Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

She stood at the back of those who crowded around, the smile still fixed to her face, as if she was pleased with the result of her words. Seeing him watching, she raised an eyebrow in polite enquiry, and gestured towards the door. Nodding, Baldwin followed her out and into the yard behind, Edgar at his side.

‘You know why, of course,’ she began. ‘It was because the fool allowed my son to drown.’

‘I had heard of that,’ he agreed. ‘But why should you demand his life as well? He was no more than a baby of three years old when that happened. Wasn’t it enough that you had seen one child killed unnecessarily, without demanding the death of another?’

‘If he had called out, done anything, my Tom would be alive now,’ she hissed. ‘You expect me to forget that? To be grateful that I have a position here in the manor, looking after her who gave birth to the boy who killed my son?’

‘This murder won’t bring your boy back.’

‘No, but the revenge warms me, Sir Knight! Haven’t you ever wanted to hurt someone, or even kill them, to avenge an awful wrong?’

He couldn’t meet her eyes; he was himself tainted with a murder he had committed as retribution against one of those who had destroyed his Order.

‘I see you have,’ she crowed. ‘Well, then, don’t condemn me, Sir Knight, for doing the same.’

‘But why wait so long? Why kill the child now, so soon after his father died?’

She faltered for a moment, but then the cold sparkle returned. ‘I had lost my husband when my boy died. Why should she be protected when I had lost everything, eh?’

‘You had not,’ he reminded her. ‘You may have lost a husband and a son, but you had Alan still. He was there to care for you, and yet you killed Lady Katharine’s child just when she was at her most defenceless. That was truly wicked.’

‘Perhaps – but he killed my Tom, and I could never forgive him that. Why should I? Herbert deserved his death.’

‘How can you suggest such a thing? He was a boy, not a murderer or felon, just five years old!’

‘Well, I see I shan’t convince you,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But remember, I was prepared to kill to avenge my boy, and I’d be happy to do it again.’

He nodded. There didn’t seem much more to say. He told Edgar to take Anney to the storeroom and to lock her inside. As an afterthought, he instructed Edgar to release Edmund, and to bring the farmer to the hall. Then, sighing, and with a sense of deep despondency, Baldwin made his way back indoors.

Edmund was sunk in a gloomy reverie when he heard the steps approach, and the door rattled to the sound of the bolts being shot back. The night had been hellish. He had only been given a jug of ale, no more, with his pottage, and he hadn’t slept well. Tired, fearful, his mind filled with visions of what might await him, he cringed as the door opened to show only Edgar and Anney.

‘Come on, Edmund – out. You’re free.’

He gaped at them while Anney gave him a mocking smile. ‘What, Ed, you want to stay here in my place?’

‘Your place?‘

Edgar sighed irritably. ‘This woman has confessed to killing Herbert. That means you are released, all right? If you wish, I can lock you back in here, but if I do, I won’t be in a hurry to let you out next time. Come on! Out!’‘

Edmund stumbled forward, but as he passed Anney, he stopped and stared. He couldn’t understand it. She hadn’t been there on the moor, she’d just set out on the road as he approached the manor.

‘Go on, fool!’ Anney said quietly. ‘Get out while you still can!’

He walked slowly and feebly through the sunlight. The yard was filled with noise. A cart had arrived and butts of fresh and salted fish were being unloaded and dropped onto the paved court before being rolled noisily to the storage sheds near his cell. Horses trotted past, their shoes ringing loudly on the stone, men marched with a regular snapping sound as their leather soles struck the ground, and all around people shouted, sang, or whistled as they got on with the day’s work.

It was disorientating, and suddenly the man couldn’t go any further. He stood in the midst of the bustle and stared about him with an almost panicked air.

Edgar saw his perplexity, and although he didn’t know what caused it, he knew a spell in a gaol could be disorientating. He took the farmer’s arm, and gently led him up to the hall. ‘Come along. We’ll get you a quart of strong ale before you go home. You need some form of compensation for your stay in the cell.’

Edmund obediently followed where Edgar took him, although at the door to the hall, he stopped, and stared at Edgar with a witless fear in his eyes.

Edgar smiled reassuringly, although he was rapidly becoming impatient, and helped the farmer through the door and into the buttery.

‘Oh, no!’ Edgar said despairingly. Draped over one of the smaller barrels he saw Wat. Nearby was Alan, who snored quietly on the floor, a broken pot at his side; Jordan lay near the wall, a beatific smile on his face.

Edgar walked in and kicked the cattleman’s boy. Wat gave a short, hiccuping cry, flailed at the air, and disappeared over the other side of the barrel. Alan instantly snapped awake with a snort and a shake of his head. Jordan remained blissfully asleep.

‘Up, Wat! And find me some good ale, if you don’t want a cuff round your head!’

‘Ow, that hurt,’ said the boy, reappearing rubbing at his head. He burped and sulkily fetched a jug, filling it from the butt he had been sleeping on.

Edgar shook his head in disgust, passed the jug to Edmund and led Wat from the room. Once outside, he took Wat by the sideburn and pulled up, twisting it, until the boy was on his tiptoes. ‘You are not to enter that room again, understood? I can’t trust you, and I won’t have you embarrassing your master with your drunkenness. You won’t go inside the buttery again while we are here.’

‘Oh – ow! All right, sir, I won’t go in there.’

‘Now get into the hall and wait!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And take your drunken friends with you.’

So saying, Edgar hauled Alan to his feet and shoved him out, and then went to Jordan and pulled the semi-comatose lad up. Jordan opened his eyes Wearily and smiled inanely at his father. ‘You’re free!’ he blurted, and hiccuped.

Edgar thought Edmund looked like an ox patiently waiting for the goad. He stood quietly, apparently oblivious to the presence of his son. His imprisonment, even for so short a time, had affected him badly, and now he shuffled slowly and aimlessly gazed about him like a dazed old man with fuddled wits.

Jordan belched winey fumes in Edgar’s face, and the servant winced in disgust. He thrust the boy towards Wat and Alan, who each took an arm and half-carried, half-dragged their friend to the hall. Meanwhile Edgar refilled Edmund’s jug and asked the farmer to follow him again.

Jordan blinked and gazed about him with the dull-witted slowness of an old man. After the relative gloom of the buttery, this hall, with its sconces and candles and roaring fire, was almost painful on his eyes. All he wanted to do was sit next to his dad in a dimly-lit corner and doze again, but he daren’t. Not with the people in here.

Baldwin had returned, and now sat next to the fire with his wife, holding her hand. His friend Simon was standing in front of the fire, and his face was gloomy, like Baldwin’s, although he looked positively cheerful compared with Thomas, the new master. He sat by himself, avoiding everybody.

Daniel wasn’t about, which was some relief. Jordan knew that the steward wielded vast power, and he was always scared of him. He was also secretly glad to see that the mistress was nowhere to be seen. Then he went cold as he saw Petronilla sitting on a bench, her face held in her hands, and Stephen behind her, his hand on her shoulder.