Michael JECKS - The Crediton Killings

“How is he, Tanner?” Baldwin asked.

“Fine, sir. Nervous, but that’s no surprise. You want to see him?”

Cole had reduced. His frame, once so large and powerful, had shrunk, and his shoulders were bent as if from hard effort. The eyes which Simon had first been so impressed by were now sunken and had lost their glitter.

Seeing his emaciated appearance, Simon shot a glance at the Constable, but the look of compassion on Tanner’s face showed that it was not caused by maltreatment; it was simply the effect of days of not knowing what might happen, the fear of pain and death.

The knight recognized that look only too well. So many of his friends had carried the same unbearable torment etched hard into their features as they underwent the agony of watching comrades suffer torture, knowing that the same pressure would be brought to bear on them when the inquisitors lost interest in their present target. Baldwin had hoped never to see such anguish again.

“Be seated, Cole,” he muttered. “We have some questions for you.”

“Is this my trial?” The young man’s eyes flitted from one face to another, desperately seeking assurance.

“No. We are merely continuing our enquiry. Have you heard about Judith?”

“Who?”

“Another woman has been killed.”

“But I was here! I couldn’t…”

“Be still! It might mean you are free from suspicion of the murder of Sarra, but it does not mean you are innocent of the robbery of Sir Hector’s silver. Just answer our questions honestly, and tell us all you know.”

Cole nodded glumly. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Good. You joined the company on Sunday, yes?”

“Yes. I found them there when I arrived in the evening.”

“It was the Tuesday that you were attacked, and that night when we found you with Henry the Hurdle and John Smithson?”

“Yes.”

“What had you been doing that morning?”

He screwed his face up. Of all the things he had considered during the long hours of darkness in the dank little underground cell, those few last, precious hours of freedom before the momentous event of his arrest had not been uppermost in his mind. He had concentrated on the afternoon. Now he tried to remember what had happened before. “I was awake early – Henry woke me – and spent some time with him after breakfast, learning what the company had in the way of weapons. Then he sent me to the stables to help with the horses. He said, ”A good soldier always looks after his horses better than himself, especially when the horses are owned by Sir Hector.“ I was there almost all the time.”

“You had no break?”

“Yes, a couple. We had lunch just as Sir Hector was going out.”

“Had he been out already?”

“Eh? Yes. The first time he’d come back and had some words with Wat.”

“Where were you when he left?”

“In the buttery. I saw him leave.”

“Did you watch him in the street?”

“Only a moment.”

“What did you see him doing?”

Cole shrugged. “He walked out and went off toward the west.”

“On his own?”

“There were no soldiers with him, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, it is not what I mean. Did you see anybody with him?”

“As I said, I only watched him for a moment or two.”

Simon cleared his throat. “What about the other soldiers? Were any comments made about him as he walked away?”

“The usual sort, I imagine. I got the impression that he’s not the most popular man in the world.” Cole fell silent, then: “They were all saying how he’d beaten the serving-girl, Sarra. Most of them were not even surprised; it wasn’t something that upset them, it was just something to chat about, the way that the young girl had been thrashed.”

“Did anyone say why she had been so poorly treated?” Baldwin pushed.

“Someone said he’d found a new woman.”

Their sudden stillness made him look up, baffled. Baldwin said, “Try to remember anything you can about this woman, Cole. Did anyone say who she was, where she came from, how the captain had met her, anything?”

“She was local. I know that much, because one of them said he’d seen her the time before when they’d stayed at the inn. One of the others laughed, and muttered something, but I couldn’t hear it. Then somebody said she was married to a man in town, and he winked, and the others all guffawed.”

“She was a married woman?” Simon pressed him, his dark eyes intent. “You are sure of that?”

“Yes. They seemed convinced. And… one of them said she didn’t like the meat she got at home – she preferred steak to bacon.”

Baldwin studied him. As before he was struck with the impression of honesty. “One last thing. We have heard you argued with Sarra. What was that about?”

Cole reddened. “She wanted me to perjure myself. Henry and John had upset her, and she wanted me to swear that they were plotting against Sir Hector.”

“You refused?”

“Of course I did! I’d not seen anything to suggest they’d been planning Sir Hector’s downfall. She wanted me to lie so that she’d find her way back into his favor, and I said no.”

While Tanner put the prisoner back in his cell, the three stood huddled near the open door, staring at the butcher’s shop. The apprentice still sat unperturbably plucking chickens, small clouds of tiny feathers whirling occasionally as the breeze caught them, floating and spinning until they touched the damp soil of the street and stuck, soaking up the mire and becoming part of the road’s surface.

“What do we do now?” Edgar asked.

Simon cocked an eyebrow at him. “We find out where the butcher’s wife has gone, that’s what we do.”

“But how?” Baldwin gazed up the road toward Coleford and the west. “Edgar, you seem to know many of the women in this area. Can you find out where she originally came from?”

His servant cleared his throat. “I suppose so. Mind, Tanner might know more; he comes from that way himself.”

“Ask him, then. Meanwhile, we shall return to Clifford’s house to get our horses. The weather looks good, and it is time we had some exercise,” Simon said.

Tanner did know Mary’s family. They owned a smallholding which they had won from their demesne lord some generations ago when an ancestor had provided some useful service. It was, as Tanner explained it, a mixed blessing, for the others in the locality were still villeins, owing their livelihood to their master, receiving food and guaranteed work in exchange, while the free family sometimes suffered, having no protection or support when the harvest was poor. Many thought they would have fared better if they had remained villeins like their neighbors.

The road climbed a short rise after the town, and Simon enjoyed the ride. His bay rounsey was a good, solid horse, built for covering long distances, and had a pleasant, mild temperament. Baldwin, he noticed, was on his Arab, a beautiful white animal with a high-stepping gait and what to Simon seemed an incredible turn of speed.

As they crested the first hill and dropped down the other side, the sun broke through the clouds. All at once the sky showed clear and blue in the gaps, and the men began to feel the warmth. Here, on the western side of the town, the trees were thick and covered much of the landscape, except to their left where Simon could see the blue-gray mounds of Dartmoor crouching on the horizon. Above it were thick storm-clouds, and from the mistiness the bailiff was sure that it must be raining hard. He never could understand why the moors had their own weather, and today he was glad to be away from it.

As the sun touched the soil and heated it, it gave off a refreshing scent. The smell was of vigorous, healthy earth, rich and loamy, filled with rotted vegetation. It was impossible for Simon not to compare it with the desolate plains where he was bailiff. There the earth was so filled with moorstone and peat that only stunted trees and the poor grasses could survive. This part of Devon was where he had been raised, and here everything seemed full of vitality and energy. Even the very color of the soil was different. On the moors it was almost black, while in other areas, he had been surprised to see how dull and brown it looked, especially during the hot weather, when it appeared anemic.