Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

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.’