‘Did you see anyone else?’
‘Up there? Only a boy, staring out at me. That one,’ he said, pointing at Alan.
‘Alan, Jordan – come here,’ Baldwin said, and the two slowly climbed to their feet and, exchanging a glance, went forward.
‘We have had someone confess to the murder of your friend,’ said the knight. I am sorry, Alan, but your mother admits it.‘
The boy gaped, then stared at Jordan. ‘But she wasn’t even up there!’
‘No, but you and I know who was, don’t we?’ said Baldwin. He gave Alan a steady look, and Simon felt a cold horror wash down his spine even before Baldwin spoke.
‘Everyone here should study these two. There can be no doubt what happened, I think. I have gone over it time and time again in my mind, and I can see no other solution. Anney was nowhere near the scene of the crime when Herbert died; when she confessed, it was because she wanted to protect the true murderers. Edmund knew nothing about the killing either. At first perhaps he honestly did think that he might have run the boy down, and the shock was made all the more hideous for him because he truly believed for a moment that he had killed his own son.
‘Then we have poor Petronilla. I can conceive of no woman less likely to be able to murder than one who is just about to become a mother for the first time, especially one who feels so alone and desperate as this girl, with no man she can legally claim as husband. As for the priest, Stephen, who was so keen to thrash his charge at every opportunity, and who received a stinging shot on his backside while he was… busy – well, he caught Herbert and beat him – but murder? If Stephen had murdered the child, surely he would have beaten him to death then and there – only he didn’t, because Petronilla was with him, and she declared that he returned to her, and that she heard Herbert when Stephen had rejoined her.
‘Then we have Thomas, who was down at the road. Yet how could one think that he might have captured a boy? He is not fleet of foot. Nor is there anything to suggest that the Fleming or his servant rode away from the place where they had been for so long. Edmund saw them, still lounging, probably waiting for Thomas to return so that they could go back to their negotiations, only he never reappeared. Instead they were passed by a fishmonger, and then by a carter going home after the market. They became bored and went home the longer way, hoping again to pass Thomas.
‘But two fellows were always up there, unaccounted for: Alan and Jordan. Two who always appeared to be above suspicion because they are young, and because so many others had good reasons to want to see Herbert dead.
‘We can assume that Herbert saw the priest making love with Petronilla, that Herbert’s sense of fun made him shoot Stephen in a painful and unfortunate part of his anatomy, but Jordan and Alan had no idea Petronilla was there. That was why they felt safe in fabricating the priest’s rape of their friend. They had no idea that he had an alibi – and I have to say, it was most fortunate that he saw fit to own up to it.
‘What reason could these two have for killing the boy, eh? One had the same motive as his mother, didn’t you, Alan? You wanted to avenge the death of your brother. What of you, though, Jordan? Why did you want him dead?’
Jordan flinched as the knight’s eyes met his. It felt as if Sir Baldwin was boring into him. ‘Sir, I-’
‘ Shut up, you fool! Remember what I told you!’ Alan hissed.
Jordan blinked, then screwed his eyes tight shut with the effort of not crying.
Baldwin walked to him and took hold of his shoulders, softly pulling the unwilling boy towards him. He put a hand under Jordan’s chin and raised his head. ‘Look at me, child. You will not risk the rope if you tell me what happened.’
‘It’s not fair!’ Jordan snivelled. His alcohol-induced confidence had fled, and now he knew he was found out. ‘We thought the priest would never dare confess to covering Petronilla – he always said it was a sin, so how could he admit to that? He shouldn’t have told you. We’d be all right if he hadn’t told you!’
Edmund stood staring open-mouthed, and now he strode forward. ‘Jordan, tell him you had nothing to do with it. Go on, tell him!’
‘I didn’t want to, sir,’ Jordan said, sniffing. ‘He wasn’t supposed to die. It just happened.’
‘What did?’ pressed the knight.
‘Sir, Alan and me found him, and he was all cross with Alan, because it was Alan who fired at the priest…’
‘No, I didn’t, it was you?“ Alan protested aghast.
‘… but Herbert wasn’t as good as us at hiding in the bushes, and the priest saw Herbert and beat him instead. And when Herbert saw us, he was crying, and said he’d tell his mother and make sure the priest knew, and then Alan would get lashed as well, and Alan told him he’d kill him if he did, and-’
Alan kicked Jordan, and the knight had to sweep the younger lad out of the way while Edgar took Alan’s arm and pulled him aside. The boy pointed at Jordan and sneered: ‘He’s lying. Or maybe it’s because he’s drunk. He’s been drinking all the ale in the buttery.’
‘Alan,’ Simon said quietly. ‘Your mother has admitted to killing Herbert. Either she is telling the truth and must be burned at the stake for petty treason, or she is lying – lying to protect someone.’
The youth stared at him with fury. ‘He’s going to say it was all me, but it wasn’t! He hit Herbert too. I wasn’t alone up there, and it was Jordan who held him down while I hit his head with the rock.’
‘Is this true?’ Baldwin asked the boy in his arms.
Jordan no longer cared. The last few days had been a nightmare. Knowing his father was innocent, but unable to get him freed without admitting his own guilt; realising that the shoe, the one lost by the priest while he made love to his woman, would be enough to ensure that the hated man should be blamed instead – this had given him hope for a while, but then the plan had gone wrong, and now here they all were, and he had admitted what he had done. Jordan broke down and wept, even as Alan at his side sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes.
How could he explain? They had to hit him to make him shut up, but the harder they hit, the louder he cried. Finally, only when he was silent, did they realise their crime.
And then they heard Lady Katharine’s shrill voice from the doorway.
‘Is this true?’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lady Katharine had been left on her bed when Daniel went out to the yard to accost the fish-seller, but she had soon recovered. The faint had left her weak and shaky, but she had managed to rise, and looked at her reflection in a mirror.
It was no longer the face of a happily married woman and mother, nor of the successful wife of a powerful squire. Her face had become a mask of horror. All that she loved had been destroyed. Even the woman in whom she had placed all her trust had betrayed her. Lady Katharine could hardly believe all that she had heard, and yet she must.
Staggering a little, she made her way back to the hall and there, while she leaned on the doorway, she heard the boys and Baldwin.
She could not absorb it. There was a scream rising inside her, which felt as if it might snuff out her very life if she allowed it to escape. It was composed of all her agony, all her sorrow at what she had lost. If it left her body, it must take her soul with it.
‘Is it true?’ she whispered.
Daniel made to move towards her, but she held out a hand without speaking, and he stopped, frozen with despair.
Baldwin closed his eyes for a moment, then said compassionately: ‘My Lady, I am so sorry. You should not have heard this. But I fear these boys are at last telling the truth of it. They murdered your son.’
Lady Katharine nodded once. She bowed her head, turned, and left.