Michael Jecks - The Tolls of Death

At breakfast, Anne watched her husband cautiously. He still loved her, she was sure, but his discovery of her unfaithfulness had hurt him dreadfully, as it must. There weren’t enough words for her to explain how the emptiness of loss had affected her when she convinced herself that he was dead, nor that she still loved him. It was too late for all that. All she could do was wait, and hope, that he would rediscover his love for her.

At their table was a special guest. Gervase, clad in clean tunic but looking pale and fraught, was at his side as usual, but today without a trencher in front of him. The food was all for other people. Again Gervase must endure hunger, knowing that the only offering for him would be the stale, leftover crusts.

Nicholas finished his meal, and then stared at Gervase blankly for a long time, his expression utterly unfathomable. Then, ‘So, are you ready to answer the Coroner?’

‘Of course I am. I’ll tell him the truth.’

Gervase couldn’t meet his eye. Anne felt a fleeting sympathy for him, trapped here, with no way out. His face was mottled and bruised from the blows Nicholas had aimed at him yesterday, although Warin had ensured that he was safe enough when he returned to the castle. Warin said he wanted Gervase alive at least until he could brief Warin on the papers and records of the manor. The steward was a pitiful creature now, and the Lady Anne shuddered to see him.

‘In front of the vill?’ Nicholas rasped. ‘You’d shame her like that?’

Anne could feel her face flush. She put a hand on her belly, the other on the table to steady herself. Would Gervase really do that — confess his crime with her, her adultery, before the whole mass of peasants and farmers? She’d never be able to look the villeins in the eye again.

Gervase looked unhappy. ‘I wish … I am so sorry, Nicholas. This shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t mean it to … It was just something that-’

‘Will you shame her before the vill?’

‘I don’t want to, I hate the idea!’ Gervase was staring at her now, a kind of desperation in his eyes, the eyes of a stag at bay before the hunters rode in with their lances.

‘ Will you shame her, I asked!’ Nicholas rasped.

‘I’ll have to tell the truth. There have been enough lies.’

‘I see,’ Nicholas said, and there was a sudden calmness in his voice. His two fists were set upon the tabletop and he leaned back, studying the man beside him with loathing. Then he almost lazily slammed a fist into Gervase’s already broken nose.

The steward was hurled from his stool, weeping as the blood flew from his nostrils. He gave a shrill cry, making the blood bubble, then rolled on to all fours and vomited.

Nicholas stood and walked about him, and then lifted a boot and kicked with all the full force of his malice. Anne winced as she saw the boot crashing into the man’s belly, and had to cover her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see any man suffer, nor could she bear to see the hatred in her own husband’s face.

‘Puke it up, churl! And get used to pain, because if I see you accuse my lady of adultery in front of the jury, I’ll ensure you receive more suffering than you could ever imagine!’

Gervase toppled, choking, to his side.

‘My wife means more to me than anything. I’ll protect her with the full extent of my power, and if that means I have to kill you, I will !’

Suddenly, Nicholas was overcome with uncontrollable rage. He kicked Gervase again and again, and Anne had to cover her eyes and ears as best she could against the terrible cries of the steward as the heavy boot crashed into his belly and breast, but when she heard his armbone crack with a noise like a mace striking a shield, she fled from the room even as Warin and Richer stormed in and pulled the castellan away.

Simon and Baldwin were already at the vill’s church house; they’d been there since a little after dawn. Simon was unhappy to be up at such an unpleasant hour for the second day running, but the urgency of their need to learn the truth bore them both up. They had returned to the castle to hear that Ivo had caught the murderer. He was waiting in the hall to explain what had happened.

The culprit was being held in the church house, and Baldwin had been all for going straight to him, but Ivo said that he’d knocked the man out with an iron bar, and Simon had persuaded Baldwin both to stop interrogating Ivo, who was as pale as a candle from loss of blood, and to forget the idea of questioning a man who had almost had his head crushed. Baldwin had reluctantly agreed to leave things until next morning. Alexander wasn’t going to escape them, after all.

But now, hurrying to the church house, he experienced an overwhelming urge to learn what this murderer could tell him. The man had killed so many, including his own wife, and the motives for the crimes were, at best, nebulous.

They thundered on the door, and a slightly bloodshot eye peered out at them before the door opened. A scruffy peasant yawned widely to display only five gleaming teeth, shuffled to lock the door again, and then led them to the figure bound on the rushes.

Baldwin knelt. ‘Alexander?’

‘Why, Keeper! You thought to come and visit me? That was kind,’ Alexander said. ‘Please — will you tell this churl to release me at once! He doesn’t seem to realise I’m the Constable here!’

‘We’ll arrange for your release as soon as we can,’ Baldwin said. ‘But you have to tell us what has happened.’

‘It was the steward,’ Alexander said quickly. ‘I saw him. Last night, he was trying to kill Julia — obviously he wanted to kill all the women he had polluted and got in pup, to try to atone for his fornication. I saw him entering the priest’s house, so I smashed down the door to arrest him, when some fool ran me down and broke my head …’

‘He wasn’t there, Alexander,’ Baldwin said gently. ‘The man trying to break in to hurt Julia was you. We know that. We have witnesses.’

‘No, that’s wrong.’

‘Why did you kill your brother?’

‘Serlo?’ Alexander looked up at him and tears started. ‘I loved him. Always had. Serlo was my little brother, my best friend. I didn’t want to see him hurt in any way.’

‘Why kill him then?’

‘He … It was Richer, because Richer heard Serlo fired his parents’ house. Richer killed him.’

‘Richer didn’t realise Serlo had done that,’ Baldwin said, his voice level and calm.

Simon stood behind Baldwin. Alexander was by turns calm, then furious; he hardly seemed to know his own mind, and to Simon this was the most terrifying thing: the man had lost his reason.

Baldwin was continuing just as patiently. ‘Why did Athelina die, Alexander? Was it because of the money?’

‘Of course it was! Serlo was furious with her. Do you know what he said to her? He said that she should go and whore, if she couldn’t find the cash. And do you know, she tried! The bitch even tried it on with me — the Constable. It wasn’t our fault, was it, if her man had left her high and dry? No. But she refused to clear off. Dug her heels in. We couldn’t allow that. We needed the money. I mean, Serlo did.’

Even the doorman heard that, the way that the miller’s name was added as an afterthought.

‘Serlo needed money to pay his fines and bills, didn’t he?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes. I helped as far as I could, of course, because he was my kid brother, but there’s only so much a man can … and he was proud, you see. Serlo didn’t like taking charity. Last time I offered him money, he was upset. Very upset. He threw his plate across the room and said he didn’t need my alms. I can see why, of course. Letty was hurt, though. Well, she can’t understand what it’s like, having a brother. She never was so close to her family.’