Michael JECKS - The Traitor of St Giles

Harlewin continued, ‘She killed him. That’s not her blood, it’s his . She stabbed him to death outside.’

‘Why?’ Nicholas demanded, and then his face lengthened as he heard the full story. ‘This can’t be true!’ he said with a broken voice. ‘You mean I am guilty of murder?’

Father Abraham nodded. ‘You were persuaded to kill an innocent man by an evil soul. He dragged you down into the filth of sin at his side. You helped provide the backing to the rapist and murderer of your own niece and then helped him murder the only man who could point to his guilt.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Nicholas said and collapsed into a seat. His whole body trembled as a cold panic washed down his spine, the full horror of his position dawning on him. ‘My God! What have I done?’

‘We will need another inquest. And I am afraid your sister must be arrested,’ said Harlewin.

Sir Peregrine crossed the yard to the hall. Looking out at the road, he wondered where Sir Baldwin and Simon could have gone. The two of them were potentially a threat, and at this difficult time he didn’t need the extra worry. He had enough to occupy him already.

Two of the guests at Tiverton Castle had been set upon by townspeople after they had tried to push farmers from their path in the road, and now both were being treated in a room above the hall. One had a bad cut to his shoulder where a knife had slashed him, the other had a broken arm from a cudgel; the skin wasn’t punctured, so he should survive.

Then there were the rumours of the King’s anger at being forced to exile his favourite. Edward had made his feelings known, and there were stories circulating that he was already considering inviting the Despensers back to England. The Marcher Lords were content that they had saved the nation, but now Sir Peregrine was unpleasantly certain that the King would vacillate and complain until he had reversed any decisions made under duress. He had done so over the sodomite Gaveston, he had over the Ordinances, and he would over the Despensers, too.

Which meant war.

He was about to ascend the stairs to the great hall, when he saw a man watching him from a storeroom’s doorway under the stairs. Sir Baldwin’s manservant.

‘Good afternoon, Sir Peregrine,’ said Edgar and bowed courteously.

‘Do you know where your master has gone? He should be here soon.’

‘I am sure he will return soon, Sir Peregrine.’

‘Good.’ Sir Peregrine began to walk up the stairs, but as he reached the top he glanced back. Edgar was still watching him, and for some reason Sir Peregrine found his expression very unsettling. It was like an accusation.

Harlewin left Father Abraham with Nicholas and his sister. Both had need of a priest, although Harlewin was not convinced that the austere cleric would be the best man to comfort them.

It had been a long day and he felt the strain. Andrew Carter’s last scream still stuck in his mind, and Harlewin was looking forward to a pot of strong wine when he got back to his own hall. Shutting his door behind him, he had the fleeting sense of calm which closing his door against the outside world always gave him, but then he saw a dog and heard men’s voices in his hall and had to stifle a groan. More business.

‘Sir Baldwin, Bailiff Puttock – how may I serve you?’ he enquired wearily.

‘It’s more the other way around,’ Simon said. ‘Look!’

To the Coroner’s astonishment the bailiff lifted a small sack and up-ended it on a table. A stream of gemstones fell and formed a pile. ‘What is this?’

‘It is what Sir Gilbert of Carlisle was bringing to reward all the friends of the Despensers,’ Baldwin explained, scrabbling on the ground to pick up a fallen ruby. ‘I suppose the larger share was to go to Lord Hugh if he agreed to offer support, but who can tell? There’s also that,’ he added, pointing to the salt.

‘Christ alive! What a hoard! Where did you find it?’

‘We’ll want a receipt,’ Simon pointed out. ‘I think that would be sensible for all of us.’

‘Er yes,’ Harlewin said, his eyes still transfixed by the glittering pile. He called for a servant and sent a boy to fetch Father Abraham. ‘He won’t be in a good mood.’

While they waited for Father Abraham to arrive, the Coroner briefly told Baldwin and Simon about the terrible murder of Andrew Carter.

When the priest arrived, he hardly spoke a word to any of the men, but stamped to the table where he scribbled down the numbers and approximate sizes of all the stones there, as well as recording a detailed description of the silver salt.

The Father’s demeanour intrigued Baldwin. ‘Father, are you quite well?’

‘I am.’

‘You seem angry.’

Father Abraham turned on him. ‘Angry? Yes, I am. This… this stuff is the lawful property of the Church if found at that accursed site.’

‘Templeton?’

‘Where else? It should all go to the Church, not to the King for him to fritter away on his frivolities!’ The priest picked up a gemstone at random and sneered at it.

‘Look at it! A pretty bauble, yet it is defiled. It has been touched by a Templar!’ He spat at it and dropped it back on the pile. Finishing, he passed the wax to Harlewin and the three men made their marks to validate the roll. The priest took it with him, striding out of the house as quickly as he could.

‘What do you think will happen to Matilda Carter?’ Simon asked.

‘Her? She’s not much liked, but which jury would want to convict a woman for avenging her daughter? I expect she’ll escape the rope.’

‘I suppose she is fortunate to have a rich brother.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘It seems harsh when you look at a case like this, the fact that all a felon’s wealth escheats to the King. And there can be little doubt that Andrew Carter was a felon.’

Harlewin poured himself a third pot of wine. His mood was improving, his temper growing more calm as the soothing liquid flowed into his veins. ‘It’s only fair that a felon who upsets the King’s laws should lose everything.’

‘We have heard that another man was seen out on the road the night Sir Gilbert was killed,’ Baldwin said.

Harlewin groaned and lifted a hand to his brow in an elegant display of boredom. ‘Not that again! I have decided that he died, as I told you, because a felon murdered him for his purse.’

Baldwin grinned drily. ‘Didn’t you see Sir Peregrine? Someone else told us he was there.’

‘No. No, I didn’t. Only Father Abraham.’

Baldwin nodded, but almost instantly Simon saw a frown fleet across his features. ‘So Sir Peregrine must have disappeared in the woods too. Who else might have done?’ He wondered aloud.

Soon Simon and he were making their way back to the castle, but all the way Baldwin kept silent, his attention fixed upon the ground.

Toker saw his man up on the right alter his position. The man peered up the road then gave a low whistle to attract Toker’s notice. Toker waved to his other lookout. With any luck it was Perkin and Owen and they might come back laden with gold and with a story to tell about two dead men.

There was no haul. He could see that at a glance.

Toker waited in the road while the two approached. ‘Well?’

‘They saw us or something,’ Owen said, his voice a whine of self-justification.

‘Saw us my arse! There was nothing to see. This sod missed. Only a couple of feet away, and he missed. Pathetic!’

‘They came past at a gallop – the best archer in the land would have missed them,’ Owen said, glowering.

‘Call that a gallop?’

‘What would you call it then? A trot? You know sod all about horseflesh, but even a–’

‘Yeah? Even a what?’ Perkin said, reaching over to grab Owen’s jack again.