rasp of metal from the smithy, where some squires and others were whetting their blades with the great spinning circular stone.

There was a fine mist on the ground, and smoke from the fires in the hall was hanging in long threads and streamers overhead. It looked as though the world of men was bounded by fog above and below, and Baldwin felt the idea strangely apt. Mankind wandered in a perpetual fog, he sometimes thought, seeing clearly only what was right in front of them, unaware of all that happened outside their near-sighted scope.

His mind was drawn to the great events which were happening in the country. The King probably had little idea of how much his advisers were detested in the realm; he only heard what his Household told him, which blinkered him to all threats. In the same way any great lord must be blind to all but that which his servants told him, and the intelligent ones would see to it that they were better informed. Sir Henry de Cardinham was a good example: he lived elsewhere, only very rarely visited this far-flung manor, yet knew full well that he must send spies to his old home in order to learn what his people felt about their lives. True, most villagers wouldn’t care what was happening in London or York, but there was an atmosphere in a kingdom that could affect even kings, and it was a fool who ignored brewing trouble just because it didn’t seem spectacular enough yet to merit action. Better by far to take off the bud of rebellion before the plant grew fresh branches.

Men stalking about, wandering witlessly through a fog … It was not a pleasing reflection, but he was sure that it was valid. Trying to sift through the irrelevancies had absorbed all their efforts, and it was only now, with Gervase’s hurried departure, that they had seen the truth of his offences.

‘A good morning,’ Simon grunted at his side. The Bailiff was
dressed and had wrapped a thick fustian cloak about him against the chill of the morning. ‘Christ’s cods it’s cold isn’t it? Do you think there’s going to be food before we set off?’

‘No. We’ll have to take something with us, I think,’ Baldwin said.

‘Do you reckon we’ll find him?’

‘Oh yes. He’s only a steward when all is said and done, not a crafty villein used to covering his poaching or thefts.’

‘He’s bright enough to get away with murder, though,’ Simon commented. ‘Athelina would have been easy enough. She wouldn’t have expected him to kill her.’

‘No,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Although wouldn’t she have been suspicious when he came calling, since he’d ignored her for so long and refused her demands for money?’

‘We can ask him later,’ Simon said and sniffed. ‘Maybe it wasn’t him killed her. Maybe it
was
Serlo, and Gervase took revenge on him for her and his son Danny.’

Baldwin nodded, but all he could see was the drifting tendrils of mist and smoke encircling the waiting men.

Simon went to the kitchens and fetched some bread and hunks of cheese, which he shared with Baldwin while their horses were saddled. It was almost full light by the time all the men were ready. Nicholas had ordered that all the men-at-arms of the castle should ride to seek the fleeing steward, and had commanded that the men in the vill should also contribute to the posse. One of his men had gone and rounded up as many peasants as he could find.

While Simon and Baldwin walked to their mounts and swung up, both still chewing, and the men all about them organised themselves into hunting packs, a familiar face appeared in the gateway.

‘Where’s
he
been?’ Baldwin muttered darkly.

Simon followed the direction of his gaze and grinned to himself. ‘I’d imagine he’s been enjoying himself.’

‘Ivo!’ Baldwin shouted, and beckoned with a crooked finger. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Well, master, there didn’t seem much to be done here last night, so I thought I’d betake myself off to a place I know.’

‘Especially while Adam was languishing in a gaol here, I’ll be bound,’ Simon sniggered. ‘You’ll never miss an opportunity, then?’

Ivo smiled, but looked concerned. ‘I did go to Julia, yes, but there is something I didn’t understand. Julia was settling down before I arrived, when someone tried to break into her home. He attempted to bash down the door, then dig in through the thatch to get to her, and when I arrived, she threw herself into my arms, she was so petrified.’

‘She must have been,’ Baldwin commented sourly.

Ivo gave him a hurt look.

Simon shrugged. ‘She’s superstitious. You know how women are – they can be scared by the daftest things.’

Baldwin shot him an astonished glance. To his knowledge, Simon was one of the most superstitious people he had ever met. Certainly more so than a sensible peasant woman like Julia.

Ivo was shaking his head. ‘Don’t think so. The door had chunks cut from it when I looked this morning, as if someone had taken a hatchet to it. And there were great lumps of thatch taken out. Luckily, it was thick and took him time to get even most of the way through.’

Nicholas had mounted his horse, and now his great black rounsey pranced closer to them. He had overheard their conversation. ‘He tried to get into her room, you say? The foul devil’s trying to silence another woman, then! He has killed Athelina, now he tries to murder Julia too. He must be mad, quite mad. All those he has loved are to be destroyed. Next he would
try to slaughter my wife, I expect.’ The reflection brought a black look into his eyes, and hurt too, Baldwin saw, and his heart went to the man who had lost his friend and his trust in his wife in the same moment. Nicholas set his jaw and jerked his reins about. ‘Well, we shall catch him today. If he was here in the town after nightfall yesterday, our ride today must be all the shorter.’

Baldwin watched him musingly as he trotted off through the press, shouting commands and ordering men to prepare. ‘Ivo, tell me – what time did you go to her last night?’

‘It was late. I had my meal here first, then went long after dark.’

‘So if it was Gervase, then we know he cannot have travelled far as Nicholas said,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Look – there’s no need for you to come with us. Perhaps you should go to Julia’s house and stay with her until we return.’

Ivo needed no second prompting. As Nicholas raised an arm and led the way from the gate, the young ostler gave a broad smile. Baldwin nodded, and he and Simon set spurs to their mounts to follow the press riding carefully down the corridor to the main gates.

‘What’s this, Baldwin? Beginning to like the lad?’ Simon asked with a grin.

Baldwin gave a half-smile. ‘Perhaps I couldn’t bear his company all day.’

‘Ah, good. For one moment there, I thought you might be growing soft!’

‘Perhaps I am,’ Baldwin said. Then he turned to Simon. ‘But if you were going to flee, would you hang around for two or three hours first, and try to attack a woman?’

‘I’d ride for the hills,’ Simon said, ‘but then I’m not a murderer. Who can tell how irrational Gervase might be?’

‘Who indeed?’

Nicholas had ordered that their parties should separate at the Holy Well. Some would ride from there along towards Bodmin, while the main group would ride north and east, themselves splitting up into further small parties to cover the territory, unless they found good signs of Gervase’s direction.

There was nothing that they could find through the vill and up northwards but they were lucky as they neared Temple. There a shepherd swore he had seen a rider flying past before dark the previous day. From his description, they could recognise the steward, and Nicholas led the way after him, up the hill from Temple east and north.

‘We’ll be heading homewards, then,’ Simon said broodingly, ‘eastwards to Devon.’

‘Yes, and we’ll have to come all the way back again,’ Baldwin muttered with bitterness.

Sir Jules was nearby, and he spurred his mount until he was alongside Baldwin. ‘I know the feeling,’ he said. ‘But at least we’ll soon have this fellow.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed, but when Simon glanced over at him, he could see that Baldwin’s mind was on someone or something else.

Gervase could have wept for desperation. The bloody horse wouldn’t
move
! It was all he could do not to kill the brute there and then, but the last thing he needed was to be without a mount.

He’d ridden all the way here before nightfall, certain that the castle would send a posse after him as soon as they realised he’d run, and he’d thrashed the beast all the way to the other side of the moors, galloping wildly, but now he could see his mistake. The horse was tiring before it had grown dark, and as soon as night fell, Gervase could feel him flagging. In the end, he kept it to an
easy trot, but even that had used up its resources, and now, in the early morning, although he was several leagues from Cardinham, his horse appeared lame. He stood with a leg lifted dolefully, like a hound with a thorn in his paw, and wouldn’t continue. When Gervase climbed down and inspected the hoof there was nothing in it, but the fetlock felt very warm, and he wondered if the brute had strained it during their wild gallop last night. There was one point where the horse had stumbled – the damn thing could have slipped on a rock.

‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’

He kicked a stone and watched it skate over the grass, only to fall into a pool. This wasn’t a place he’d travelled over before. He’d thought it wouldn’t be too difficult to ride over, because it always looked grassy and easy, but he was learning that Bodmin was a miserable, wet landscape, with rocks and boulders strewn liberally about it. It was one of these damned rocks which must have twisted the horse’s hoof.

All around him were rolling hills. There was no sign of habitation anywhere, no house, no cottage, not even a fence or field. In every direction there was just this grassland interspersed with grey moorstone and the occasional twinkle of water.

He sighed to himself and gazed eastwards again. There was nothing for it. He’d have to walk. With a curse, he yanked on the reins and started trudging onwards, peering every so often over his shoulder, wondering when he could expect to catch sight of metal glinting in the sunshine. He hoped he’d left Nicholas and his men far behind, but until he was quite certain that there was no risk of pursuers, he would keep moving straight on.

The moors opened out quite suddenly. Baldwin had never grown used to the way that the land gaped before him on Dartmoor, and here it appeared the same. They had been riding up a track between
tall hedges, and then, after passing a pair of trees, the vegetation fell away. There were no more trees, no more hedges and bushes, only low, stunted things, ferns dying back after the summer, heathers, some twisted and gnarled furze, and grass. Everywhere there was good pasture.

Here a man could be on top of the world. There were no high hills before them as they cantered on at an easy pace. Nicholas was no guide, but Richer had learned tracking during his time in Wales, and his eyes were still good, so he led the way. He had picked up the tracks of Gervase’s horse at Temple. There was an irregular pattern to the nails on one of the shoes on Gervase’s horse, and Richer was now keeping his eye fixed to the ground, keeping that horseshoe’s print in his sight all the way.

Every so often, he would call a halt, and now he did so again. Baldwin kicked his rounsey a little nearer, irritated by yet another delay. Richer was crouching at a rock. There was a vivid scrape on one side, a deep gouge in the grass below it.

‘Well?’ Nicholas demanded, his horse stamping at the ground, eager to be off again. He was a thoroughbred, that one.

‘A horse has been here, and he stumbled in the dark, I’d guess. This colour, it’s steel. The hoof slipped down this side and tore out this hole in the turf. It didn’t break a leg, but I’d guess this mount is in pain now. You can see that the beast favours its hoof from here on. Look there, and there! You can see that the hoofprint is less distinct than before, less than other hooves. It’s favouring that hoof, and that means he’ll not have travelled far after this accident.’