Michael Jecks - The Tolls of Death

He tore the seal from the scrap of paper and eagerly read the hurried writing inside. Then, and only then, did his smile fade.

‘Are you all right, Father?’

The messenger’s voice had brought him to himself, and he’d given the lad a coin, sending him off with his thanks.

Then, outside, he saw the agent of his lover’s destruction, and knew what he must do.

The man was only a clerk, when all was said and done. There was no possibility of Adam’s overwhelming the Bailiff as well as Roger, but he fancied he was able to kill at least that one, provided he could get him on his own. Adam tried to recall what happened next. He had beckoned Roger, that was right, and Roger told the Bailiff to wait. The clerk stepped in through the porch, and immediately Adam leaped on him. But his blade went wide, and after a few moments of struggling, all went black. It was peculiar, like falling into a well.

‘Why am I bound like this?’ he asked pathetically.

‘Why did you try to stab this clerk?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I only … I don’t know.’

‘Really?’ Baldwin said. ‘Then we had best read out the note here, hadn’t we?’

Eyes snapping wide, Adam stared at them. ‘No, that’s a secret note!’

‘I am impressed that you can read,’ Roger said scornfully. His head hurt like hell. ‘Most shit-covered arse-for-brains like you can’t scrawl your own names, let alone another man’s.’

Adam was stung to defence. ‘I was well taught; better than most fools whose only task is to record where wounds may lie on a body!’

‘What does the note say?’ Baldwin asked.

‘So you can’t read it?’ Adam sneered. ‘I won’t tell you.’

‘Was it from Father John?’ Baldwin asked mildly. ‘There is surely no one else with whom you communicate up there.’

‘Just do your worst and be damned!’ Adam snapped. They had the evidence in their hands of his offences. It was known by that little bastard clerk, and he must have told all the others.

‘What made you attack me, though?’ Roger asked plaintively. ‘I still don’t know why you jumped upon me!’

Baldwin had spread out the small fragment of paper. It was much creased and wrinkled, because Adam had balled it in his fist before throwing it to the ground, and it bore the stains and marks of many hands, especially the villein who had brought it.

‘This says Beware the clerk to the Coroner,’ Baldwin read out slowly. ‘He knows about my uncle, and you and me. What does that mean?’

‘I won’t say anything. You can do what you want to me, I’ll not speak!’

‘Then you’ll be held in the castle until you see sense or the Bishop comes to collect you, Adam,’ Baldwin said, glancing at the Coroner, who nodded.

It was baffling, though. Baldwin detested unexplained events of this nature, and he eyed the clerk with consternation, wondering if he was mad. Yet although the fellow’s eyes were wild, he was sure that the way that the man held his gaze without shame was a proof of pride, and when he sat back, it was as though he was dismissing the company from him. He looked like a swain defending his woman’s honour.

Warin was staring at the priest with a disapproving expression on his face, but without condemnation. ‘I think I know what the note means. I should welcome an opportunity to speak with Adam alone.’

‘You can do so when we have returned to the castle, then,’ Sir Jules said. ‘For my part, I should welcome a rest in front of a fire with a good pitcher of wine in my fist. This matter is finally resolving itself. Sir Baldwin, it’s late today, but I shall hold my inquest tomorrow. Perhaps then I can return to Bodmin,’ he added hopefully.

However, that hope was soon dashed. As they walked towards the castle, Ivo met them near Father Adam’s house. ‘Sir Baldwin?’

‘What?’ he grunted tiredly.

‘I thought you ought to know that the steward has taken a horse and fled the place.’

There was no doubt of the rage felt by Nicholas when he learned that Gervase had fled. His escape from what Nicholas saw as justice was humiliating. It was only after he had spoken to his wife at some length that he had tried to find the man, but by then there was little to be done. Gervase could be many leagues away.

‘I’ll find him,’ Nicholas swore.

‘I hope so,’ Coroner Jules responded. ‘You must raise the Hue and Cry after him. He is a suspect in these murders, after all.’

It was Baldwin who urged a little more calmness, saying they should wait until the following morning before attempting to follow him. ‘He is not a practised horseman, and he will not travel far at night in any case. Better to save ourselves the risk of more broken bones by following him now, when we may take entirely the wrong path. Let us rest well tonight in a warm hall, and chase after him tomorrow, when he’ll have spent a miserable, cold night on the ground, or better, have had no sleep at all.’

‘I prefer to follow him now,’ Nicholas said.

Warin glanced at Baldwin, and nodded. It was his agreement which carried the rest of the men, and all were commanded to be ready at first light. In the meantime Nicholas ordered their meals to be readied so that all would sleep well.

While he marched away to the kitchens, Warin smiled at Baldwin enigmatically.

‘Sir Baldwin, would you speak with me?’ Warin said in a low voice. ‘I would like to consult you on a grave matter.’

They had eaten well, and the hall was growing quieter as men nodded drowsily, basking in the comfortable warmth that only hard work followed by a fire and filled belly can induce.

Beside him, Simon was already asleep, his head resting against the wall, arms crossed over his breast, mouth slack and drooping, making him look rather like a bewildered mastiff. Baldwin himself had not been able to relax. The thought of the murders was preying upon his mind, and he was concerned that the following day’s inquest could well lead to bloodshed. Alexander’s hatred of the men of the castle who might have caused his brother’s death made him fear the worst. ‘Please do so,’ he said as the two left the hall and stood on the small platform at the top of the stairs.

In the open air, Warin seemed to take some time to collect his thoughts. Then he gave the knight a long, serious stare. ‘Sir Baldwin, war is again going to rend our country. You have heard of Mortimer’s escape?’

‘Yes. The whole land is discussing it, either more or less openly,’ Baldwin said suspiciously.

‘A prudent lord will always listen to his people and see what they believe, where their loyalties lie. You would agree?’

‘A prudent lord will ensure that his people are fully aware of his loyalty to the Crown above all else,’ Baldwin said firmly.

His hackles were rising — or maybe it was alarm that stimulated the hairs at the back of his neck. He had a hatred of politics and politicians: he doubted their words, their honour and their integrity, and his purpose was to avoid becoming embroiled in political issues. It could lead to advancement and wealth, but more often it resulted in a swift descent and painful death. He had seen that during the destruction of the Templars, and again when Piers Gaveston, Earl Thomas of Lancaster, and others were executed. Recently the victims had been the Despensers, but now the tables had turned, and the King’s enemies were the very men who had forced him to exile Hugh Despenser and his father. At such a time the only sensible course was discretion. No man could be blamed for loyalty to his liege-lord.

‘I can’t disagree with that,’ Warin said. He was quiet for a short while, then, ‘Sir Baldwin, I consider you a man of integrity so I shall explain. I have told you that the lord of this manor, my father, Sir Henry, is concerned about the loyalty of his folk. Where he lives at his other manor, in Kent, the people are very antagonistic to our King. There are tales of miracles at the grave of Earl Thomas of Lancaster — had you heard? — and these are giving rise to a feeling that he was wrongly executed. Rebellion is openly discussed in London.