Black stood between her and the others, in an obviously defensive posture, as if trying to keep the world from her -and Baldwin could see why. Jane Black was a strong and pleasant-looking fair woman in her early twenties. She wore a simple woollen shift that reached almost to the floor, with long sleeves and a carefully embroidered pattern on its front. From the noise indoors, she clearly had already given her husband a pair of young sons, but her face and her figure did not show it. She was a little under Black’s height, a healthy woman, unmarked as yet by hard work. It was obvious that the hunter kept the best of his meat for his family, for there was a pleasant roundness to her youthful body. Her face was a little too narrow for Baldwin, her mouth perhaps too thin, and her breasts could have been larger for his taste, but there was no denying that she was extremely attractive.
But even as he took in her looks, noting her smile and the warmth of her gaze, he realised that this was too superficial an evaluation – this was a very intelligent woman. Her intellect was clear in her appraising eyes, in the speed of her glance as she subjected the men to a minute scrutiny, in the measuring, almost bold and defiant, stare when she caught the eyes of the others.
Her husband seemed almost shy as he explained why they were there, as if he was more afraid of worrying her than he was of upsetting the knight and bailiff, and instinctively Baldwin knew his concern was unjustified.
Jane Black was intrigued. She had never seen such important men in her village before – Blackway was too far from the normal routes for any officials to bother to stop off – and she was not sure why they were so interested in old man Brewer’s boy. The visitors did not seem to want to explain, but that did not matter to her; she knew that her husband would tell her all about it later. As she listened, though, it was the knight who caught her attention. He seemed so earnest, so intent, as he watched her, and as she responded to their questions she saw that his gaze fell upon her lips, as if trying to make sense of her words before their meaning could even be imparted to his brain by his ears, as if everything she said was so crucial, of such fascination, that he had to listen with his whole soul.
“Do you remember his name?” Simon asked.
Jane Black slowly wiped her hands on the cloth that served as an apron while she lost herself in her past, in the times when she was a young girl, long before she met John Black, and when the Brewer family had been together. Slowly the pictures started to come to life, as she recalled faded visions of years long passed, of a boy with a simple rough tunic who always seemed to be close to tears from the beatings his father gave, a boy who longed for a mother, but whose mother had died during his birth, a boy who wanted love and affection from a father who seemed to blame him for his widowhood. He had always seemed cowed, like a dog that was thrashed too often, waiting for the next whipping. She had always felt a sneaking sorrow for him, as if she could have taken him up and helped him, perhaps by becoming the sister he had never had. But kindness between children was difficult. She had given in and joined in the vicious jibes and sneers of her friends. When had he left the area?
“His name was Morgan; he was named after the father of his mother,” she said, her eyes seeing only the past.
“Why did he leave, Mrs. Black?” said Baldwin, a scowl of incomprehension darkening his features.
“Why? Oh to get away, I think. He managed to save some money and went to Exeter. He got his lord’s agreement -that was your brother, Sir Baldwin. It’s not surprising. Brewer was a hard man. I can remember seeing Morgan bruised and hurt on mornings when his father had been in his cups the night before.”
“Did he often get drunk, then?”
She gave a chuckle. “Oh yes, sir. Very often indeed! It was rare for him to get home sober. Many was the night he had to be helped home from the inn or from a friend’s house after too much ale or cider.”
Baldwin nodded slowly. “And he became violent when he had too much to drink?”
Her eyes seemed to film over as she looked at him. “Yes,” she said at last. “He would often abuse others. If he had drunk too much he tried to fight – and he was strong, sir, very strong. My father used to try to avoid him, but others would be hit by him. He even used to hit the very men that were helping him home. Oh, yes, he could be very violent.”
“This son, Morgan. You think he’s still in Exeter?”
“No, I doubt it. If he had any choice, I think Morgan would have gone as far away as he could. He had no need of his father’s money, I think. He earned enough himself in the city and could easily afford to travel farther.”
“Do you know where he can be found?”
“Oh no. No, I’ve no idea. And I doubt whether anyone else in Blackway will, either.”
Preparing to leave, Simon and Baldwin stood and waited on the doorstep while Black took his wife back indoors to give her his farewell.
“Are you really sure that this man Brewer was murdered?” said Simon at last.
Baldwin shot a glance at him, then smiled sardonically as if mocking himself. “Oh, I don’t know. Not really know. But I am sure he was dead before the fire started. And I’m equally sure that the blaze was not caused by his cooking fire.”
“Why? How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because of what I said. The fire was too low. It couldn’t have thrown up enough sparks to light the roof.”
Simon scratched his neck and squinted at the tall, dark figure beside him with a sceptical grimace. “Baldwin, you may be right, but just what the bugger do you think we can do even if you are? We can’t show that the body was injured – it was too badly burned for that. We can’t prove that anyone went there to kill him – what do you want?”
“Of course we can prove it,” said his friend, looking at him with an expression of patience mixed with frustration. “All we need to do is find the man who did it and get him to confess.”
“Ah,” said Simon sarcastically. “So that’s all, is it? I may as well go home now then, if you have it all tied up so neatly already!”
Chapter Five
When Black came back out again, he was amused to see that the two had obviously quarrelled. It was plain from their silence, from the fixity of their stares – which were aimed anywhere but at each other – and from the grin on Edgar’s face as he stood a little behind the two of them, out of their sight.
When Black looked at the servant enquiringly, Edgar merely shrugged, the indication of disinterest being totally refuted by his simultaneously expanding smile. The hunter was not aware, but Edgar was, only too painfully, of how close Baldwin had been to death in the previous year. Since then, since his suffering from the brain fever, he had been regularly morose and taciturn, rarely allowing a smile to crack his features, almost never showing petulance or selfishness of any sort, but continuing quietly and with a gentle calm, eternally grateful for the kindly ministrations of his servant. It was a delight as well as a relief for Edgar to see his master in an argumentative mood once more.
The four men slowly made their way back up the street, Black pointing out the houses and indicating the people who lived in each. They were all very much the same, built of the same materials and to the same size. Some had the small front door for the human occupants, each had a larger door, or pair of doors, at the side for the larger inhabitants – the oxen, pigs and goats that represented that family’s wealth. The small, unglazed windows peered at them with apparently bovine calm, as though intrigued by these curious creatures, but not in any way scared or threatened, From the thatch, the smoke drifted aimlessly in the still air, small wisps and tendrils breaking free to climb up the pitch of the roofs before dispersing at the top, like morning mist under the sunshine.