Basil gave the string a jerk, and then whirled the cat’s body around his head a few times before letting it fall to the ground. In a moment it was free, and he tied the string into a loop, which he dangled about his own neck.
‘Because you are my father’s guest, I will let you live for a while, old man. But don’t forget: here, in my castle, no man threatens me. Not if he wants to live.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Copplestone
They had ridden as far as they dared in the dark, but by the time they reached the outskirts of Crediton, even Baldwin was persuaded to halt for the rest of the night. The moon had shone brightly at the beginning of their journey, but as they rode into the town, it was only a smudge in the sky behind ever-thicker clouds, and the risk of falling into a hole in the road was too great. It was not a risk worth taking, and eventually Baldwin had to admit that they would be better off resting.
Their night had passed quietly enough. It was pointless even to hope that they might find a room in an inn or tavern at so late an hour. If they were to knock on a door in the middle of the night, they would be more likely to earn themselves a stab from a terrified host, rather than a welcome. They were forced to make the best they could of their situation. Baldwin knew an old farm not too far from the river, out on the road to Tedburn, and he took Edgar to it. It was out of their way, but they had made good distance already, and he felt it was justified for a warm and safe rest.
The tenant here was a kindly soul, but Baldwin was reluctant to wake him. No man was happy to be disturbed during the night watches, and just now, with the ever-present risk of outlaws and murderers, a man some miles from the nearest town was going to be yet more afraid. Still, Baldwin was sure that he would not mind if they made use of a roof for shelter. The stables were too close to the house, but there was an old byre he knew of, and he made for it. The cattle weren’t inside — they must be kept nearer the house, he realised — but the hayloft was filled with the results of the harvest. He and Edgar spent some while settling their beasts for the night, removing their belongings and the saddles and accoutrements, then rubbing the beasts down with handfuls of straw and leaving them loose in the stable, while the two men settled themselves up in the hayloft. It was not the warmest rest Baldwin had enjoyed, but then he was a man used to travel all over Europe, and chilly nights were all too common in much of the world. With a bed of hay, his bag under his head for a pillow, and his heavy riding cloak over him, he was as snug as he could hope to be.
In the morning they had risen early and paid their respects to the farmer.
‘Sir Baldwin, I’m honoured. But why did you stay out there?’
There was little need for explanation, but the old farmer shook his head. ‘A bad business, this. So a man must sleep in a byre rather than wake a friend? You’d have been welcome in here by my fire, sir.’
‘Your wife, perhaps, would not have been grateful for being woken,’ Baldwin pointed out gently.
‘We’d soon have been used to it,’ she answered. She was a slim woman in her forties, bent with labour, but her smile was as fresh as a girl’s. ‘And you’ll have to eat with us before setting off again.’
‘Mistress, we would like to-’ Baldwin began, but she clucked her tongue.
‘You are not leaving my house without food, sir. Sit yourselves down, please. I won’t be long.’
By the time they had finished their meal, drunk to the health of their host and hostess, and set off again, the morning was already well advanced. They took the road back to Crediton, but now at a slower pace. It would be better to warm the horses gradually in this weather. And when Baldwin saw how badly rutted and potholed their road was, he was glad that they had stopped for the night. After all, as he reasoned, it would not aid Edith to kill one or both horses and give them the need to acquire another.
In Crediton, Baldwin made his way to see the dean at the church. As soon as he explained their urgent mission, the dean sent men to speak to the officers in the town itself, and they were soon returned, one with a large, sandy-haired man. He looked at Baldwin as he was introduced.
‘Master Thomas, you saw the woman?’ the dean asked.
‘Yes. Reckon so. She was riding through the town with a man at her side.’
‘What did he look like?’ Baldwin asked.
‘A quiet, cheery, amiable man. A narrow face, but friendly. Looked like the sort who’d be fun to spend an evening with in a tavern. Bright eyes, ready smile.’
Baldwin frowned. ‘Did he have a slight squint?’
Thomas screwed up his face with the effort of recollection. ‘Yes, reckon he did.’
‘Where were they riding?’
‘Out on the Copplestone road, to the west.’
‘Dean, you must excuse us. I think I know who this man is.’
‘Who?’
Baldwin looked at Edgar, who nodded, unsmiling. ‘I think it sounds like Wattere, the man Despenser sent to take Simon’s house in Lydford.’
Exeter
The sheriff’s court opened with the usual bustle and chaos, with pleaders shouting and demanding space, bawling for ink and reeds, while their servants and clients milled helplessly and haplessly, taking their places before the clerks and recorders, shouting to have themselves heard over the general hubbub.
Rougemont Castle was a disorganised place at the best of times, and seeing it in the middle of a court session was not the best of times. Sir Peregrine crossed the floor, trying to contain his anger at being jostled by so many churls who should not have dared to cross his path in the streets. But they were here to have their cases heard by the sheriff. It was no surprise that they were anxious. Some of them might be dead before the week was out.
The guards at the sheriff’s door were standing attentively, but the coroner was a known man, and he was soon in the sheriff’s office.
‘Well?’ the sheriff demanded as he marched in. He had a large goblet of wine in his hand, and he sipped from it as he looked at Sir Peregrine. According to the normal conventions, Sir Peregrine did not sit in his presence, for that would be rude. And from past experience, he knew that Sir James de Cockington would deprecate any such presumption. It was the place of the more senior man to sit and then, perhaps, to invite his guest to be seated.
There was no such invitation.
‘Sir James, I am alarmed to hear that you have a young man in your gaol. A fellow called Peter?’
‘You mean the lad I’ve held for treason?’
‘Yes. I am sure you know exactly what you are doing, of course.’
‘Preventing a serious case of treason? Yes, I think I know perfectly well what I am doing, sir.’
‘Oh, that is good, then,’ Sir Peregrine said, and bowed preparatory to making good his exit.
The sheriff slammed his goblet down on the table before him. ‘You mean to say you called me in here and delayed my blasted goat-ballocked court to ask one damned question? What is the meaning of this, Coroner?’
‘I was just worried you weren’t aware. After all, it could be damaging to your reputation, but if you know-’
‘What could be damaging to me?’
‘You know who the boy is, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, yes. Of course I do. His wife is the daughter of that petty little bailiff from Lydford and his father is a merchant and freeman. But even freemen don’t have all the power in the city, you know, and-’
‘No, I meant his circle of friends.’
The sheriff leaned forward eagerly. ‘You mean that he’s got powerful friends, eh?’
Sir Peregrine looked at him and with an effort managed to conceal his contempt. The sheriff was as transparent as the glass in his window. He was hoping that Peter’s friends were rich so that they could be arrested, and then ransomed. This sheriff was said to be one of the richest Exeter had ever seen already, and his wealth was based on the bribes and blackmails he charged.