Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘If you try to attack the Bailiff, you will have to fight two knights first,’ the Coroner stated flatly.

‘I would do so gladly,’ Sir Tristram replied. ‘Do you offer trial by combat?’

‘Be silent!’ Baldwin roared. ‘Christ Jesus! Do you want us to accuse you? We are here to establish your innocence, but if you wish to prove guilt, continue! There are enough questions which suggest you might be a murderer, but there are others which suggest you could be innocent.’

‘Which have you decided upon, Sir Knight?’ Sir Tristram sneered. He watched the three men through narrowed eyes, expecting a bitter rejoinder, and was somewhat surprised when Simon set his head to one side and surveyed him pensively.

‘I have almost convinced myself you must be innocent, but I do not know why. I find it hard to believe that you could have found your way to the miners’ camp and selected a balk of timber and a handful of nails and constructed a morning star. Such premeditation seems unlike your character.’

‘Should I be grateful for that?’

Simon ignored him. ‘If you were angry with a man, I think you are bloodthirsty enough to take a sword or axe or mace and use it. Thinking about protecting your good name wouldn’t occur to you. No, I think you would avenge an insult or remembered slight with a swift response. If you hated Walwynus enough to want to kill him, you would take a sword to him and damn the consequences. You are a fighter. You would scorn subterfuge. Also, you would not have known Wally was here, let alone where he lived. Perhaps you saw Wally and Peter, and followed them up to the moors, but then you’d have got to Hal’s mine after Hal, and he’d have seen you steal his timber. If you came up before Wally, how would you know where to find him later? And how could you know where to go for wood and nails? No, I don’t think you could have killed Wally.’

‘A thousand thanks for that, dear Bailiff.’

‘Of course, it all depends on what you say about where you were last night and on the day that Wally died.’

‘Look – I hated Walwynus. I’ll admit to that gladly. He was a Scotch reiver, a murderer. That fool Peter rescued him and saved him when I and my men nearly had him. He would have died, him and that evil shit Martyn Scot, Armstrong as he was called. If they had, Peter would never have received that wound, so I suppose there is some justice.’

‘You tried to kill Wally; Peter saved him, and then Peter’s woman was raped.’

‘So?’

‘Wally denied doing it.’

‘Perhaps it was Armstrong, then.’

Simon closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again to stare at Sir Tristram. ‘This woman had saved his life with her diligent nursing. And you suppose he would have taken two friends of his to see her so that they could rape her. Does that sound credible?’

‘Have you ever fought in a war, Bailiff?’ the knight asked scathingly. ‘If you had, you would know that the worst actions are always possible. Sometimes they are inevitable. A man who is desperate for a woman will take her wherever he may, and if he has companions, he will offer them the same woman. It’s a matter of courtesy.’

Baldwin took a deep, angry breath. ‘I have fought in many wars, and I have never heard of a man who was saved by a woman and who then repaid her courage and kindness by raping her and offering her to his comrades, finally killing her. That, to me, does not sound true. If it were, it would be the act of a callous and unchivalrous coward.’

‘You can say what you want. I merely offer one possibility.’

‘I offer you another,’ Simon said. ‘You adored this woman Agnes. You craved her, and that was why you hated Peter! He had her; you didn’t. So you raped her. You took her the only way you could, at the point of a dagger. And then you killed her, just so that she couldn’t tell Peter and embarrass you.’

‘That is a disgraceful lie!’ Sir Tristram exploded. ‘You pathetic little turd, you spawn of a poxed sow and a drunken Scotch reiver, you–’

‘Swear it on the Bible.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. If I am wrong, we can prove it. You may swear your denial on the Bible before the Abbot.’

‘Never!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it is nonsense!’

‘Your own Sergeant might not realise you were guilty,’ Simon speculated. ‘If you were haring about the country searching for outlaws, you could have come across this woman and taken her, later laying the blame for her violation and death at the door of known felons.’

‘This is rubbish!’

‘If you knew her already and desired her, it would make a perfect crime, wouldn’t it? And if you later mentioned to your Sergeant or others that the felons had taken another victim, who would argue?’

‘I say I did not!’

‘Perhaps,’ Simon said. ‘But I believe you are innocent of the murder of Walwynus and I can see no reason why you should have killed Hamelin, but by God Himself, I believe you could have murdered the girl Agnes – and instructed your Sergeant to accuse another to protect yourself!’

‘Her death is nothing to do with you here, though, is it? She died in Scotland, not in England. Different country, different times,’ Sir Tristram sneered.

Baldwin looked at him. ‘Your smugness seems proof of your guilt. It may be true that we cannot pursue you here, but your soul will suffer if you don’t seek penance. Remember that, man! You may have succeeded here, but God will seek you out when you die, and punish you.’

‘Yes, well, if He wants, I’ll take His punishment, but not for something I didn’t do! In the meantime I won’t sit listening to lectures from another knight. You declare me guilty. I say I am not. I leave it up to Him to decide.’

Simon nodded. ‘If you weren’t the murderer and rapist, then who was?’

‘I still say it was Wally and his men.’

‘Under their leader, “Red Hand”?’ Simon asked.

‘That was his name. Why?’

‘Your Sergeant said yesterday that this man was Joce Blakemoor. That Blakemoor and Wally and Martyn Armstrong came down here together, all fleeing from you and your men.’

‘Christ alive!’ Sir Tristram said, stunned.

‘So you see, if you are innocent, we’ll need to catch Blakemoor to prove it,’ the Coroner said. ‘Could you lend us a few men to help catch him?’

‘You can have as many men as you need. All I ask is that you get him,’ Sir Tristram ground out. ‘And that you kill him.’

Gerard stirred as he heard a crackle. All about him there were grunts and snores, the faint murmuring of the stupid or fearful young, the snuffling of the infirm, but the noises were comforting in some odd way; just the fact of the companionship of all these people made him feel a little safer.

It was odd to have had his head shaved. He hadn’t expected to have to have this done, but when he spoke to Cissy, she was certain it would make enough of a difference to save him from being recognised, and he wasn’t going to argue. Especially when he had been seen by Nob in the crowd. Far better that he should suffer from the cold for a while than be caught and made to pay the penalty for his thefts and apostasy. Mind, the shaving had hurt like hell. There was an almighty bruise on his head where that damn fool Reginald had caused him to fall and strike it in the dorter.

If only, he thought, there were a pie or a loaf here now. It would make such a difference. His belly felt so empty, and food would warm him. He had lain near enough to the fire to feel the warmth, but since then three men had rolled themselves up in their blankets between him and the embers, and now he was chilled to the marrow. Memories of piping hot pies and pasties came to mind, the rich gravy of beef, the heavenly scent of pepper. The mere thought made his mouth water.