‘I found them early in the morning,’ Roger admitted.
‘Do you say that you found all those dead fellows and did not report them?’ Coroner Richard demanded, aghast. He gaped, forgetting even to bellow for more wine. The idea that a man would not perform this most simple of duties when such a mass killing had been committed was utterly beyond his understanding.
To Baldwin, Sir Richard’s shock was endearing. At a time when most coroners knew full well that almost every murder went intentionally undiscovered, because to report one would immediately incur a fine to ensure that the first finder would attend court to give evidence, it was pleasing to find one man who could still be appalled by someone who confessed to such an action.
Roger was unrepentant. ‘Yes. I came across those poor devils early that morning. I didn’t see the attack, but I found the bodies shortly afterwards. And I found the poor monk, Pietro. They made him suffer before they killed him. Why? They killed all the people with him too, even the children. Well — I suppose that was necessary, because they wanted no witnesses. But they killed my little bitch, and her pup. And there was no need for that.’
He snorted, shook his head, and then leaned back. ‘So no, Coroner, I didn’t wait. I left. Because I thought that if any stranger to the area was found within ten leagues of the murders, he’d be considered the obvious suspect, and if anyone heard that I knew Brother Anselm, it might be thought that I was an accomplice to the killers.’
‘Why would anyone think you an accomplice?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Sir Baldwin, in Tavistock everyone was talking about the great sum being sent to the king, the paucity of the guards, the huge prize for the man who was prepared to risk his life, and the marvellous riches a man could expect after winning it. As soon as I was discovered there, and a representative of the abbey arrived to investigate the theft, they would learn that I had been to Tavistock. What hope for me then? It would mean gaol immediately, and as a foreigner to the area, I would be sure to be found guilty.’
‘You said that Anselm was not there?’ Simon asked. His interest had been sparked now, and he had left Edith and was standing behind Roger. ‘Are you sure? Could his body have been concealed? There were so many there …’
‘What makes you think that his body was concealed?’ Roger said. ‘If I knew that the men were transporting all that money, don’t you think others would too?’
Simon nodded. ‘It was my own first thought: that someone would have had to have told the thieves that the money was being moved. And someone within the household of the Cardinal de Fargis would have news of that before anyone else.’
‘But how would this Anselm have got to learn of Sir Robert de Traci?’ Baldwin wondered.
‘The same way that a man would have heard of any dangerous felon in the shire,’ Sir Richard said. ‘The stories about these devils are rife. And a man like this one, who can apparently claim the friendship of the highest in the land, is plainly a man who had a reputation of some sort.’
Simon nodded slowly. ‘And Sir Robert had contacts with the abbey at Tavistock, didn’t he? He said so; he said that Edith was taken in order that Despenser could try to force Busse to surrender to John de Courtenay’s bid to take the abbacy.’
‘So he was in contact somehow with de Courtenay’s companions,’ Baldwin said. ‘I wonder if this Anselm was the go-between.’
‘It is certainly possible,’ Sir Richard considered. ‘Although how he would have got messages to Sir Robert is anyone’s guess. Anyhow, why’d the other one get his eyes popped?’
Baldwin looked up at Simon. ‘Sir Robert said that there was no money, didn’t he? He denied stealing. But if it had been there, he would have had it as soon as blink. So perhaps he was trying to torture the poor monk to learn where it might be.’
‘But the monk would have told him,’ Simon pointed out. ‘No one would be able to suffer both eyes being put out without telling where it was.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘But if it was already taken, so Sir Robert couldn’t find it, and the poor monk didn’t know where it was, the torture would achieve nothing. He could not tell them anything.’
‘You mean some fellow had already stolen it?’ Sir Richard said. ‘And then they put the blame on the poor monk and let him take the medicine intended for them, eh?’
‘That is how I would read it,’ Baldwin agreed. He nodded to Roger and stood. ‘I think we should return to Jacobstowe and take another look at the woods.’
‘There is one other thing,’ Simon said quietly, throwing a look over his shoulder at Agnes. ‘If this is all correct, and someone else stole the money, that still doesn’t explain the reeve being murdered over towards Hoppon’s house.’
‘No. Not unless this Hoppon was himself involved,’ Baldwin agreed tersely.
Near Nymet Traci
Osbert lay on his belly and shook his head at the sight of the smoke rising from the castle.
There was no point in returning to the place, not now that the main house had been destroyed by fire. He could see how the blaze from the stable blocks had reached over to the roof of the hall, and now that was almost entirely gone. It was enough to make a man weep, to think of the sweet profits this place had brought in in the past. So much money they had made, in only a few months. And now the whole lot was gone. Up in smoke.
He couldn’t have planned it better himself.
As he stood and dusted the dirt from his tunic and hose, he was already plotting. He had enough money now to go to London if he wanted. He could buy a house and live in style. But that wasn’t his desire. A man who was content to take a bit of money and rest was ready for his grave, in Osbert’s opinion. No, he wanted more. More excitement, more pleasure, more money, more fun. Perhaps he ought to see whether he could go to the king’s French territories. There were big profits to be made there, so they said, so long as the English recovered all their lands. Here in England there was too much interference all the time. Over there, a man with muscle and a sword might just make some money. All those French peasants were so weakly that a bold man should be able to live well.
It was a thought.
He pulled his cloak about him and set off homewards. It would take him some little while to get there, but at least he knew all these roads. And then tomorrow he would be able to start to plan.
After all, now that his old life at Nymet Traci was gone, it left him with some decisions to make. And although these would have had to have been taken before long, he hadn’t expected them to be forced upon him so soon. He had expected a few more months at the castle.
No matter. He would hurry home, and make up his mind about the rest of his life.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Fourth Wednesday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael*
Jacobstowe
They rode into the vill from Bow in the middle of the morning.
Their departure had been delayed while they waited for news of Osbert, but there was other business to be taken in hand too. Wattere was still clinging on to life, with a determination that even Simon found grudgingly impressive. Baldwin made provision for him. There was little point in keeping him in gaol, for there was no possibility of his escaping, and the local priest said he would be happy to have the dreadfully injured man in his home, where he could be watched and nursed. It was unlikely to be for long.
As they rode, Baldwin was thoughtful. Simon had been civil to him, but there was a strong undercurrent in all that he said and did, and Baldwin was aware of the lingering resentment whenever he looked into Simon’s eyes, but he couldn’t apologise. There was nothing wrong in what he had done. If he had passed over his own weapon, just as Simon had, it was certain that Sir Robert would be alive, and they would not. It was clear to Baldwin that the worst way in which a man could deal with a threat was to instantly surrender. Better by far to have an opponent who could carry out a threat and then suffer for it than an enemy who could threaten without compunction or fear of consequences.