Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

She hadn’t wished to hear the two men in the yard, but it had been almost impossible to miss their shouting match through her open window, and now everything van Relenghes said to her felt wrong, somehow – false. On the face of it, his words had appeared reasonable enough, for he had been a friend of her husband’s, and yet… even that simple fact seemed odd now. Squire Roger had told his stories about fighting in France and Wales so often, Katharine felt she knew most of them by heart, and he had never once spoken of a Sir James van Relenghes. If she had been a young maiden, she might have thought, as Thomas clearly did, that the Fleming was courting her, and yet there was no hint of true affection in his manner, more a calculation.

But there was no point in his attempting to win her. If she had been a wealthy widow, one with lands or an enormous dowry, there could have been logic to it, but as matters stood, surely there was nothing she possessed which he could desire.

She daringly glanced in his direction, and felt her heart lurch as she saw his face light as if with love.

It made her feel physically sick.

‘Well, what of it?’ Thomas demanded. ‘I am lord of my own manor, you know!’ He was walking up and down in the yard, and with every word he spoke, his fists clenched, as if expecting the knight to try to attack him.

Baldwin was surprised by his truculence but held up a hand soothingly. ‘Thomas, I am not disputing your right. All I asked was, has he confessed to anything?’

‘No, but I have spoken to his neighbours, and they are all agreed that he is an habitual criminal. He’s been suspected of stealing food and chickens before now. He has a common fame in the vill.’

‘It is a large leap from that to murder, surely?’

‘Oh, these villeins stop at nothing. This one in particular is known to be lazy and a drunk – and beats his wife regularly. It could hardly be anybody else.’

Simon avoided Baldwin’s eye as the knight gave an exasperated ‘Pah!’ of contempt. The bailiff knew how his friend felt about such statements. It was a simple fact that members of a village would often find a man guilty if he had been described as ‘common’ or ‘notorious’ in the indictment. If they had the slightest doubt as to the man’s true honesty and integrity, they would convict him because otherwise they would all be held responsible for the supposed thief’s good behaviour; if they had a shred of doubt as to whether he was guilty or not, this threat, of having a massive fine imposed should the man later get arrested for another crime, often made them find their neighbour guilty just so as not to run that risk!

However, instead of exploding, the knight merely said, ‘Did anyone see him return to the village on the afternoon Herbert died?’

Thomas blinked, and for a moment stopped his restless pacing. ‘How should I know? What a question! Who cares whether anyone saw him? He was on the road and killed the boy – that’s all we need to know.’

‘I suggest you ask people in the village whether they recall seeing him, and if they did, what was the state of his hose,’ said Baldwin imperturbably.

‘His hose?’ Thomas gaped.

‘If he walked up through all those ferns and furze, he’d have got his legs soaked, wouldn’t he? It would be the final proof you need.’

Thomas gave him a cold look. First the damned Fleming, now this man telling him how to run his own affairs! ‘I have all the proof I need.’

‘Then that is fine. But I would suggest you send someone to check. You wouldn’t want the bailiff here to demand that the man be freed just for want of one question, would you? Why not ask at the houses next to his, and at the tavern, in case he dropped in before going home. And then, if you have no objection, I would like to speak to your prisoner.’

Thomas gave his agreement grudgingly and walked to the stables. Shortly afterwards they could hear him bellowing for a groom.

‘I suppose you’ll want to go back up to the moors later when it’s dry?’ Simon asked reluctantly.

‘It would seem the right thing to do,’ Baldwin agreed. He had not yet had a chance to tell his friend about the similarity between the cleric’s footprint and the one up on the track, but he did so now.

Simon was dismissive. ‘It’s probably coincidence. How many men around here have feet the same size?’

In answer, Baldwin set his foot into a patch of dark mud. Grinning, Simon copied him, making his own mark alongside it. The two prints were similar, but there was a significant difference in width. The bailiff shrugged.

‘See? I expect if you check the prints of the Fleming and his guard, not to mention the stablemen and gardeners, steward, Thomas, and others, you’ll find that they’ll all be about the same. That proves nothing.’

‘You are probably right – still, it does suggest that two people might have been up there, and that together they might have been responsible for Herbert’s death. And for the strangest possible reason, one of them was shod with only one shoe.’

‘What I don’t understand is why the prints disappeared,’ Simon mused.

‘Ah, that’s the easiest part to explain,’ Baldwin said. ‘Think about it. Two people walk up that path – they meet the boy, kill him, and drag him to the road; as they walk, the body they are dragging will sweep away all their tracks. What baffles me is where they then disappeared to.’

Simon gave him a serious stare. ‘You really believe the priest killed Herbert?’

‘Not necessarily. Whoever dragged the body back did wipe out Stephen’s prints, but that only tells us that the priest didn’t go down that path after the body had passed by.’

‘And those who dragged it down clearly didn’t go back up the hill,’ Simon agreed. They were standing at the gate, and they passed through and out to the clitter beyond, each selecting a rock on which to sit.

The bailiff narrowed his eyes and gazed along the road northwards, continuing slowly: ‘Why should anyone want to hurry back up the hill? It would only lead them to the moor, and that’d be lunacy. There are miles of moor between here and the next household: surely whoever did kill the boy had reason to do so, and that means it was someone who knew him, not some wandering vagabond.’

‘Absolutely. The killer was someone from the household, or from Throwleigh. A destitute outlaw will sometimes waylay a man for his purse, but would hardly think a five-year-old worth the risk of a rope. Whoever killed Herbert definitely had a motive.’

‘Thomas would say that this farmer, Edmund, had motive enough.’

Baldwin grimaced. ‘Yes, he probably would, but I still think Edmund is the least likely suspect. A drunk is rarely capable of killing and concealing his crime.’

‘I have known alcoholics commit murder, especially when intoxicated,’ Simon pointed out.

‘Of course you have, but what we have here is a careful attempt to conceal the murder, to make it look like an accident – and a drunken man would find it hard to do that. For instance, could the farmer have dragged the body so far without leaving some trace to show he was there? A footprint, a…’ His voice faded as he considered.

Simon picked up a handful of stones and began throwing them at a large black slug at the foot of a rock. ‘I wonder how large Thomas’s feet are.’

‘A good question. Our new squire is the man with the best motive for killing the lad. He wanted the money and estate – he’s never made any bones about that. But I also have to wonder about the length and shape of my Lady’s feet.’

‘Baldwin, for God’s sake! Herbert was Lady Katharine’s only son!’

‘But she blamed him for causing the death of the squire. You didn’t see the hatred on her face at her husband’s graveside.’