Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

‘If you’ll pardon my saying so, you’re a lot younger than the squire.’

‘Only a little. He was almost fifty, and I am over forty’

‘He looked a lot older,’ Simon said, and Godfrey thought he could detect a trace of sadness, as if for a friend who has died too early.

‘He always looked old. He could behave like an old man as well.’

‘In what way?’

Van Relenghes regretted his lapse and swore to himself. For a man discussing a friend who had only just died, it was scornful in the extreme. He quickly tried to change the tone from insult to praise.

‘Oh, he was a stickler for discipline among the men-at-arms, would stop any nonsense with women and other camp-followers, that kind of thing. He was known to be harsh with soldiers who misbehaved or disobeyed his orders – but that’s needed in an army. If your King had had more men like Roger, his armies would have conquered even faster.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Simon said, and Godfrey felt a grudging admiration for his master. He appeared to have lulled the bailiff.

The knight was silent for a while, walking along thoughtfully. ‘You are quite sure you didn’t hear the sound of a boy screaming or anything at all after the cart passed you?’

‘No, there was nothing.’

‘There was a cry, master,’ said Godfrey, unable to withhold his evidence.

‘What was that, Godfrey?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Before the cart came past us, sir. In fact, just after Thomas went off, I heard something upstream.’

‘Whereabouts would this have been, exactly?’

‘At the road there, where we were, is a small bridge, and up the hill I could swear I heard a shout. I don’t know if it was a man, woman or child, but it was quite distinct to me.’

‘You didn’t hear this?’ Baldwin demanded of the Fleming.

Van Relenghes shook his head with mystification. ‘If I had heard it I would have told you,’ he said simply.

Baldwin glanced at Simon. ‘That must be up the track, up near the side of the stream.’

‘Yes,’ Godfrey offered. ‘Where the priest had been.’

‘You saw Stephen up there?’ Simon asked.

Van Relenghes interrupted before his guard could answer. ‘Oh, yes. We saw him. We were talking, and as we looked up the hill, there he was, near the brow. When he saw us, he disappeared.’

Baldwin was decided at last. Stephen might be a priest with all the privileges his position entailed, but there were too many questions over his movements on the day Herbert died.

‘I think we shall need to speak to this disappearing priest,’ he said.

Their arrival was a sombre event. There were cold meats and salad vegetables laid out on a great trestle in the hall, the leaves slowly wilting in the warmth of the fire, but most people ignored the food, apart from Thomas, who appeared to have a healthy appetite.

Baldwin led his wife to a seat near the fire, taking two pots of wine from his servant and watching the other guests while Petronilla and Hugh served wine and ale to them.

‘Is all well?’ he asked.

Edgar gave him a short nod. ‘Fine.’

‘Where is Wat? He should be helping you.’

‘Wat is asleep.’

‘Wake him.’

‘Very asleep.’

Baldwin groaned. ‘You didn’t let him near the buttery? Edgar, for the love of Christ, haven’t you learned about him yet? You know how he was at our wedding!’

‘Sir, I was assisting the cook in the kitchen. Wat was with Hugh, and I think he thought it would be amusing to test Wat’s resolve.’

‘God’s blood!’

Jeanne stirred and gave Edgar a warm smile. ‘Thank Hugh, would you? And tell him I shall remember his kindness to my servant boy at the very first opportunity.’

Edgar flashed her a grin and disappeared to serve another.

Jeanne shook her head. ‘I think that man of Simon’s has a rather unkind streak in him. He appears to enjoy ensuring that Wat feels miserable each morning.’

Her husband grunted, but his attention was taken by the priest, who had just entered. Baldwin knew he had stayed with the mourners who had been paid to keep the vigil, and would only now have managed to return.

Stephen of York stood at the doorway, and when he met Baldwin’s eye, instantly looked away and licked his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, he disappeared. Baldwin sipped at his wine. He could swear that the priest was scared of him. And it was clear enough that the man had been out on the hill where young Herbert had been killed.

The knight found himself looking forward to questioning the priest with a keen anticipation.

Petronilla hurried back to the buttery, and seeing Stephen sitting blankly on a stool, fell onto a barrel with a gasp.

‘I couldn’t face speaking to him,’ Stephen said heavily. ‘He knows. I’m sure he knows.’

Her brow wrinkled with worry. ‘They can’t know. No one saw us.’

‘When I hit the boy, he screamed, and that bastard guard of the Fleming’s saw me, I’m convinced of it.’

‘If he was so certain, the bailiff would have arrested us.’

‘It’s the knight I fear. He’s the clever one, the one people say can see inside a man’s soul through his eyes.’

‘Well, you’re safe, anyway, Stephen. All they can do is force you to abjure the realm.’

He flinched at that. It was a hideous thought, having to run from all this. He hadn’t ever dreamed that so soon he might be returning abroad, exiled for life, never to see his birthplace again. That was what abjuring involved: giving the oath to the Coroner at the church’s gate, promising to leave the country by whatever road the Coroner selected, dressed as a penitent carrying a cross, and if an abjurer left the road for any reason whatever, his life was forfeit: he could be beheaded on the spot.

Benefit of clergy meant he wouldn’t be executed, though, and that was something. Petronilla didn’t have the same protection. Stephen patted her hand. ‘Don’t fear. You will be safe enough. Once they have me, they won’t bother with you.’

She gave him an anxious look from the corner of her eye. ‘I have done nothing to make me fear the rope. It’s not that which worries at me. It’s that man Nicholas.’ It hadn’t been possible to tell the priest before, but now she burst out with the sordid story. ‘He grabbed me, here?’ she cried, and her tears glistened as she remembered the scene. ‘And now whenever I pass him, he leers at me.’

Stephen felt a rush of affection for her sweep through him. He took her hand and held it to his breast, and she saw the kindly smile touch his eyes. She bent her head and allowed him to gently kiss her hair. ‘Be easy, child. You shall be safe; I shall see to it.’

‘Safe from who?’ Hugh demanded, marching into the buttery with two empty jugs of wine, and overhearing the priest’s final words. Although he habitually wore a scowl, beneath it Hugh had a generous soul and a soft-natured heart, and he had taken a liking to this poor young girl.

The priest gave him a rather measuring look. ‘My son, there are some men who insist on taking advantage of women, whether the women wish to comply or not.’

Hugh’s dour features visibly darkened. ‘Has that henchman tried to muck about with you again?’ he asked Petronilla.

She gave a sour laugh. ‘No – since I’ve kept well out of his way.’

Stephen looked serious. ‘You mustn’t do anything against him, Hugh. You’ll only get yourself into trouble. Leave him alone, but tell me if he tries something again so that I may rescue this poor girl.’

Hugh nodded. In silence he refilled his jugs and left the buttery to rejoin the guests in the hall.

But Stephen sat a while longer, holding Petronilla’s hand in his own and staring at the ground as if on it were written the answers to all his confusions.