The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

‘I do.’ William did not look down at her, but kept his gaze fixed forward.

‘She knew your son?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where was your son on the night of the vigil of the feast of St George? That is two nights ago, Master William, the night of Tuesday and Wednesday.’

‘He was with me at our house.’

‘And no doubt your servants will vouch for you?’

‘Of course they will – but I am happy to swear on the Gospels if you do not trust my word.’

Baldwin smiled at the man’s suave courtesy. It was in marked contrast to the coroner’s hectoring manner.

‘I am glad to hear it. Perhaps we should have both you and your servants swear in like manner?’

‘If you command it, coroner.’

‘Your son desired this girl, did he not? Were they lovers?’

William de Monte Acuto’s face hardened, but with pain, not anger. ‘My son was a man. This young woman was lively and pretty, so perhaps it is so.’

‘You were not aware that he was wooing her?’

‘I guessed so, yes.’

‘He lies dead there, stabbed through the heart. She holds a dagger in her hand. Perhaps she killed him, then herself?’

William looked at the coroner for the first time now, his face blank of anything but his sorrow. ‘My son is dead, and you wish me to speculate about who did it?’

Later, Baldwin managed to push through the crowd and reach William de Monte Acuto. ‘May I speak to you a moment, friend?’

‘What – do you wish to question me like that cretin of a coroner?’

‘No, I merely seek the truth – I act for my lord Bishop Stapledon.’

‘Then how can a poor man like me refuse?’ William said sarcastically. ‘The king has many advisers, but there are few who can command the respect of my lord bishop.’

Simon said, ‘Friend, I have a son. You have my sympathy. To lose a son is terrible…to then be questioned by that coroner is obscene.’

William bent his head. ‘I could have happily taken his head from his shoulders.’

‘Your son,’ Baldwin said. ‘When did you know he was missing?’

‘The day he was found. I have a hall with a solar at each end. The servants sleep in the eaves between them. William used to sleep at the other end of the house, and recently…well, we were not on good terms in the last days.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of Juliet, of course!’ His anger subsided as quickly as it had flared, and he hesitated. ‘I had no wish for my son to be associated with her.’

‘Her father and you were once friends?’

‘Yes, we were. But then Cecily died because of him, and he started his rise to prominence and wouldn’t talk to simple folks like me and my son. We weren’t significant enough to measure in his estimation. No, he’d prefer to be spending his time with all those magnificent fellows in their great houses.’

‘Whereas you…?’

‘I stayed where I had been born. I never lost my roots. I am a simple man, when all is said and done. I was born a serf, and I make my own way in the world. My business keeps me well enough. Henry Capun is a knight now, and he can claim Hugh Le Despenser as a friend. What use am I to him now?’

‘Who could have wished to harm your son?’

‘Only one man,’ William said darkly. ‘Henry Capun hates me and would seek to ruin me in any way he might. Killing poor William is just one way to attack me. Poor William!’

‘You think he would kill his daughter in order to get at you?’ Baldwin asked sharply.

William looked at him. ‘My only love, Cecily, was taken from me by him. She died because she was desperate to give him a son. She wasn’t ready for another child after little Juliet’s birth, but he was ever a demanding devil, and she fell pregnant again. It killed her.’

‘This son of his, Timothy – he is from another woman?’

‘Yes. Henry married Edith after Cecily died, and Edith gave him Timothy, but then she, too, died in the famine seven years ago or more.’

‘Still,’ Simon suggested, ‘he would have loved his daughter, surely?’

William wiped a hand over his face. ‘God forgive me for saying it, but I doubt it. He looked on her as a chattel. Nothing more. If she was no further use, he’d have discarded her as easily as a man throwing away a broken staff.’

When the carter arrived at the gates, John was sent to find Lawrence. The cellarer was the main contact for any tradesmen with food.

John could see him with the group about the body with the coroner and hurried to him just as he saw Simon and Baldwin approaching him. The two men were a little alarming, with their strange accents. Especially the knight, with his black, intense eyes. John only hoped that Lawrence was not in trouble.

The arrest of Prior Walter the previous year had alarmed all the monks. That their leader could be removed and replaced at the whim of the king was unsettling. For John it was worse, though, because he knew secrets none of the others had heard. Every day he feared that the men would come to arrest his master, Lawrence. The cellarer had been involved in the escape of Mortimer. He knew that. He’d seen Lawrence return that night.

Simon and Baldwin caught sight of the cellarer, and, while the coroner demanded refreshment and adjourned the inquest, Simon led the way to the monk, struck with a thought.

‘Brother Lawrence – when you mentioned the marriage of Juliet, you said you heard the vows. Were there any witnesses apart from you?’

‘I cannot tell you of that wedding. I swore.’

Simon was staring at him with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes. ‘If a maiden weds, it is rare indeed that she will do so without her maid at least at her side. Was her maid there?’

‘You must ask her that. Why?’

‘I was wondering…’

Another voice interrupted them. ‘Yes? What were you wondering, master?’

Simon could almost smell the man before he heard him. There was an unpleasant odour of sourness, and when Simon caught sight of his ravaged face he could see why. It was only natural that a man so terribly scarred by the pox or some similar malady should be noisome to others. ‘Who are you?’

‘I was going to ask you the same, master. You have so much interest in my household, I thought you might like to explain what you were questioning this man about?’

‘Your household? You are son to Sir Henry?’

His knowledge of Timothy’s father should have been no surprise, for as Simon had already noticed most people in London seemed to know of Sir Henry, and yet it seemed to make the son still more suspicious. The man laid one hand on Simon’s arm, the other on his sword. ‘I’d like to know more of you and your fascination with my family.’

‘Good. When you have let go my arm, I shall be happy to talk,’ Simon said.

In response, Timothy half drew his sword. ‘You’ll talk now, or answer to-’

As he spoke, Baldwin’s bright blue sword blade rang, and rested gently on his throat. ‘Master Capun, I would have you release my companion. And do please take your hand from your sword. We would not want more blood shed, would we?’

Simon took Timothy’s hand and pulled his arm free. The younger man’s eyes were filled with loathing, but he didn’t try to prevent him. As soon as Timothy’s hand had fallen away from the hilt, Baldwin whipped his sword away and sheathed it in one fluid movement.

‘We wanted to speak to you,’ Simon said, glancing about him to find Lawrence. The monk had disappeared as soon as Baldwin’s sword flashed from its scabbard.

‘Why?’

‘Your sister is dead, and you ask why we want to talk to you? We are seeking to learn what happened that night.’

‘Ask that bastard over there. That son of a diseased pig was there. William killed them.’