So when there was the murder of the Chaunter, and some folks heard that Vincent hadn’t been in the Cathedral with the others at that Matins, it was assumed that he had been outside in order to help the assassins. He had been one of the killers.
That, so Wymond had always said, was ballocks. His brother Vincent loved the Church, and he was a devoted member of the Chaunter’s familia. The idea that he’d have betrayed his master, still worse taken part in his murder, was beyond belief.
Still, Vincent’s complicity in the murder was assumed for many years. His death meant that there could be no defence, because the accomplices refused to talk about his part. In fact, the Dean and the vicars who were caught refused to discuss any part taken by Vincent — because they simply knew nothing. Other men had commanded the attack at the Cathedral’s door; the Dean wasn’t there, and the vicars were standing at other points of the Close. Only the men in the group who actually killed the Chaunter could answer yea or nay to Vincent’s guilt or innocence, and they refused to admit their crime. The Mayor, Alured, didn’t confess — so who else could speak for Vincent?
In the absence of any others, Wymond himself spoke of his brother’s innocence and his devotion to his master, but that wasn’t enough, and soon the whole city was convinced that the novice was an ally of the Dean, like so many others. His memory was polluted; his integrity slandered. That was why Wymond detested the city. It had allowed his brother, his wonderful, kind brother, to be turned into a traitor and killer.
Poor Uncle Vincent. The tale told yesterday by his master had come as a shock, because he had been content to consider that in those far-off days his uncle might have been persuaded to change his allegiance and join the men allied with Pycot; perhaps he had gone to murder the Chaunter at their side. Only now he had heard from a witness that the poor fellow had been trying to save the Chaunter, his master. He had been honourable to the very end, when he was struck down by the man Joel called Nicholas.
One thing Vince knew, and that was that his father ought to be told. So late in the afternoon, he had invented a ruse to take him out of the house, and he had fled down the hill to the tannery. Before long he found his father, stirring skins in the handling pits.
He was panting slightly, and he caught his breath, savouring the moment that he should explain to his father what he had heard. Wymond would be delighted to hear that his impression had been vindicated, he’d be over the moon to learn that there was a witness, a credible witness, who had confessed at last.
Which was why Vince was baffled when his father listened, and then walked away, head bowed with sorrow. Vince ran after him, gabbling that all was welclass="underline" Vincent his uncle was cleared, but his father waved a hand for him to go. And as Vince went, he could hear the sound of dry, racking sobs. It completely mystified him.
Baldwin threw on his clothes, washed his face in the bowl of water provided, and then followed Simon down the stairs.
‘You cannot know how glad I am to see you here,’ he said as they sat at a table. The owner’s daughter gave them bread and some cold slices of meat with a large jug of weak ale.
Simon gave a chuckle. ‘Nice to know that I’m indispensable at last.’
‘This affair is peculiar, old friend. A man suddenly appears in the Charnel Chapel, with a knife wound in the back. It’s a strange place to commit a murder.’
‘Perhaps. All I can say is, I am glad to be here,’ Simon said.
‘How is Dartmouth?’
Simon crumbled a piece of bread in his fingers. ‘It’s lonely, Baldwin. I hate living there without Meg and the children, and I worry all the time about Edith. What she won’t do in order to get her way, I don’t know, and it’s not healthy for Meg to be looking after her on her own. They both need a man about the place to stop them fighting.’
‘That’s Lydford, not Dartmouth,’ Baldwin pointed out.
‘Dartmouth is a pleasant, fresh little vill. There’s a great port and lots of ships,’ Simon said drily. ‘It’s convenient, because it means that yesterday when I heard I was required here, I was able to be directed to a ship and board it to come here swiftly, rather than making the arduous journey on horseback.’
‘You came by ship? That must have been a difficult transport!’ Baldwin joked.
‘You can smile, if you wish, Baldwin,’ Simon growled. ‘You won’t get me on another, though. Damned thing. I had to stay up on deck the whole time to stop myself throwing up, and that meant I was soaked with spray and rain by the time I landed. Foul things, boats.’
During the year the two men had travelled to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Simon had learned that his belly was most uncomfortable aboard ship. During their return voyage, foul weather and pirates had almost killed both men, and the memory wouldn’t fade from Simon’s mind. He passionately detested anything to do with ships, and he intended to avoid them all his life. It was particularly galling to have to resort to a ship to come here now, when he had sworn only a matter of weeks ago, on their return, never to use that means of transport ever again.
‘I am delighted to see you here, in any case,’ Baldwin said, and explained what he had so far learned about the death of the saddler.
‘So plainly we need to visit the man’s widow,’ Simon observed.
‘Yes. It is unlikely to be a pleasant encounter.’
‘A woman who’s just been made a widow is hardly likely to be congenial, no,’ Simon agreed. ‘Does this mean you’re getting to be a little less ruthless in your questioning, then? The knight who was always known for rigour bordering on callousness in the search for the truth is at last learning empathy?’
He’d only meant his words as a light jest at Baldwin’s expense, and he was surprised to see his friend was offended. Baldwin half-turned his head from Simon, and when he spoke, his voice was a great deal quieter. ‘There is nothing callous in my make-up, I hope. I try only to serve justice to the best of my ability.’
‘I didn’t mean …’ Simon was unsure how to comfort Baldwin. ‘Baldwin, I’m deeply sorry if I’ve given you offence. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it, you know that.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m just feeling rather fragile at present. It is the effect of coming here when I should be at home with my own wife.’
‘I can understand that,’ Simon grunted. ‘In any case, my apologies if I’ve upset you, old friend. I’d never want to do that.’
‘I know,’ Baldwin said with a faint smile. ‘And now, to our food.’
Mabilla was finishing her morning meal when she heard the bang on the door. Her heart sank as she heard the two voices. She looked down at her full board and hurriedly finished her dish of a tart and some apple.
This was a most inconsiderate hour to visit a lady, she told herself. At this time of day, civilised people returned from their early Mass to take something to break their fast, just as she had, and to turn up at a woman’s doorstep now meant that there was serious business afoot. To her mind, that could only mean men who intended to demand money from her, supposedly because her poor darling husband owed it. Well, they’d soon learn the position, if they’d come here for that, damn them!
Hearing the knocking, Julia entered from the solar where she had been resting, and Mabilla felt her anger rising. Julia was looking particularly pale today. Usually such a complexion would be a sign of perfection in the opinion of most men, but today it was merely evidence, along with her red eyes, of her misery. She hadn’t slept well last night again. Mabilla had heard her bedclothes rustling in the little truckle bed, and felt the floorboards move as she tossed and turned. Although she was being courageous about her marriage to Udo, it wasn’t ideal, as Mabilla herself knew. If she could, she’d have tried to snare the man herself. She wasn’t such a poor catch, surely … but he wanted a woman in order to start breeding his own line, and Mabilla’s days of childbirth were behind her now.