Michael JECKS - The Last Templar

The boy’s eyes were huge in his sudden horror and he shouted, “No!” Mouth hanging open, he stared at the knight, his gaze fixed with an awful intensity. “No! He can’t have!”

“Oh, I know you ducked back into the trees quickly, didn’t you, eh? But yes, he saw you. So I really think you’d better tell us the truth.”

At last Edward seemed to shake himself. He glanced at his brother with an expression of withering – what, scorn? Pity? Baldwin could not be sure, but there was something there that implied almost disgust with his younger brother. He began talking quietly, as though he was repeating the tale for himself, reminding himself rather than telling it to his audience. As he started, Baldwin noticed Edgar and John Black walking up towards them, and quickly motioned to them to wait, so as not to interrupt.

“Yes, we followed them back. It’s true.” His voice had an empty quality, and Baldwin thought it was as if he was absolutely exhausted. “Alfred was mad at him for hitting him. It wasn’t a bad thump, not as bad as our father would have given us for not seeing to the sheep, but then Alfred never really did get hit like that, did you? Not being the little one.” He looked up at Baldwin. “We didn’t do it, though. He was already dead when we got there. Roger must have killed him.”

Staring at him, Baldwin was sure he was telling the truth. He seemed to have conviction in the way he stood there, his eyes fixed rigidly on Baldwin’s face, his body stolid in the way that his legs were set a little apart, almost as if planted and rooted in the earth. Baldwin could see that he was not pleading or asking for belief, it was as if he knew that he would be trusted if he told the truth, and now he was doing so for that reason.

“Yes, we went up there and waited in the trees until Roger went away. We saw him scuttle out of the door and run down the hill. And that was when we went up. I didn’t want to go, but Alfred wanted to hit him back. He wasn’t happy that Brewer had hit him in the inn and got away with it. I went to the door and knocked, but as I did Alfred heard someone coming, so I ducked down and he ran away, over to the other side of the road. It was Cenred, but he walked past like he’d seen nothing. So I knocked again when he’d gone. Alfred came up, but there was no answer.”

“What then?” said Baldwin, shooting a quick glance over at Simon. The bailiff stood, head bowed, listening intently but quietly, as if ashamed of his previous reaction.

“Alfred walked in. The door wasn’t locked. I followed. Brewer was lying on the floor, near his mattress. The fire was low, and we couldn’t see much, but Alfred went over and kicked him, and Brewer did nothing. It scared us, we understood something must be wrong. I lit a candle from the fire, and then we could see. Brewer was stabbed – four, five times in the chest.”

“Yes, so what then?”

“We started to get out, but then Alfred wanted to see if it was true about the money. He wanted to see if Brewer really did have the money to buy us out, so he wanted to look.” Edward could not prevent the sneer from appearing on his face as he stared at the knight. “I let him. I’d had enough, I told him. I left him to look while I put Brewer back onto the bed – I don’t know, it seemed more respectful to leave him there. Well Alfred found Brewer’s purse and a wooden chest, and he took them. Then, when we were going to leave, he said, ”If it’s known he’s been murdered, we’ll be the obvious ones to think of.“ People would hear about the argument, the fight. They’d be bound to think it was us that killed him. So we thought we’d better hide the killing. It wasn’t as if it would hurt anyone else, after all. Brewer wasn’t going to care. And if it was never known there’d been a murder, there’d be no need for anyone to think we’d done something. So we set fire to some hay and left it burning.”

Of course, Simon thought – all that ash on the ground, it was from a hay store in the house. “And then you went home? You left the place burning and went home?”

“Yes. But then, when you seemed to realise that Brewer had been killed, we knew we had to do something. We thought if Roger heard we’d seen him helping Brewer home from the inn, he’d run away. You’d have to know it was him then. Whatever he said when you caught him, you’d know he’d done it.”

Baldwin nodded contemplatively, then spun to face Alfred. “What was in the box?”

“Nothing! Only a few pennies, and the same in his purse.”

“Bring them!” Then, to Edgar, he said, “You wait here. Take the purse and chest when he comes back, and keep them here. You’d better keep the Carters here as well. Is that alright, Simon?”

“Yes. For now, I think, we need to have another talk with Roger Ulton.”

The dilapidated house stood as if forlorn as the four men walked up to it. Baldwin thought it looked like a ruin, like a destroyed castle after the besieging force has left, with the broken dark wood of the roof beams standing out like the burned and blackened remains of an attack from Greek fire. The picture was so clear in his mind, recalling so many past battles, that he involuntarily shuddered. Even the way that the corner of the far wall had fallen seemed to remind him of the way that a corner tower could fall after mining or catapult attack, and he half expected to see bodies on the ground as they came closer.

Simon and he left Hugh and Black behind as they walked up to the door and knocked. When it opened Roger Ulton himself stood before them.

“Bailiff, I…” He stopped as he saw the knight and then caught a glimpse of the other men behind, pausing with his mouth open in despair.

“We know all about it, Roger,” said Baldwin gently. “The only thing is, we don’t know why. What did he say to you to make you kill him?”

Wordlessly Roger went back in and they followed him inside. The pale and skinny man seemed to fall back as they walked in, as if he could fade away in the darkness of the house, his waxy features disappearing in the gloom. The hall had a fire glowing gently in the hearth, with three benches nearby, and Ulton fell on one, staring up at them.

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes wide in his fear, but also, Baldwin felt, in a genuine disbelief. “I had been with Emma, and she told me she didn’t want me any more. I walked around until it was time for me to go home, so that my parents wouldn’t guess – I was hoping to talk her round later. But when I walked past the inn, Stephen almost threw Brewer at me. I couldn’t refuse to help him.

“But he kept going on and on about money and things. He kept telling me that I was useless, as bad as the Carters, not as good as his own son, who’s a merchant. He kept telling me I had hopeless parents – they couldn’t even keep their house up. He told me the best I could do with women was Emma, when anyone else would get someone better. He kept going on and on, even after I’d put him inside the door. I turned to leave when he said that he could buy Emma if he wanted; he could buy houses like my parents”, he said he could buy anything. I just had to shut him up. I… I don’t really know what happened. One minute he was sneering at me, next he was on the floor…”

“What did you do then?” asked Baldwin gently.

“I shut the door and ran home. It was only when I got here I realised I had my knife in my hand.”

They left the house and Roger walked with them to join Hugh and Black.

“Baldwin, if you could take him and the Carters to the gaol, I’ll see you at your house later.”

The knight’s surprise showed in the way that his eyes gazed fixedly at him. “Yes, yes… of course… if that’s what you…”