‘Sir, whoever was driving that cart must have known who the master was, and yet they didn’t come to report their deed to the Lady. They must have intended to kill him.’
Simon shook his head. ‘My friend, if you were a local peasant on your way home, half-asleep at the reins, it’s quite possible that you’d fail to notice a boy running out in front of you.’
‘Have you never run over an animal?’ Daniel interrupted desperately. ‘Even a small animal, a rabbit or a cat, makes the wheel jolt. If it does that for a little creature, how much more will the wagon jump when it rides over a five-year-old boy? The man knew he had run someone down.’
‘That doesn’t make him a murderer,’ Baldwin pointed out gently. ‘It could have been an accident: if your master ran out without thinking, it was hardly the fault of the carter.’
‘If it was an accident, why didn’t the man come and confess?’
‘He might well have feared the response of the Lady Katharine,’ Simon said frankly. ‘There’s no evidence to suggest that the lad’s death was anything other than a sad misfortune. Accidents happen.’
‘Sir, shouldn’t we try to find out who was responsible?’
Simon gave an unwilling nod. Apart from anything else, he had a duty to help the Coroner collect the deodand. A chattel which had caused a man’s death was forfeit, theoretically to be given to God in expiation – although in reality the deodand was a fine imposed on the owner, the value then put to pious uses. In this case the deodand must be the horse and cart, a goodly fine.
Daniel continued, ‘Sir, that road is usually busy, and so it was on the day the poor boy died. I know because I was outside buying fish – it was a fast day – and while I haggled with the fish-seller, I could see the traffic’
‘So we’re unlikely to find the culprit.’ Simon shrugged.
‘Sir, after the seller left, I remained outside a while longer, getting men to roll the fish barrels to the storeroom. I heard one more wagon, and saw it turn away in front of the house, heading down the road to Throwleigh.’
‘What time would this have been?’ Baldwin demanded. There was a nervous, almost scared look to the steward now, and Baldwin was sure he was at last coming to the meat of his story. The knight could feel his belly tense with expectation.
‘Sir, it was in the afternoon – after nones.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘You say men were with you to get the barrels moved. Was anyone missing from the house?’
The suddenness of the question made the steward blink confusedly. ‘It was a fine day, sir. Only Lady Katharine herself and I were here. She was still deep in mourning, after all.’
‘Who was in with you? Her maidservant?’ Baldwin probed.
‘No, Anney was out. So was Petronilla. Most of the servants were: two grooms had gone to Chagford for stores, and the berner was exercising his harriers with his whipper-in. Is this important?’
‘Very well. Were the guests all out as well?’
‘Yes, I think so. Does it matter?’ Daniel became irritable. ‘I’m trying to tell you about a man who had good reason to hate the master, and you ask about all these others!’
‘My apologies, but we need to know to whom we can speak to corroborate your evidence. Were the other guests here on that day?’
‘Sir James van Relenghes was out riding, sir, with his servant, Godfrey. They had come to visit the squire, and stayed to show their respect when they heard of the master’s death.’
Simon glanced at him sharply. There had been a curious emphasis on the word ‘respect’. ‘You doubted their sincerity?’
‘Bailiff, I’ve been here for as long as the squire, since 1306. Before that I served with him in many battles, and I never heard him speak of this Fleming – and yet here he is, claiming great friendship with my master. I can’t help but doubt him.’
‘What of the priest?’ Simon asked.
‘Stephen? He was probably at the church in Throwleigh… I didn’t notice him.’
‘I see. Let’s return to this cart – did you recognise the man on it?’
‘Yes, sir, I did,’ said Daniel, pleased to be able to return to the point. ‘It was a villein called Edmund.’ As he spoke the name he felt as if he was betraying a member of his own family. It was the curse of a steward to have to bear witness sometimes against the serfs of the demesne, and he never enjoyed doing it. He had known Edmund all his life, and his father Richard before him. If only the latter were still here, he – but there was no point wishing for the impossible. They were both dead and gone: the master whom Daniel had loved and honoured and the servant Richard, who had sired Edmund – a fellow who had very good reason to hate the squire’s widow and son.
Simon folded his arms. ‘Have you told your mistress any of this?’
‘God’s blood, sir, I couldn’t!’ Daniel burst out. ‘Edmund was the man who made the squire so angry that he died, and the mistress has been furious with him ever since. What would she do if I told her I thought this man killed her son, too?’
‘But if you’re convinced that this man was responsible?’
‘I am, sir. There were no carts after his. If a previous vehicle had struck Herbert down, Edmund must have seen his body, yet he didn’t report it. No, his was the wagon that crushed poor Master Herbert. But I wouldn’t have the man killed on the spot without a chance to defend himself in court.’
Baldwin eyed him dubiously. It appeared strange that a family servant should withhold such important information. ‘If you are certain, you have a duty nonetheless, so why do you save it up to tell us, Daniel?’
‘So that you can question Edmund and have him arrested if you find evidence against him. All I ask is that you question the man. Come with me now, speak with him and see what you think.’
Simon rose and stretched. ‘Get back in the saddle now, you mean? No, I don’t think that’s necessary. The man’s unlikely to run off if he hasn’t already.’
‘But you will talk to him?’ Daniel insisted.
The knight grunted his agreement. ‘Wake us in the morning, and we will go with you.’
Daniel beamed with gratitude, as if for the first time in days he felt he had achieved something. He bowed, and walked off with something of his old pride.
Simon shook his head. ‘You know what’s occurred to me, don’t you?’
‘Yes – that Daniel has carefully pointed the finger at the only poor fellow who has no prospect of a lawyer or any other help,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘And of course he was most willing to divert our attention from all the other people who could have been involved.’
‘Cynic! You’re assuming someone was guilty,’ Simon reminded him. ‘My thought was, he’s forcing us to conduct an enquiry whether we like it or not. Daniel must have believed we would let the matter lie. And so he called us back to find out that the carter might have run over the boy. Why should he do that?’
When they re-entered the hall, they found it already well-filled. Thomas was there, drinking cheerfully from a large goblet, and he welcomed them effusively.
‘So good of you both to return to witness the funeral. Sir Baldwin, have you met Sir James?’
Baldwin found himself looking into the darkly handsome face of a tall man in his late thirties. He had strong features, with a high brow, and serious, keen brown eyes which watched the knight with a strangely focused stare. His concentration was easily explained when he opened his mouth to utter a courteous welcome.
‘You are a Fleming?’
The man gave a short bow. ‘You are quick to recognise an accent, Sir Baldwin. Yes, I am called James van Relenghes, but I have lived here in England for some years now.’
‘You speak our tongue very well,’ said Simon.
‘It is kind of you to say so. I was lucky enough to serve your last King as a mercenary during his wars in France, and picked up much of your language.’