Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

For his part, Edmund lifted the jug of ale and sniffed at the contents, then prodded his bread and dipped a finger into the bowl of pottage – but nothing excited his appetite.

‘If you don’t want to eat, put the tray aside,’ Thomas snarled, and was about to kick it away when there came a loud shout from outside. ‘What’s that?’

Baldwin cocked an ear, an expression of vague surprise on his face. ‘It sounds as if someone is calling for you, Thomas. It’s all right – you go and we’ll remain for a little longer.’

‘I’m staying right here.’

Simon grinned broadly, but there was steel in his voice. ‘Why’s that, Master Thomas? Don’t you trust us alone with your prisoner? I shouldn’t worry – I am Bailiff for the Stannaries, after all.’

Thomas considered him irresolutely before glancing at Baldwin; he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he loathed all knights. That damned Fleming had dared to stand against him and continued to pay court to Lady Katharine, and now Sir Baldwin was forcing him away so that Edmund could be questioned without him. This conjecture was reinforced by Thomas’s certainty that the voice calling so loudly for him was that of Edgar, Baldwin’s servant. ‘Of course I trust you, Bailiff,’ he growled untruthfully. ‘But I’m not happy that a serf of mine should be interrogated in my absence.’

‘I assure you I will not harm him,’ Baldwin said, in a tone that made Thomas blanch with anger.

Meanwhile Simon had crossed his arms and leaned against the wall well within Thomas’s field of vision. He was not close enough for Thomas to consider him threatening, but he was closer than was necessary, or strictly polite.

The knight sighed and held up both hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘Do you wish us to leave our questioning and follow you? We may be able to discover something here which could have some bearing on the murder of your nephew, but if you really insist…’

‘No… no, you remain here,’ Thomas said, his manners returning at last. Casting a last suspicious glance at Simon, he walked from the room.

Instantly Baldwin was on his feet. He took the tray from the farmer’s lap and passed it to Simon. ‘Now listen very carefully, Edmund,’ he said urgently. ‘You are to be accused of murdering Master Herbert – you understand me? If that happens, you will be tried as a felon, and will almost certainly be found guilty. You comprehend your problem? You are a villein under the court of the Master of Throwleigh…’

‘I’m no villein, I’m a free man,’ Edmund declared, and there was real anger in his eyes, undimmed by fear of retribution.

It was true, he thought. He was a free man, with a certificate to prove it. His mistress might try to assert that she owned his body, but his father had been given that crucial document by her husband – what right did she have to rescind it?

The response was enough to satisfy Baldwin, and he slapped the farmer’s shoulder. ‘Then behave like one! Now – did you see Thomas on the road that day?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘He was searching for something – I don’t know what.’

‘Was he on his horse?’

‘No, his mare was held by that man of his. Thomas was on his feet, prodding and poking with a stick in among the ferns and furze.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘So you took this road, up past the manor?’

‘Yes. I didn’t want to meet up with that fat bastard again. He’s never liked me, and I didn’t fancy any more of his insults.’

Daniel stirred himself at last. ‘Edmund, you be careful what you…’

‘Be quiet, Steward!’ Baldwin thundered. ‘Hold your tongue or leave this room. I’ll not have you prejudicing this man’s evidence! Now, Edmund, Thomas wasn’t yet your master, was he? You thought that your Lady Katharine was still the executor of Squire Roger’s will, and the legal guardian of Master Herbert, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, sir, but there were rumours.’ He leaned back, and his face took on a sneer. ‘Like how Master Thomas was keen to be the next squire, like he wasn’t happy to find that there was another one, Master Herbert, between him and his inheritance.’

Baldwin heard a gasp and swift intake of breath. Without turning, he knew from the expression on Daniel’s face that Thomas was back. He made no sign that he had heard anything, but instead held Edmund’s attention. The farmer looked back with a kind of arrogance. He had witnessed Thomas’s return, Baldwin realised, and had made his statement with the intention of denouncing his new master.

There was a new courage flashing in his features. Baldwin had heard that some of his comrades, brother Templars, had been the same: they had accepted the most appalling accusations for a period, but when still more hideous allegations were added, they were finally stirred into defiance. Even the most broken, tortured men preferred to declare the truth; those who could have saved themselves by simply pronouncing one single lie chose to damn their tormentors instead.

‘Did he see you?’

‘Yes, Sir Baldwin. Both did. They looked up as I came near. I saw Master Thomas recognise me. He just stood there, while I took the right-hand fork to avoid him. Never said anything, just watched me until the bend of the road took me out of his sight.’

‘What then?’

Edmund’s gaze dropped, and Baldwin knew instinctively that this was the core of his evidence.

‘I rode on for a few hundred yards, under the shade of the trees, and then came to the open moor again. I saw the other two men, the foreigners…’

‘He means van Relenghes and his guard,’ Daniel murmured.

‘… and they both stared at me like I was some sort of outlaw or something,’ Edmund continued bitterly. ‘I’d never seen them before. I was worried; they both looked warlike, and the way they kept their eyes on me, I thought they might attack… and then, well…’

‘The boy?’

‘Yes, sir.’ His eyes dropped, and his voice fell as if the matter was too grave to be spoken of loudly. ‘I felt it more than anything. There was a crack, and the cart gave a sort of jump, and…’

Baldwin interrupted him. ‘You saw nothing in the road before you hit him?’

‘No, but I was looking over my shoulder. At those men.’

‘And you did not hear Master Herbert cry out?’

Edmund shook his head with conviction, and Baldwin tried to envisage the scene in his mind. Having been to the place, it was easier to picture how it might have happened. The farmer, nervous on seeing the brother of his dead lord, rode on quickly, only to find himself confronted with two intimidating strangers a long way from any help. Would it be any wonder that the farmer would keep his eye on them rather more than on the road ahead? The horse could see where the potholes were, and it would be better for Edmund to make sure he was not about to be attacked from behind and robbed. Especially as he was about to pass under that slight bank, Baldwin reminded himself. The bank, only three or so feet high, but standing just at the corner of that curve in the road…

‘When you had passed, was he on his face or his back?’ he asked.

‘His back, sir,’ whispered Edmund, closing his eyes at the memory. It was a sight he would never be able to forget. ‘He looked like my own lad, sir. I thought I’d killed Jordan.’ A tear trickled down his face.

The prone figure had been so like his own son, he had scarcely been able to move, so great was his feeling of dread. Then he’d stopped the horse, taken several deep breaths before clambering shakily down from the cart and walking the few paces to the still body. Only then did he recognise who it was.

‘I see,’ Baldwin said, but he looked puzzled. ‘To reiterate: you drove round the corner, out of sight of the two men, and over the child’s body. There was no sound of him calling out, so far as you heard – and you definitely found him lying on his back?’