Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

He glanced about him again, taking in the men and women standing in little groups. One figure stood out: the knight, Sir Baldwin.

Baldwin walked up to meet the steward. ‘It must be the first time I have seen you without your staff, apart from when Hugh snatched it from you,’ he said gently.

‘It was in the hall,’ Daniel told him sadly. ‘There seemed little point in grabbing it – not when there were more important things to rescue.’

‘Was anyone killed?’ Baldwin asked, gazing at the people all about.

‘I don’t think so. Even van Relenghes was saved. A couple of grooms got him out before the flames took hold of the kitchen. Oh, God’s teeth, what a mess!’

Baldwin eyed him sympathetically. ‘You cannot blame your mistress. She was under a great deal of pressure, poor woman.’

‘Oh, I know. And I am glad in a way, too, for I don’t think I would have been able to bear serving Thomas of Exeter,’ Daniel confided. ‘But to think that the manor that my squire built and established is gone! It’s terrible.’

And he clearly felt the misery. His eyes couldn’t meet Baldwin’s, but instead ranged over the wrecked area with a fevered misery, as if he couldn’t quite take it all in. Baldwin shook his head sadly, but he had a question he must ask. ‘Daniel, tell me, why did you demand that Simon and I should return to investigate the boy’s death? Everyone was content that it had been an accident.’

‘I never thought it was. The lad could have outrun most carts, so why should he suddenly fall before one like that? I was convinced his death was murder.’

‘So you really believed that Edmund was the killer, because of his treatment by the squire and your lady?’

‘Ed? God’s bowels, no! He’s too weak and brainless to think of something of that nature. No, but he did give me a pretext to call you back. For her.’

‘I see,’ said Baldwin, and he really did, at last. It was not uncommon for a widowed woman to later remarry the man who had been her dead husband’s steward, and the reason was all too prosaic: while knights and squires must spend time traveling from estate to estate, or going to war, their steward would remain at home – as would the wife. Often an understanding could spring up between them. Proximity could lead to affection. In Daniel’s case he wanted to do all he could to alleviate his lady’s suffering, and to his mind that included having her son’s death properly investigated.

‘My Lady – where is she?’ he asked now.

‘I will show you,’ Baldwin said, and picked his way down the slope.

A few sheets and blankets had been saved, and these had been strung together over poles to create a shelter and give some protection from the cold and rain. Baldwin led the way there, and through the open side they saw Jeanne and Margaret tending to Katharine. Daniel hurried to her, and knelt at her side, burying his head in the sheets that covered her.

‘How is she?’ Baldwin asked his wife.

‘She’ll be fine. She got quite warm when the room went up, of course, but she received few burns, mercifully, and the coughing should go soon. The main thing is, we have to get her to a house so that she doesn’t catch a chill.’

Baldwin glanced enquiringly at Daniel, who said: ‘There’s a farm not far from here. I’ll send a man to tell the farmer we’re on our way.’

The knight nodded and left the makeshift tent, walking slowly to the hill where Simon waited, standing guard over the two boys with Hugh.

‘How is she?’

‘She’ll live. But God knows if her mind will recover,’ Baldwin sighed.

‘She’ll be fine,’ said a voice behind him, and he spun around to face Thomas.

The master of the ruins waved a large jug. ‘I’d offer you some wine, gentlemen, but this is all I have remaining, and I think I’d like to enjoy what I can.’

‘You still have your life,’ said Baldwin.

‘My life? I depended on this,’ said the other, gesturing at the smoking remains, ‘to fund my business. Now, even if the land brings in fifteen or sixteen pounds a year, I am still left with nothing right now. I’m ruined. I’ll lose my house.’

‘Return down here and rebuild, then,’ said Simon. ‘It wouldn’t take long to put up a good-sized house; maybe not as large as your brother’s place, but enough to support you and a family.’

‘Here? Never!’ Thomas declared, staring about him scornfully. ‘What should I want with a place like this?’

Simon speculatively eyed the village nestling in the valley before them. ‘Well, nothing I can say will change your mind, of course, but there are many places around here where the owners of villages have set up markets and fairs; they take a good toll of all goods for sale, and make money from taxing the villagers for the rooms they rent out.’

‘Fairs! Markets!’ Thomas said scornfully. He sneered and sipped his wine, but slowly, and he glanced towards Throwleigh with a pensive frown. ‘Mind you, the roads here are quite good, aren’t they…?’

When it began to drizzle, Baldwin called Edgar to his side; between them, the two bullied and threatened the traumatised victims of the fire into some semblance of order, organising a stretcher for Lady Katharine, who appeared unable to think for herself; kicking James van Relenghes to his feet; setting Hugh and others to guard the two boys.

Anney stood weeping. She had been rescued from her cell by Edgar, but she seemed to have no will left. Baldwin was surprised to see Thomas’s man Nicholas go to her side and put his arm about her slim shoulders while he offered her comforting words. The knight was about to pull the man away, thinking he was merely trying to take advantage of the woman for his sexual gratification, when he saw how Anney reacted. She was gripping the man’s hand and leaning on his shoulder like a lover, and the confused knight was left with the distinct impression that Anney was greatly soothed by Nicholas’s presence.

He left her and went to make sure that the horses and cattle were being kept together before they could wander and be lost. Luckily Wat had recovered a little from his excesses of three or four hours before, and had been enlisted to assist the cattleman and stablehands. He saw his master, and waved cheerfully, preparing to set off with the animals to an enclosed field between the manor and the village.

All in all Baldwin was reasonably happy that things were as well as could be expected after such a disastrous day, and as the cavalcade began to make its way to the village to commandeer stables and buildings for all the people, he felt that all which could be done had been. He strode along the line to the front of the procession.

Seeing him, Jeanne glanced up at the door on which Lady Katharine lay, carried by four stalwarts from the stableyard. Jeanne had set out beside the stretcher thinking that she might be able to offer some companionship and help soothe the woman, but Lady Katharine was unable to speak coherently. She rambled, talking now as though her little son were at her side, now as if her husband were there; there was no sense to be had from her, and although Jeanne felt appalled for the lady, it was obvious that she served no useful purpose in being there, so she lifted her skirts and hurried to join her husband.

As they left the moors and followed the road down between tall trees on either side, he was talking quietly to Simon; behind them walked Alan and Jordan, heads hanging low, hands loosely bound and attached to a long thong onto which Hugh grimly held.

‘What will happen to them?’ she asked softly.

‘That will be in the hands of Sir Reginald of Hatherleigh,’ Baldwin replied. ‘He may take them into his own household where he can keep an eye on them, but it’s more likely he’ll send them to a decent monastery, one where they can be taught how evil their act was. They’ll need to pay a severe price for their crime, but at least they won’t be hanged. They are saved that by virtue of their age.’