Michael JECKS - The Traitor of St Giles

‘It was necessary.’

‘Yes.’ Baldwin walked to the door, but before he left the room, he turned to face her once more. ‘When did your brother leave the Templars?’

A hand went to her throat and she staggered back as if struck. ‘My brother? He… He was no Templar. What makes you say that?’

‘Nothing, my Lady. Just a guess,’ Baldwin said suavely, and left.

Baldwin and Simon were up at the battlements once more, peering over at the dreadful sheer fall down to the river.

‘Nicholas was a Templar, you think?’ Simon asked at last. His friend’s comment had surprised him as much as Matilda Carter.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘But for now, I want to concentrate on William the Small. I am convinced that he died because of his master, for some reason.’

‘You think the same man killed him as murdered Sir Gilbert?’

‘I don’t know. What if Sir Gilbert was carrying something? A secret that could help him take Lord Hugh to the Despensers’ side, for example. His servant might have heard of it. There are several men who might wish to silence someone like that.’

‘I think it’s most likely that Carter and Lovecok killed Sir Gilbert. There were two of them there. Maybe they killed him in the dark and only later realised they’d got the wrong man; then William came along. They left him alone, but killed him later to silence him.’

‘Why didn’t they kill William at the same time as his master, then?’ Baldwin asked, turning to walk back to the yard itself where Jeanne waited. ‘Why leave him for so long, giving him ample time to blab to all who wished to listen? No, I can’t think that’s right.’

‘By the same token,’ Simon pointed, ‘why should you think that someone else was involved? I see no reason to think anyone else was there. It was probably a mistake in the dark, maybe followed by an attempt at blackmail by William.’

Baldwin shook his head. The more he thought about it the more certain he grew. ‘There is nothing for certain,’ he said, ‘but I tend to the view that Sir Gilbert knew something or carried something that could be useful to someone else, or might possibly be harmful to the alliance against the Despensers. An ambassador will always bring something – a letter, information, money… I reckon he was killed for it – and I think William found out about it.’

‘And was killed after being tortured for his secret?’

‘It would make sense,’ Baldwin said. ‘Murdered to keep his mouth shut and tossed over the wall like a sack of manure.’

‘We should question all the servants and men-at-arms in the place,’ Simon said, looking about him gloomily, considering how many men lived within the castle’s walls.

‘Yes, but not yet. It is more important to find out who killed Sir Gilbert, and why. When we know what it was he had, we can see whether it would justify two murders. Then we may discover whether the two deaths were connected or not.’

Toker watched them stride to the hall’s entrance, a wave of cold anger breaking over him. Why were these two men still thinking about the shitty sailorman? Small was dead. It was none of their business who did it or why. Why did they insist on investigating things that were none of their business?

He was still there when Owen came out of the dark carrying a large pot of ale. Toker took it and drank deeply. ‘That knight from Furnshill wants to find out who killed the man here.’

‘So?’ Owen shrugged.

Toker grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him forward. The smaller man stumbled as he met Toker’s furious stare. ‘Don’t speak like that to me, you little bastard, not unless you want me to cut out your tongue! The knight’s getting too interested in our business, right? I think we’ll have to stop him before he learns too much.’

Sir Peregrine sat in his small room above the gatehouse and stared at the fire. He had attended Evensong with Lord Hugh in the small chapel in the solar block, a privilege granted only to those men Lord Hugh trusted. Now he waited while his master prepared for the feast.

But all the time his mind wandered over the deaths. First Sir Gilbert and now William were dead, and Sir Baldwin and his friend appeared to have an unhealthy interest in both cases. It was curious that a man should have so much interest in their deaths but Sir Peregrine had a shrewd idea that Baldwin and Simon were trying to find out more about Sir Gilbert’s visit to Tiverton. Sir Peregrine slammed one fist into the other. The god-damned knight from Crediton was too persistent with this constant enquiring after people; especially when he had the temerity to ask Sir Peregrine where he had been when the servant died. It was an insult.

If only Emily hadn’t died. His thoughts should be more clear and logical, but each time he tried to consider what course to take, her face returned to haunt him.

Sir Baldwin’s determination was not normal. It wasn’t the behaviour of a man who was visiting his lord. Such a one should be spending his time demonstrating his courtesy with the women and his peers among the guests, not traipsing over the town looking for clues in a murder hunt when the Coroner had already declared that there was no murder! And in the case of the servant last night, that was probably just a cut-purse trying his luck with a drunk who retaliated and paid the price. A dead servant was hardly a fit subject for Sir Baldwin’s enquiry. It was the duty of the jury to provide clues to the Coroner in a matter of suspicious death, their duty to accuse the man they thought guilty, not that of an impoverished Keeper of the King’s Peace from a benighted town like Crediton.

Impoverished – the word hung in his mind like a flag fluttering and he recalled his thoughts of the previous day.

If a man thought there could be gold in an investigation, he would be tempted. There was nothing to indicate that Sir Gilbert had money on him – yet Sir Gilbert was the emissary of the Despensers. He should have brought a present, a sweetener, for Lord Hugh if he wanted the lord’s influence, so where was it? Sir Peregrine bit at his lip. If it wasn’t money, could there be something worth money – a note from the Despenser family which made dangerous offers? Such a letter could be useful, especially if it promised attractive inducements to Lord Hugh.

The last thing Sir Peregrine wanted was for a letter to be found which promised something worthwhile after Sir Peregrine had spent all his efforts persuading Lord Hugh that the Despensers were best left alone, and that Lord Hugh should bend his support towards the Marcher Lords; if his work so far should be ruined, his credibility as an adviser would be wrecked. Not only that, his whole position in the castle could be demeaned. If Lord Hugh were to go over to the Despensers, he’d hardly be likely to entrust the guardianship of his gate to the very person who had told him never to go near the Despensers. He would send Sir Peregrine away, to a place like his holdings down towards the Cornish border.

With a shudder, Sir Peregrine called the place to mind. Bleak was a word which scarcely did the area justice.

Hearing steps above him, he rolled his eyes. It must be time for the meal. Cursing softly under his breath, Sir Peregrine strode to his washstand and rubbed soap into his face and neck, rinsing and then drying himself on a towel, trying to calm the desperate beating of his heart.

In the staircase he met his lord coming down, two men with him, his wife a few paces behind.

‘Ah, Sir Peregrine. Are you ready to eat your fill and beyond? Come. Let’s feast for Saint Giles.’

Leading his wife into the great hall, Baldwin was struck by its magnificence. It soared above, a massive room hung with flags and tapestries to show the importance of the lord who lived here. Even he, a man who had visited some of the greatest halls in Christendom, was struck by its splendour, a splendour enhanced by the rich clothing of the people within.