The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

Baldwin decided to save him any embarrassment. It was a curious word to apply to the coroner, but clearly the man was shamed by the reference he must make to the woman’s infidelity. ‘This is about the matter of the dead man, you will understand,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

‘We do not have a good understanding of the affair as yet,’ Baldwin said. ‘We are trying to understand what people here in the vill may have felt about the dead man – and his friend. We have heard that others saw the pair of them in Crediton. Did you?’

‘Me?’ Henry asked. ‘No. I was in Crediton yesterday, but came back early this morning, and didn’t see any strangers so far as I know. Mind, I was working in my storehouse in the town, not wandering the streets!’

‘That is good,’ Baldwin said. ‘Tell me, what kind of business do you run?’

‘I have a number of little ventures, but I sometimes dabble in purchasing wine in Exeter and send it to different taverns and inns. I have some good Guyennois wines just arrived.’

‘I see.’ Baldwin considered. ‘I have heard that you have experienced troubles with the church. Their sheep?’

‘Aye, yes. The black-hearted devils let their flock ruin my crop – and then refused to repay me for the damage!’

‘And I think your wife was insulted by the canon two days ago,’ Baldwin said.

The scene of that morning blazed with a greater clarity on his mind. He remembered seeing the two men approaching him, the flash of this woman running away from the road, his initial thought that others too would keenly avoid the likes of a pardoner and his companion – and then he realized his error. The surprise made him almost gasp.

Henry appeared not to have noticed. ‘She did? Oh, it was him splashed her, was it? He’s a pleasant enough fellow. Not the brightest. Lousy negotiator, that I know, for if I weren’t so honest I could have gulled him out of a barrel in every ten I sold him.’

‘You still have dealings with the church?’

‘I’d be a fool not to. But the peas are ruined.’

‘Sir, perhaps your wife could show me the crop?’ Baldwin suggested. ‘I have some little influence with Dean Peter. Perhaps I could…?’ ‘Yes, by all means. I can show you myself,’ Henry said.

‘There is no need. You stay here and answer my good friends’ questions, and we shall be away from you all the sooner,’ Baldwin said smoothly, and was through the door in a moment.

‘They’re over here,’ Agatha said, lifting her skirts as she passed over the muddy paths.

‘Have you been carrying on many affairs?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, but now her face was colourless.

‘You saw me that day when the pardoner and his triacleur appeared, didn’t you? You saw me and fled rather than let me see you. You and a man in clerical robes. A canon… It was Arthur, wasn’t it?’

‘What of it?’ The colour had returned to her now, in bright scarlet at her cheeks. It made her look as daunting as an empress.

‘You are having an affair with Hob, I know. However, now I am forced to wonder whether you are also having an affair with the canon too.’

Perhaps that was what Peter Clifford had meant when he said that his young canon was tortured by temptations. This woman had decided to ensnare him too. There were women with voracious sexual appetites, Baldwin knew.

‘I… I cannot speak without you twisting my words…’

‘I care not about your affairs,’ Baldwin hissed. ‘All I wish to know is what happened to the pardoner in that room. Do you know who could have had anything to do with it?’

‘No! Why should I?’

‘Because Hob thought he saw your husband outside his tavern last night when he was pushing the others through his door.’

‘But Henry wouldn’t have hurt that man…’

‘He would have wanted to hurt Hob, wouldn’t he? And how better to do that than to leave all assuming that Hob had killed another in his tavern?’

‘Henry wouldn’t do that. He’s too weak to hurt a man anyway, but if he were to try it, he’d stab a man in the chest while looking into his eyes. But I don’t think he ever would. He is the softest-hearted man I’ve known.’

As she spoke, the servant Baldwin had seen at her side in the vill came out and stared around him.

‘He is looking for me,’ she said, and there was a tone of fear in her voice.

‘What of it? He’s a servant.’

‘I must go!’

‘Why should she be so scared of a servant?’ Simon asked as they walked back to the vill.

‘Perhaps he suspects her of adultery – or knows of it?’ Baldwin wondered. ‘He may blackmail her.’

‘Did she admit it, then?’ the coroner said.

‘She did not deny the affair with the tavern-keeper, but she was emphatic about not carrying on with the canon.’ Baldwin frowned as he realized that he had not asked what she was doing with the canon in Crediton that day as they ran away. Clearly there was a secret matter being conducted there, whether or not there was a relationship.

‘Hardly makes her a saint,’ the coroner commented gruffly. His own wife had died some years before, far too young, and he still sorely missed her.

‘What of Henry? Did you gain an inkling as to whether he had been at the vill?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He did not deny it,’ Simon said. ‘But there was no sign of rage, only a quiet introspection. It was just as though he had some other grievance. He didn’t strike me as a raging cuckold – did he you, Sir Richard?’

‘No. Just a businessman with a problem to solve. Who doesn’t have them now?’

Baldwin nodded.

‘All of which gives us little help in this inquest,’ Simon said.

‘Correct. True, it is hard to understand who may have wished to commit this murder,’ Baldwin admitted.

‘Surely this matter of the woman and her lover must have something to do with it,’ the coroner said.

‘I am inclined to the view that the servant is more guilty than she,’ Baldwin said. He mused. It was a strange fear on her face when she saw the servant coming to seek her.

‘Should we go back to talk to him?’ Simon said.

‘If we do, and he has some sort of hold over her, it would make trouble for her without reason,’ Baldwin said.

‘She mayhap deserves it,’ the coroner said.

‘Perhaps there has been enough passion already in this case,’ Baldwin said. ‘I would not care to learn that she has been killed by a jealous husband.’

‘Hah! That woman reminds me of a joke,’ the coroner said. ‘A man was talking to a fellow in a tavern and asked if he was married. “Aye, and not once but three times,” was the reply. “Oho! How so?” “Because all three hanged themselves from my old apple tree,” the man said. The first was quiet a moment, and then asked, “Would you consider selling me a cutting of this tree?” Eh? Ha! And perhaps poor Henry should have a similar tree in his own garden for that harridan.’

‘Do not judge her too harshly, Sir Richard,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were fortunate to be happily married. Who can say but that their marriage is unhappy? I have seen too many women made miserable in constraining relationships.’

‘So have I,’ the coroner growled. ‘But that doesn’t excuse a woman whoring.’

‘Whom do you suspect, then? The Welshman?’

Sir Richard was about to respond when the three men were stopped by screams from behind them. ‘What in God’s name…?’ the coroner blurted, but then he was already running back the way they had all come, Simon and Baldwin close behind him.

They had to run a matter of only two hundred yards, but to Simon it felt like a thousand. Once he had been fit enough to walk thirty miles in a day over Dartmoor, but now he was older, heavier and more prone to sitting on a horse.