The idea that the child could have been killed was a weight on Hugh’s heart as he sat and stared at the fire’s flames. If only he’d been nearer … yet he had not been far away. Surely he should have heard her screams.
‘Master Hugh? Please, eat some of this sausage. It’ll do you good.’
‘I don’t want it to do me good!’ Hugh snapped, but then took the proffered food with an ungracious snort. He didn’t want the stuff, but he did want to be fit and healthy again so he could find the killers. ‘Did you learn anything about the attack on my house?’
The friar shot him a look, then sighed. ‘I did ask at the vill over the way there, but they knew little about it. All they said was that there’d been a fire.’
‘What about the coroner?’ Hugh pressed eagerly. He had known several coroners from his work with his master and Sir Baldwin. ‘Who was it?’
‘A man called Edward de Launcelles, apparently,’ John said with a sigh. ‘It’s not a name I have heard before, but he was already here for the inquest into the death of some other man.’
‘Must have been Ailward,’ Hugh guessed. ‘He was found just before all this.’ He shot a look at the friar. ‘Didn’t he look at my place?’
‘Yes,’ John admitted heavily. ‘Apparently he took it to be an accident. They all think you’re dead — you were burned to death in the house, they say.’
Hugh gaped with dismay. ‘They say I died? That it was an accident? How can they say that? It was murder! There were men there, they killed my Constance, and left me on my face in the dirt! Why would they say I died with her?’
‘Perhaps, my friend, because they knew how devoted you were to her,’ John said gently. ‘No man could have missed that.’
‘The coroner should have realised I was alive,’ Hugh said, uncomforted by his tone. ‘Why’d he think I was dead?’
‘He must have been in a hurry and confused. You know how often the coroners are changed. All they do is keep records so that the justices know how much tax to impose when a man or woman dies. They don’t concern themselves with details,’ John said, hungrily watching as Hugh slowly devoured the sausage. It was Friday, and John was fasting as always. He would eat no meat today.
‘It’s not right,’ Hugh muttered, and then the grief passed through his soul like a wave of ice, freezing, jagged, cruel, and his head fell on his breast as he wept for his woman, her son, and the life he had loved so dearly. ‘It’s not … it’s not!’
‘My friend, life rarely is,’ John said sadly, and he turned away as Hugh sobbed, for he did not want Hugh to see the tears in his own eyes.
Chapter Twenty-One
Robert Crokers felt good that morning. He had slept better, and as his bitch lay patiently waiting he knelt nearby, watching.
‘Poor old girl,’ he whispered.
‘You mooning after your bitch again?’ Walter called.
He was not a sentimental man, this Walter. So far as Robert could make out, he’d been a wandering man-at-arms for some while, and only fairly recently had come into the de Courtenay fold. It was a surprise to Robert, because he knew that Lord de Courtenay and his vassal Sir John Sully were both reluctant to take on mercenary fellows. Far better that they should have men who were long-term servants, those who owed allegiance from their oaths rather than selling it for a few coins. Nobody liked a mercenary.
‘She’s always been a good bitch,’ Robert explained as he left her in her corner and walked over to join Walter.
‘So she should be. If a dog don’t work, it has to be made to. If it can’t, has to be killed. That’s how dogs are,’ Walter said unsympathetically.
‘You don’t like their company?’
Walter pulled a face. ‘I’ve been bitten too often to trust the damned things. No, give me a good rache and I’m happy. An animal that’ll hunt for the pot, that’s a useful thing — but a sheepdog? What good’s that to me? All they ever do is snap at your heels or worse. I had one go for my cods once. Damn near got them, too. Had a great bite out of my tunic, and I had to kick it to get it to let go. Damned thing.’
Robert wondered idly what Walter could have been doing when the dog took such exception, but it wasn’t the sort of question a man could put to a mercenary. It was all too likely that he’d hear something he’d really prefer not to know. ‘How long do you think it’ll be before they come back?’
Walter shrugged and glanced out through the doorway. ‘If they feel sure of their ground, it’ll be a long time. If they’re nervous, they may try to come sooner. Doesn’t matter which. They won’t want to kill us. We’re not important to them, and there’s no point killing those who aren’t a danger.’
‘If we’re unimportant, surely that makes it easier to kill us?’
Walter looked at him pityingly. ‘If we were at war, our lives wouldn’t be worth a penny, but as it is, with us over here and no real threat to anyone, they’ll just chase us off the land, and by the time we’re gone word’ll have reached Sir Odo and twenty or thirty men will be here to take the place back again.’
‘So how will it end?’ Robert asked. ‘From what you say, we’ll be harried away, then come back, time after time. Where can it end?’
‘It’ll end when the Lord Despenser comes and forces his case,’ Walter said with another shrug.
‘But if Lord de Courtenay comes and defends the place …’
This time Walter’s glance held more contempt than pity. ‘You think so? Say de Courtenay comes here — what of it? Oh, he’s been here in Devon for many years, and he owns much land, I’ve no doubt, but he’s never been a close friend of the king’s, has he? He’s no relation either. So if he comes and tells my Lord Despenser to leave the place, who’s going to have to go in the end?’
‘Lord de Courtenay has more men here, though,’ Robert said confidently.
‘And there are many who’d prefer to stay on the side of the king and his personal friend and companion, too. And that means my Lord Despenser. If Despenser decides he wants this land, mark this, friend, there is no one who’ll be able to keep it away from him. And if it comes to that, you and I’ll be irrelevant. We’re only pawns.’
‘Sweet Christ!’
‘So I wouldn’t worry so much about that hound of yours. Rather, I’d be looking to sharpening any knives or swords that I had about the place. And then thinking about getting the dog ready to fight again. She isn’t much use lying on her flank all day, is she?’
Robert looked out through the door at the small trampled area of garden. ‘How long? How long before it’s over and I know whether this is to remain my home or is going to be stolen from me?’
Walter snorted and hawked, spitting into the angle of the wall. ‘I’d reckon we’ll know in about the next month or so. If Despenser decides he wants this, he’ll make it plain.’
‘What would you do then?’
Walter hunched his shoulders as he considered. He’d been here only a year and a half or so, and by Christ it had been good. In the past he’d served in the king’s host, even travelling to the king’s lands in France for a while, but in a life of fighting he’d never found such … such ease of spirit as he’d found here. That was it, yes. Ease of spirit. In other places he’d fought and been scared, and sometimes his companions and he had won and they’d taken much booty; at others they’d been thrashed and they’d lost everything. There was always the chance of being ruined at any time.
Here, though, he’d learned that there could be benefits to peace. He hadn’t had to take up weapons against men who were bigger than him, or fight with a band of fellows who were likely to desert him just when the battle grew harshest. Instead he’d discovered that the lands about here were conducive to relaxation. There was little work that truly had to be done today.