Sir Richard threw a look at Simon, and then dropped heavily to the ground. ‘Show me.’
‘Here, sir. It’s an old farmer called Jack from Begbeer. Jack was no coward, and if a cutpurse tried his luck, or any other outlaw, he would have tried to send them to the devil on his own.’
‘Didn’t do so well, did he?’ Coroner Richard said without emotion. He had crouched at the side of the body and was studying the corpse where it lay. ‘Who’s been moving him about? Eh? Don’t know? Who was the first finder?’
‘Me, sir. I found him,’ a lad of maybe thirteen squeaked. ‘I did all I could to raise the hue and cry, but no one heard me up here, and I had to go into town to tell people there.’
Sir Richard nodded and listened as the men about started to speak of the farmer, how he had always been truculent since his house had been robbed some time ago, and how he was probably on his way to the market, or on his way back, when he had been waylaid. ‘Well, this is all well and good, but I don’t see I can help. Have you sent for the coroner?’
‘Yes.’
It was the young fellow who had first spoken. ‘What’s your name, master?’ Sir Richard asked, not unkindly.
‘I am Gilbert, sire. From that cott over there,’ he added helpfully, pointing at a small limewashed building nearby in a copse. ‘I was made reeve.’
Sir Richard looked him over again. He was young and inexperienced, and if Sir Richard was any judge of character, which he knew he was, the twerp would have all manner of rings run around him daily by the sour-faced men of the vill. ‘Very well, Master Reeve. When is the coroner expected to be here?’
Gilbert shrugged emphatically. ‘He is based in Exeter. If he’s there, it’ll take a day or so for him to get here, I suppose. It’ll take our man the same to get to him, so perhaps three days? Unless he’s already away seeing another body, of course.’
Simon shot a look at the coroner. ‘This is not Lifton, Coroner.’
Gilbert looked from one to the other. ‘You’re a coroner too? But then couldn’t you …’
‘I don’t work here. I am king’s coroner to Lifton, not this place.’
Simon could see that Sir Richard was torn; he stood some little while, chewing at his lip. ‘I’ll tell you, though, the coroner in Exeter will be glad of a little help, I expect. Perhaps if you could … Yes! Gilbert, send your fleetest rider after the fellow who’s gone to Exeter, all the way to Exeter if need be, and tell the coroner that he’ll have a copy of my inquest as soon as it’s done. No point sending another man here when I’m already on the spot, eh, Simon?’
‘No. I suppose not,’ Simon said. He was fighting to hold back the frustration. Sir Richard knew how desperate Simon was to be gone to Tavistock to meet with the Cardinal de Fargis so that he could as soon as possible get home again, and here the man was, seeking to delay them both with an inquest.
‘Very well. Do it now, Master Gilbert, and when you have done it, in God’s good name fetch a skin or two of wine. Our throats are parched. And some meat would be good — or perhaps a couple of pies?’
Simon watched the appalled reeve listen to the demand for so much food and drink before he scampered off, calling to others to fetch the remainder of the jury, to run and ask the vill’s priest to join them, and to help the coroner in any way he might require, and sending a man after the last messenger as Sir Richard suggested.
‘Did you have to volunteer for this?’ Simon hissed a little later as they tied their mounts to a nearby tree that had a convenient branch.
Sir Richard looked at him, and there was a serious expression in his eyes. ‘Simon, look about you at this place. What sort of man would kill a farmer with a single stab to the throat? No one would think he had much money on him. But he was slain and left for dead in the ditch like a dog. I think he deserves a little time, don’t you?’
Simon felt his face redden at the reproach in the coroner’s voice, and he was about to apologise when the coroner leaned closer and said quietly, ‘And look at the people here, Simon. They are terrified, if I’m any judge. I’d be willing to gamble that there’s more to this than the simple waylaying of a single farmer.’
Chapter Eleven
Castle at Bow
Sir Robert was up late, as was usual for him, and dressed himself. He didn’t like to have servants wandering about his private rooms. Only Osbert was trusted in his chambers, and no one else. There were too many knights and minor lords who had lost all — including their lives — through being too trusting about their servants. Some for being too trusting of their own sons.
There had been a time when a lord could rely on his men to be loyal. No longer. Now he was fortunate if he could find men who would serve him for money, let alone for mere loyalty. Sir Robert had no desire to be one of the fools who was killed in his bed at night just because he failed to see to his own protection. So Osbert and a couple of servants were allowed in the downstairs chamber with Basil, Sir Robert’s son, while he himself slept alone upstairs.
As he entered his hall, he shot a look about him as usual, making sure where the various men were, and seeing that there was no possible threat. He was not scared of any man, but danger was no respecter of rank. The merest churl could slip a knife into his heart, whether he feared the boy or not. No one with a brain would depend on fellows like this. The only men he could rely on entirely were Osbert and one or two others; perhaps his son, on good days. Os because he was dependable: he had been with Sir Robert all through those difficult times when Sir Robert was a declared outlaw and must live off the land as best he could; his precious son, Basil, because he was utterly reliable. He was self-interested, hedonistic, licentious and dissolute, and Sir Robert would trust him always to do what he perceived as being in his own interests. That they would rarely coincide with Sir Robert’s own aims would not worry him. He was seventeen years old now, and more than capable of choosing his own path.
Osbert was standing near the main door from the hall, and he levered himself away from the wall on seeing his master.
Stephen the messenger was standing in the corner farthest from Os, Sir Robert was amused to see. At least the man hadn’t made life difficult by sitting before the master of the hall said he could. It would have made Sir Robert’s life more troublesome if he had had to be killed before he could ride to Tavistock.
The messenger bowed. ‘Sir Robert, I hope I see you well?’
‘Messenger, you see me alive. There’s little more to be said for any man,’ Sir Robert said. He was feeling the worse for the wine of the night before, but when a man had been given good news, there was reason to celebrate. He strode to his table and peered about for the jug of wine.
‘Will there be another message for me? Do you have a reply for me to take back to London?’
Sir Robert eyed him thoughtfully, although his plan was already laid. He had seen what must be done to make his life easier the last night, and now it was merely a case of persuading this fool to be a willing partner. ‘Yes. There is one message I would have you deliver. It is not a reply, though. I wish you to ride to Lydford, and there to take a message to Tavistock. I will give it to you later.’
‘I am a king’s messenger, and I am supposed to be-’
‘You are here to do Sir Hugh le Despenser’s bidding,’ Sir Robert growled. ‘And you will do that, by Christ, or I’ll have your ballocks. You understand me?’
Stephen of Shoreditch nodded miserably. ‘Sire.’
‘Good. Now shut up and let me have my breakfast.’
Sir Robert glanced at the messenger and was confident that he was cowed for now. But there was no trusting a man like this. A messenger might feel that he had a duty to report to the king, anything that happened, and Sir Robert had a conviction that Sir Hugh le Despenser would be as reluctant as he himself for news of their plan to reach Edward’s ears.