‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. He stared at the ground.
The rain was steadily worsening. Already little puddles were forming on the thinner gravel, and Simon could feel a rivulet trickling down between his shoulders. He rubbed a hand through his hair and pulled his hood over his head. ‘Come, old friend. Standing here will serve no useful purpose.’
‘Where could he have died, though?’
‘Baldwin, I do not know. Christ’s pains, perhaps we were right about the chapel? It would explain why Sir Hugh and his man were so interested when we arrived there.’
‘True.’
It would have been good if he was right. Sadly, the two had only chosen that position because they had seen the shadow of the man listening to them and following them. The dim light from the windows had at least served that useful purpose. And when Simon saw the door, he had thought to draw out the spy. It had worked, but there was no indication that a body had lain there, nor that a man had been dragged from the place.
They found a small shed which had an open door, and sheltered inside. ‘It would be ironic if that was where the man was killed,’ Baldwin said musingly.
‘Perhaps it will grow more obvious as we discover more about the killing.’
‘How can we learn anything about the murders? We cannot even be sure about the intended victim yet. I can guess — but I cannot know for certain. Perhaps he was an inexperienced assassin, who killed one woman and was afraid to find another woman challenging him.’
‘We have learned about other murders often enough when there was less information,’ Simon pointed out in an attempt to cheer him.
‘But without the risks to ourselves,’ Baldwin said gloomily. ‘Whether we succeed or fail, I do not know which is the greater danger.’ He slumped against the wall, staring out at the rain.
Simon had never seen him like this before. His friend had always been strong, purposeful, focused. To see him in this dejected condition was alarming — especially now, when both of them had been warned by Sir Hugh. His concern, not only for his friend, but for the position they found themselves in, lent acid to his tone.
‘Then ignore them!’ Simon snapped. ‘Baldwin, we’re in this now. There’s no point complaining. All we can do is our best, and the devil with Despenser. We have a duty to learn the truth and report it to the King. That is our duty — so let us do it!’
Baldwin looked at him and gave a half-grin. ‘You should have been a general, Simon. You have the gift of motivation.’ He stirred himself and stood again, and suddenly the light was back in his eyes.
‘That’s better. I feel like a hound who had lost the scent in a river, who mournfully sat down, unsure where to go next and how to find it again — only to be guided by his berner to greater efforts. You are my expert berner, Simon. I should change your name to that. Right! We have had no joy in seeking the place of the man’s death. We had assumed that it must be near to the place where the body was discovered. Ah! But we think that the same person killed the assassin and then went on to murder the lady-in-waiting. That would mean that the killer had to go from the hall, or wherever the assassin died, to the corridor where the Queen’s party was assaulted. Yes! Come, Simon, let us try this new theory.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Great Hall, Thorney Island
The Coroner made his way to the kitchen, where he learned that the sergeant-cooks could remember nothing about seeing Arch in there on the night of the murder.
‘Yeah, he’s usually here before dark, long before he has to get up to his post, but I think he was knackered after the day before, and he didn’t come down as usual. Not that I remember, anyhow.’
John left the kitchen with a vague feeling that something was beginning to come together into a coherent story. On a whim, he went up to Arch’s post and gazed about him. These walls were solid stone, and stood yards high. When he peered over the top, he shook his head. Anyone throwing a grapnel up here would be heard. If Arch was truly sober, he must have been alerted by the ringing of steel. A man might muffle it with a cloak about the metal, but that held its own dangers, for the metal could miss its mark.
No. He must have been drunk.
Returning across the Old Palace Yard, he saw a guard standing at the gate and recognised him as Blaket.
‘Do you recall anything special about the moon on the night the Queen’s maid died?’
Blaket looked at him blankly. ‘The moon?’
‘Yes. Did it have a halo?’
‘Oh, yes. It was still and cool, and when the clouds cleared late into the evening, there was a great halo about it. That was late, though. About the middle watch.’
‘Was it really?’ Coroner John said to himself. He gazed about him, leaving the guard at his post.
If Arch was awake enough to see the moon that late, then the man couldn’t have been drunk, as had been alleged. He had been knocked down, if his story was to be believed. The assassin must have done that. And then he made his way down to the corridor to kill Mabilla, leaving Arch lying unconscious up on the wall.
Arch was not guilty of dereliction of his duty. He had been tortured for no purpose. But that was of secondary interest just now. John had to see whether he knew any more.
Pilk found himself alone. Sir Hugh had entered the King’s private chamber, and Ellis remained outside the door together with one of the King’s own men, both guarding their masters. It left little for Pilk to do, so he wandered aimlessly along the corridor, then went down the staircase to the ground floor. He was about to leave by the Great Hall’s screens passage, when he heard the voices approaching.
There was nowhere to hide. He could have retraced his steps, but before he could try that, the Bailiff and the knight turned the corner and stood facing him.
‘You are with Despenser, then?’ Baldwin said, eyeing Despenser’s arms on Pilk’s breast.
‘Yes. I am one of his trusted men.’
‘I am sure of it. You look a trustworthy fellow. Tell me, did you know the dead assassin well?’
Pilk curled his lip. ‘No. I hardly knew him at all.’
‘But you did know him?’
‘Jack? Many of us did.’
‘And by “us” you mean?’
Pilk was aware of a sharpness in the knight’s voice. It made him wary. ‘Just people. Nothing more.’
‘You weren’t thinking of any group in particular?’
‘No.’
‘Your name is?’
‘I don’t have to give it you.’
‘No, you don’t. However, if I were to go to your master and tell him how grateful I was for all your help, and the fact you told me that all his household knew the dead assassin … do you think he would be happy? You see, Sir Hugh had already told me he knew nothing about the man. I doubt he will be glad to know you’ve shown him to be a liar.’
Pilk said immediately, ‘Jack was known by some of us, that’s all. Sir Hugh probably never met him.’
‘Don’t lie to me, fellow! I have been lied to by experts, and you are not one of them. What is your name, I asked.’
‘Pilk. William Pilk.’
‘Well, now, William Pilk. What did you know of this assassin?’
‘Nothing. He was just one of those men you see about occasionally.’
‘And when did you last see him?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Days ago? Weeks? Months?’
‘Weeks, I suppose.’
‘Where?’
‘In the …’
‘In the Temple,’ Baldwin completed for him. ‘And who was there with him?’