Michael JECKS: Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

Wat quietly walked with his charges over to a bench and all three sat just as Edgar and the farmer entered.

Baldwin glanced up; Jordan thought he looked exhausted. It was odd to see a rich man showing that kind of fatigue. Usually it was only their staff who looked tired, at least in Jordan’s experience. While the peasants all toiled and slaved to keep the lands fruitful and the storerooms filled, Squire Roger for instance had spent his time in pleasurable pursuits: hunting, riding, playing with his weapons.

But Jordan’s attention was soon diverted to his father. Edmund stumbled in like an old man. His face was pale and drawn, as though he had been incarcerated for years, and Jordan felt the drunkenness fall away as his fear rose. He didn’t realise his father was freed; to the boy it looked as if the knight and bailiff were about to pronounce sentence upon him.

The knight glanced up. ‘Ah, Edmund, please come here, near the fire. You must be cold.’ He watched as the farmer slowly shuffled forwards and held his hands out to the flames. ‘Edmund, I am sorry that you have been so ill-served,’ he continued. ‘I can only hope that in future your life will become easier.’

It was at this moment that Daniel appeared in the doorway. At his side was a thin, smiling, ruddy-faced man, with a face much scarred by the pox, who glanced about him with a casual interest.

‘Sir Baldwin,’ Daniel said. ‘You wanted to speak to the fishcarter.’

‘You are the carter who was here on the day that Master Herbert died?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Yes, sir. I was here that day’

‘You know that the boy was killed and his body dumped on the road. Did you see him?’

The carter gave him a pitying look. ‘Sir, if I’d seen the lad lying hurt or dead I’d have put him on my cart and brought him back here. I have a boy his age myself, and wouldn’t expect a man to leave my boy in the road.’

‘Did you see anyone else that day?’ Simon asked.

‘Him, sir,’ he said, pointing at Edmund. ‘He was on his cart riding over here, although he was some ways back. I saw two gentlemen on horses, out near the stream – oh, and Anney, of course.’

‘Where was she – up on the hill?’

He glanced at the bailiff. ‘On the hill? No, she was on the road, some way from the house here.’

Baldwin’s head snapped around, and his face had lost its dark scowl. He peered closely at the fishmonger. ‘Are you quite sure? We thought that by the time you passed along the road, she must already have left the track to go up the hill.’

‘I don’t know about that, sir – all I can say is, she was on the road, and I passed her within a few minutes of leaving the manor. Just after that I started to drop down the hill and saw the two gentlemen on their horses at the bottom. I passed by them, and a little way on I saw Thomas here, and his man.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘Up there? Only a boy, staring out at me. That one,’ he said, pointing at Alan.

‘Alan, Jordan – come here,’ Baldwin said, and the two slowly climbed to their feet and, exchanging a glance, went forward.

‘We have had someone confess to the murder of your friend,’ said the knight. ‘I am sorry, Alan, but your mother admits it.’

The boy gaped, then stared at Jordan. ‘But she wasn’t even up there!’

‘No, but you and I know who was, don’t we?’ said Baldwin. He gave Alan a steady look, and Simon felt a cold horror wash down his spine even before Baldwin spoke.

‘Everyone here should study these two. There can be no doubt what happened, I think. I have gone over it time and time again in my mind, and I can see no other solution. Anney was nowhere near the scene of the crime when Herbert died; when she confessed, it was because she wanted to protect the true murderers. Edmund knew nothing about the killing either. At first perhaps he honestly did think that he might have run the boy down, and the shock was made all the more hideous for him because he truly believed for a moment that he had killed his own son.

‘Then we have poor Petronilla. I can conceive of no woman less likely to be able to murder than one who is just about to become a mother for the first time, especially one who feels so alone and desperate as this girl, with no man she can legally claim as husband. As for the priest, Stephen, who was so keen to thrash his charge at every opportunity, and who received a stinging shot on his backside while he was… busy – well, he caught Herbert and beat him – but murder? If Stephen had murdered the child, surely he would have beaten him to death then and there – only he didn’t, because Petronilla was with him, and she declared that he returned to her, and that she heard Herbert when Stephen had rejoined her.

‘Then we have Thomas, who was down at the road. Yet how could one think that he might have captured a boy? He is not fleet of foot. Nor is there anything to suggest that the Fleming or his servant rode away from the place where they had been for so long. Edmund saw them, still lounging, probably waiting for Thomas to return so that they could go back to their negotiations, only he never reappeared. Instead they were passed by a fishmonger, and then by a carter going home after the market. They became bored and went home the longer way, hoping again to pass Thomas.

‘But two fellows were always up there, unaccounted for: Alan and Jordan. Two who always appeared to be above suspicion because they are young, and because so many others had good reasons to want to see Herbert dead.

‘We can assume that Herbert saw the priest making love with Petronilla, that Herbert’s sense of fun made him shoot Stephen in a painful and unfortunate part of his anatomy, but Jordan and Alan had no idea Petronilla was there. That was why they felt safe in fabricating the priest’s rape of their friend. They had no idea that he had an alibi – and I have to say, it was most fortunate that he saw fit to own up to it.

‘What reason could these two have for killing the boy, eh? One had the same motive as his mother, didn’t you, Alan? You wanted to avenge the death of your brother. What of you, though, Jordan? Why did you want him dead?’

Jordan flinched as the knight’s eyes met his. It felt as if Sir Baldwin was boring into him. ‘Sir, I…’

‘Shut up, you fool! Remember what I told you!’ Alan hissed.

Jordan blinked, then screwed his eyes tight shut with the effort of not crying.

Baldwin walked to him and took hold of his shoulders, softly pulling the unwilling boy towards him. He put a hand under Jordan’s chin and raised his head. ‘Look at me, child. You will not risk the rope if you tell me what happened.’

‘It’s not fair!’ Jordan snivelled. His alcohol-induced confidence had fled, and now he knew he was found out. ‘We thought the priest would never dare confess to covering Petronilla – he always said it was a sin, so how could he admit to that? He shouldn’t have told you. We’d be all right if he hadn’t told you!’

Edmund stood staring open-mouthed, and now he strode forward. ‘Jordan, tell him you had nothing to do with it. Go on, tell him!’

‘I didn’t want to, sir,’ Jordan said, sniffing. ‘He wasn’t supposed to die. It just happened.’

‘What did?’ pressed the knight.

‘Sir, Alan and me found him, and he was all cross with Alan, because it was Alan who fired at the priest…’

‘No, I didn’t, it was you?’ Alan protested aghast.

‘… but Herbert wasn’t as good as us at hiding in the bushes, and the priest saw Herbert and beat him instead. And when Herbert saw us, he was crying, and said he’d tell his mother and make sure the priest knew, and then Alan would get lashed as well, and Alan told him he’d kill him if he did, and…’