‘When did it happen?’ Baldwin asked, toying with a coin.
‘There’s no need for that, sir. You’re paying here already. Put your money away. Let’s see. I think it was about five days ago now. He used to live only a short way up from here, just round the corner of the hill, maybe a quarter-mile off. Him and his wife and their boy. Lovely family, they were …’ Jankin’s expression altered subtly. ‘Well, the woman and the little boy were. The man, Hugh, he was a little more — reserved, you might say.’
Baldwin smiled. ‘You mean he was a taciturn old devil?’
‘You could put it like that,’ Jankin agreed happily. ‘God forbid that I should speak ill of a dead man,’ he added, hastily making a rudimentary sign of the cross. ‘Still, he was an old-fashioned moorman as far as I could see. A fair man, good with his hands, and if he gave his word he’d stick to it.’
‘Has the coroner been to hold his inquest?’
Jankin studied his ale. ‘A coroner did come up here.’
‘That’s not quite what I asked.’
‘He did come and hold an inquest.’
There was a reservation there as well, Baldwin noticed, but rather than make an enemy of the man he changed the subject. ‘Who found them?’
Jankin shook his head. ‘That’s the terrible thing, master. They were killed one day, but no one realised until the next morning. A passing labourer came and raised the alarm, but by then it was too late to help any of them. All were dead.’
‘So this fire happened in the middle of the night?’
‘I suppose so. A dreadful accident.’
‘Unless it was an attack from a fighting force. And it must have been quite a force to subdue Hugh,’ Baldwin mused. ‘If I knew him, he wouldn’t succumb to any man easily — most especially if the attacker threatened his woman.’
‘I think you’re right there,’ Jankin agreed. ‘You knew him, then?’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said absently. ‘But nobody heard men passing by here? Did they come from the other direction?’
‘Master, it was agreed that it was an accident. A tallow taper, perhaps, which fell on their floor rushes. I doubt we’ll ever know precisely,’ Jankin said, and looked down again.
‘If there had been an attack, you would have heard men passing by?’ Baldwin pressed.
Jankin pulled a doubtful grimace. ‘We had a lot of men in here that day, for it was a little celebration. It was the feast of St Matthias the Apostle, and because we have a fellow in the vill who was named for the saint, we always have a party here. The folk here like to celebrate, and it ended late.’
‘So if there had been a party of men …?’
‘No one would have heard. Not if it was a squadron of the king’s knights with all their squires and archers.’
‘You say it ended late?’
‘Well after the sun was down — but at this time of year there’s so little daylight, almost everything is done in darkness, isn’t it?’
‘Especially murder,’ Baldwin muttered.
‘I am afraid so. There’s nothing a murderer likes so much as darkness to cover his deeds.’
‘Why should someone attack and kill Hugh, though? He was scarcely a powerful, dangerous man, was he?’
‘No,’ Jankin admitted. ‘Perhaps that was why it was thought to be an accident.’
‘Could you imagine men at arms attacking him?’
Jankin was perplexed, and again Baldwin saw he avoided his eye. ‘I have thought about that myself.’
‘Do you think someone could have desired his woman and she rejected his advances?’
‘If a man did that, he’d have carried her off like …’
‘Yes?’
Jankin gazed back at him. ‘I do not want trouble, master. You are a rich and strong man, with men to guard you, I dare say. Me? I’m a farmer who scrapes a living, and I have some money come in from running this place. My wife brews a few gallons of ale a week and I sell it for ready cash. We don’t make a huge profit, but we stagger on. I don’t want to be murdered for talking too much.’
‘Friend Jankin, you are helping me to understand what has been happening here, and I swear to you now that if any man comes to threaten you, he will have to answer to me directly. I will have men set here to guard you if need be. However, for now, anything you tell me I shall keep entirely to myself until I can assess how you can be protected.’
‘Master, that’s no security! How long could you have a force remain here to look after me and my wife? Five days? Six? A fortnight? What of the wealthy men who live here and would like to destroy me as they’d squash a fly that sat on their bread at mealtime? They’ll still be here in a year, in five years, and they can take their time with me.’
‘If they are so well known to you, they’ll be known to others too,’ Baldwin said reasonably. ‘Any man could tell me of them. Now you said that they’d have carried Constance off, as they did someone else. Who?’
‘There was a young woman at Meeth,’ Jankin said. He began slowly, his reluctance only gradually overcome by his natural hatred of injustice. ‘Lady Lucy, she was. A pretty little thing.’
‘You say she “was”. Is she dead, then?’
‘She may be. About two weeks ago, just before we had the local ball games, she went missing. She’d been out to Hatherleigh, I believe, to market, but at some point on her return she was taken. Her servant, a man called Peter, was murdered and left by the roadside. The coroner went and saw him ten days ago, but apart from imposing the usual fines on everyone, there was nothing to be done.’
‘Was there no sign of the woman at all?’
‘Nothing. She simply disappeared.’
‘Husband? Father? Who went to seek for her?’
‘She’s a widow, and the manor was her husband’s. Her father is dead, I think, but he lived north somewhere, a long ways off. On the marches, I think. There was no one here to protect her. Only her servants, and, as I say, the man with her was killed.’
‘And what is the opinion of the people here in the vill?’
Jankin looked up at him with a set jaw. He paused, looking deep into Baldwin’s eyes as though gauging whether he could trust this tall, dark-haired man. Then his eyes dropped away to his hands, and he toyed with a splinter of wood.
‘You really want to know what I think, sir?’ he said in a low voice. ‘I think it was the Despensers’ man. He took her.’
Adcock had seen this man in the distance, but never from close to before.
‘I’m Pagan,’ he said when Adcock asked, and spat into the road.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Is that a joke?’
Adcock was startled by the man’s ferocious response. ‘Friend, I know very little about this place still. I know few people and …’
‘Then you should know that I am the steward to Lady Isabel, who was lady of this manor until your master evicted her, stealing her estates, her home and her life. Now she has nothing.’
‘Her husband?’
‘Was killed in the last wars, God remember him, and because he was honourable and stayed true to his lord, your lord saw to it that his widow lost all.’
Adcock looked away. The older man’s eyes were unwavering, and in them there was only bile and hatred. It made Adcock feel worse than insignificant to be treated in this way. ‘Well, I am sorry to hear that. I had no hand in it, though. I’m just the steward here.’
‘Aye. And you know who you replace? Her son. It was her son who died, so don’t think that you’ll win her favour if you tell her you’re the man sent to fill his boots!’
‘Sweet Jesus!’ Adcock murmured to himself as he walked away. ‘Save me from old servants like him! I only wanted to be friendly.’
But wanting to make friends was difficult. The peasants did not trust him. All looked on him as a spy in Sir Geoffrey’s pay, and none would drink with him or talk for long, except about matters that affected the manor. As he continued on his way, when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the man Pagan in the distance, still staring at him with those narrow, malevolent eyes as though accusing him of stealing another man’s position. It was hardly fair to suspect Adcock of plotting to take his predecessor’s place when Ailward had died days before Adcock had been called here, in God’s name!