‘You get some sleep, Bailiff. I can watch over him for you,’ said one, whose name apparently was David.
Simon took a seat on a stool, but wouldn’t sleep. He kept an eye on Baldwin, but most of the time he spent staring towards the doorway, wondering whether there would be another attack or not. It was hard to see how someone could hope to get past three men to kill Baldwin, but that was the least of his worries. What Simon wanted to know was, why should someone have decided to attack him in the first place? Was it because by some accident, Simon and Baldwin had come close to the truth of the matter?
And yet the bowman had only aimed at one of them — he had not fired a second arrow at Simon. Why not? Was it something Baldwin had learned which implicated the murderer, or was it simply that Baldwin’s behaviour had upset the guilty man? Simon felt the possibilities flying about in his head all through the night, but when the first light started to brighten the cracks in the shutters at the windows, he was no nearer an answer.
But the answer itself could be damned. Just now Simon was aware of nothing but an overwhelming anger: he would find the would-be assassin, and make him pay. Simon vowed there and then to destroy the man who had made an attempt on Baldwin’s life.
He looked at his old friend. The knight lay breathing stertorously, a deathly pallor on his gaunt cheeks. Simon prayed that the wound healed cleanly, and did not become infected. The next few hours were crucial …
As the night wore on, Simon found his mind wandering. He recalled how he had first met Baldwin in the torchlit hall at Bickleigh Castle, how Baldwin’s face had shown such grim despair, and how over the last seven years that weary grief had eroded under the happy influence of his wife, the former Jeanne de Liddinstone. Recently he had seen how Baldwin’s problems with Jeanne had caused him a renewed pain, and Simon was scared just now that Baldwin might not last the night and see her again. It made him grip Baldwin’s hand and wring it, trying to force his friend to hold on, if only for as long as it would take Jeanne to arrive.
No messenger could leave until the city opened its gates, which would mean that she wouldn’t know of this misfortune until the middle of the morning at the earliest. If she were to mount her own horse, she might, just possibly, be at Exeter at noon, but a little after that was more likely.
Simon could have marched to the gaol and demanded Thomas immediately. He could have started to learn all the mason knew, but to do so he would have to leave Baldwin with strangers to guard him, and that was not going to happen. Far better that he should wait until dawn. In daylight he would feel safer. All the murders so far had happened in the dark; during the day there were always too many people wandering about the Cathedral and in the Close for someone to be able to commit a crime of that nature with any hope of escape.
At full light, a man knocked at the door. It was the messenger who was to go to Jeanne, and Simon thought quickly. ‘Just tell her that Baldwin has been injured, that he is not dead, but sorely wounded, and that he loves her.’ He considered for a moment. A message like that would be sure to worry her … well, there was not much he could do about that. He didn’t want to worry her, but she needed to be aware that Baldwin was badly wounded. She should make the journey to Exeter to sit with him. Her presence would be a comfort to her husband. In the meantime, Simon wanted Baldwin’s last words to be taken to her as well. They might prove to be soothing.
Soon after the messenger had hurried outside and clambered aboard his horse, a fierce-looking beast with hooves the size of small barrel-bottoms, and hurtled off through Fissand Gate towards the West Gate of the city, Simon found himself confronted with a canon who carried a tray.
‘Bailiff. I was so sorry to hear of Sir Baldwin’s attack last night,’ Treasurer Stephen said. ‘I trust that a little food would help to support him? Please give him these dowcettes to improve his strength, and send him my best wishes.’
‘I thank you,’ Simon said, and set the tray on a table. Just now he was unsure whom to trust, and although the Treasurer was no doubt a safe, fair man, he wanted to ensure that no harm could come to Baldwin. That meant treating all food with caution, keeping others away from Baldwin, and making sure that he was safe at all times.
The Treasurer saw how Simon eyed the food. ‘It is good — do you want me to eat some of it in front of you?’ he asked.
There was a plaintive tone to his voice which made Simon give an apologetic shake of his head. ‘I must be cautious. Until the physician returns, I shall not be giving him anything.’
Stephen opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Thomas in the custody of a young layman. Simon did not notice how Stephen shot a glance at Thomas and winced, before looking away again, his face slightly paler.
‘How are you?’ Simon growled.
‘As well as a condemned man could be,’ Thomas replied caustically as Simon pulled out his dagger and cut the thongs that bound his hands. He stood flexing his arms for a moment. ‘The Bishop’s gaol is not so comfortable as a mason’s shed, although I daresay it’s better than some other prisons. Could I ask for some water to wash my hands? My palms are very painful still.’
‘My companion was attacked last night and almost killed,’ Simon said, motioning to the guard to fetch him a bucket. ‘I will find out who was responsible, and to do that I need to know everything you can tell me about the murder of the Chaunter and what has happened since you returned here.’
‘I’ve already told you all I can about the Chaunter’s death. I know nothing more.’
‘I know of Henry, Joel and William. Who else was involved?’
‘There were many of us — but not all are alive now.’
‘Well, who is, then?’ Simon said harshly.
Thomas gave him a long, considering look. ‘Very well.’ He reeled off a series of names. ‘As you can see, they are all members of the city’s nobility. Those who were members of the Cathedral at the time have mostly gone.’
‘Which ones haven’t?’
‘There are only two, I think. Peter, the acting Prior of St Nicholas, and one other: the Treasurer here, Canon Stephen.’
Simon stared at the Treasurer accusingly; the latter nodded, his eyes closed. Setting his jaw, Simon jerked his chin at the mason. ‘There was one more, wasn’t there? Matthew recognised you.’
‘Yes, he was there, but he was one of the Chaunter’s men.’
‘That could mean that he wanted his revenge on those who’d had a part in the Chaunter’s death.’
‘I doubt it. He’s been living here all these years alongside Henry Potell and Joel Lytell. What would make him suddenly become so lethal that he would seek to murder Henry and then the friar?’
‘The same goes for Joel — and the Treasurer here,’ Simon said. ‘Was it the arrival of the friar or William that caused the murders to begin? Or your arrival, of course.’
‘Mine?’ Thomas said, startled. ‘I’ve been here a year, in God’s name. Why should someone wait so long before starting to kill?’
Simon nodded. His eyes were gritty, and his tongue felt as though it was made of felt. He needed a draught of good ale and some food. The guard was returned now with the bucket of water, and seeing how Thomas winced as he dunked his hands in the chill fluid, Simon made a quick decision. He said to the guard, ‘Fetch us a plain loaf of bread and a jug of wine. Thomas, you and I need food. As far as I can see, you could have had nothing to do with the attempt on my friend and that makes you more reliable than many here. I’d like you to come with me.’
‘You’ll have to ask the Dean first. I think he wants me in his gaol.’
‘The good Dean will do as I demand,’ Simon said flatly.
Thomas had his mouth open as the scabs began to ease. His hands smarted and stung, but Simon’s tone made him forget the pain. Looking at the Bailiff, Thomas was struck by the cold ferocity in his eyes.