‘Where is it?’ he asked, and the messenger led the way to a quiet little inn at the far side of the village.
Walking into the single broad chamber, Baldwin was struck by the thought that only very few men could have come here from outside the village itself, and that must be why it had been selected by the assassin. For him it was ideal — secluded, and only a short walk from Thorney Island.
‘Who are you?’
The innkeeper was a portly man called Henry atte Swan, the tavern’s name. He stood at least five feet eight inches tall, and was clad in a tatty linen shirt, a thick jacket of fustian that looked as if it had been made for someone a lot thinner, and a heavy leather apron. He had been brewing when the messenger arrived, apparently.
‘I don’t want to be in here while my wort’s heating. I have to get out there and see to it.’
‘Then you should be attentive and help me quickly so that you can hurry back to it,’ Baldwin said easily.
‘I don’t see how I can help much.’
‘You can begin by telling us about the man who stayed here.’
‘I told him all about the fellow,’ the innkeeper said, jerking a thumb at the messenger at Baldwin’s side.
‘Good. Then you can tell me as well, now you have refreshed your memory,’ Baldwin said, a hint of steel entering his voice.
‘Ach, Mother of Christ, I don’t …’ Then the publican caught sight of Baldwin’s expression and shrugged. There was a barrel near the wall. He walked to it, poured a couple of jugs full and placed them in front of Baldwin and Simon, then fetched another for himself.
He had a ruddy face with watery eyes, and he looked like a dangerous witness to Simon. The Bailiff was all too used to men who would seek money by entering a court and telling fantastical tales of other men. Many believed that all judges wanted to convict men, that any case should be treated neatly: for every crime there should be an equal and corresponding number of felons discovered and gaoled.
If this had been his old courthouse at Lydford, Simon would have looked at this man and instantly doubted him. He looked too much like someone who depended upon the ale he brewed for his opinions. One who was incapable of thought without a large jug in his fist.
However, to be fair, although Henry atte Swan may have enjoyed the results of his brewing, there was nothing in his manner or his delivery to suggest that he was anything other than reliable. There was no hesitation, no ‘humming and hahing’ to indicate invention.
‘His name was Jack atte Hedge,’ he began. ‘I’ve known him for many years. Used to come here to stop fifteen year ago when he was a sailor. Back then, he was in trouble all the while. I had to knock him down once for upsetting a villager. If I hadn’t, he’d have been killed by the locals here. A wild boy, Jack was.’
‘What was a sailor doing here?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Sometimes he’d get into a fight or something, and the master would throw him from the vessel. He had several jobs up and down the river, working with the barges. After some years, he was said to have killed a man and ran away. I heard he went to become an outlaw — I think that was where he met Sir Hugh. That’s what I heard, anyway. He was not the sort of man to talk about such things.’
‘What else did you hear?’
The innkeeper gave Baldwin a long, considering look, then glanced up at the other faces around him. ‘Yeah, well, anyone else here will tell you: I heard he joined ships that preyed on others. Lived out of a port on the South Coast and turned pirate. When Sir Hugh le Despenser took to the seas as well, Jack got hired.’
‘As a perfectly ordinary seaman, I do not doubt,’ Baldwin said mildly. He looked up at the messenger. He did not know whether this man was in Despenser’s pay, but he was sure that, were news of this story to get back to Despenser, it would be dangerous for him, especially after that curious outburst with Ellis earlier. ‘You may wait outside.’
The man left eagerly — which almost persuaded Baldwin that he was wrong to suspect the fellow — but then he concentrated on the innkeeper again. ‘Was he just an ordinary seaman?’ he said in a lower voice.
‘I don’t know. You would have to ask the men down there who knew him. All I do know is, he got a reputation. He certainly knew Despenser. When Sir Hugh was up here in one of his palaces, Jack would come here sometimes. Always had a polite word for me and the missus.’
‘Where did he live?’
‘Now? Don’t know. Somewhere back up the river, I think, because he always came here from the west and went home again that way.’
‘Did he have a mount or walk here?’
‘He used to walk, but this time he rode, and on a magnificent beast, too. Lovely animal.’
‘So he has come into some money?’
‘Well, I don’t think he’s a horse-thief, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Quite. So when did he come here?’
‘This last time? It was around the Feast of St Hilary. Hmm. That was the Sunday — I think he got here early on the Monday after, so the morrow.’
‘You sound very sure of that,’ Simon said.
‘Yes, I am. I have a good memory for days.’
There was no guile. Not even offence that Simon had suggested he was lying. Simon nodded, content for the moment.
‘So,’ Baldwin continued, ‘he was here then. What did he do?’
‘That same night he joined a little boat and went for a ride on the river. I know that — I saw him. Then most days he stayed in and kept quiet.’
‘He stayed here in the tavern with you?’
‘No. He wanted to sleep out in the hayloft above the stables. Said he always preferred peace and quiet. Plus he was worried that someone might steal his horse.’
‘Did that not strike you as strange?’
‘No. Why should it? More strange was that he used to come here at all. Unless it was for the value of my company. I never pretended to understand that.’
‘When was he last here?’
‘About the Feast of Michaelmas last year. Then he was here about the Feast of Honorius, too.’ He gave them three other dates in the previous year.
‘This time he has been here two weeks — no, more,’ Baldwin said. ‘Was he usually here so long?’
The innkeeper shook his head slowly. ‘No. But this was unlike other occasions in many ways. Normally, he was never here for more than a couple of evenings, and when he was, he’d stay here and be social. Not this time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Generally he was here almost all the while during the day and off out at night. He even stayed away for a few nights.’
‘You reported this?’
‘No. He was no felon out robbing, or I’d have heard. What should I have reported?’
‘That a man was known to wander at night. After curfew, that is illegal.’
‘I saw no harm in it.’
‘Then you are a fool.’
‘I don’t deny that, Sir Knight. I am only a lowly tavernkeeper, after all,’ Henry said sarcastically.
‘The night before last. Did you see him then?’
‘That was when he disappeared for good. From what your man said, it’ll be the very last time, eh?’
‘You heard what happened to him?’
‘Of course I have. Everyone hereabouts is talking about how a stranger climbed into the King’s hall and was killed there, and then your man comes here and asks me about Jack. What would you think?’
‘What would he have wanted to do there?’
‘Look — I don’t know what he was up to, but whoever did that, they picked the wrong man. Jack didn’t deserve that sort of treatment. He was a good fellow. He always paid for his rooms and things, always happy to buy an ale for another man. He was a pleasant character.’
‘Really? We have heard it said that he was an assassin, a man who took money to murder others.’
‘I’ve heard of worse. Ha! I’ve had worse in here!’
Baldwin was too astonished to respond. He tried not to gape, but he could not help his expression showing his shock.