The publican’s eyes dropped to his feet as he thought back, but when he looked up again he gave a single emphatic shake of his head. “No.”
“So who else was here that night?”
“Who else? Oh… there was Simon Barrow, Edric, John, the Carters-”
“What? The Carter boys were here that night?” said Baldwin, leaning forward and frowning at the man.
“Why, yes…” Clearly terrified, the landlord gazed back, wondering what he might have said wrong.
“Did they say anything to Brewer?”
“Well…”
“Was it the Carters Brewer’d been arguing with that night?”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
“Brewer was in a foul mood.” Now he had started, the words fell from the stout character as if he had kept them dammed and now the sluice was opened he could not halt the flow. “He said the boys were wasters, no better than beggars. He said that he could buy them up three times over- them, their farm, their parents… everything! And still have money over. Edward tried to calm him down, but he was mad. It was the drink always did it to him, I think. He tried to punch Edward, and Alfred got in the way, and Brewer hit him. That was when I got him out -I didn’t want any fighting in my hall. I took him out and there was Roger, he said he’d take the mad bugger home. He couldn’t kill, he’s no murderer – he’s a kindly sort, not a killer.”
“Yet you told him to leave the area? You told him to run?” asked Simon, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
Stephen stared back fearfully. I… like I said, it can’t have been Roger… but the Carters, they’ve been saying he was there, that they were going to tell you they saw him. I thought you’d think it was him if he didn’t go away. It was for the best, sir, it just seemed unfair to think…“
Baldwin leaned forward as well, his elbows on his knees as he stared hard at the man. “And what time did the two Carter boys leave the inn that night?”
“The Carter lads?” The thought seemed to strike horror into his voice. “The Carter boys? But they-”
“Answer the question!” rasped Baldwin.
“Not long after, I suppose. His voice was low once more, as if he was scared that he might say too much if he raised his voice. ”Not long.“
They left the horses at the inn and wandered down the lane towards the Carter house. Hugh had been sent to fetch John Black, so there were only the three of them when Simon rapped hard on the door.
Baldwin seemed to understand something was wrong, but left Simon scowling down in pensive gloom, as if he knew what the bailiff suspected. When Simon caught his eye, he thought he saw an expression of near relief, as if the knight was glad to have been discovered. It made the bailiff feel even worse, and it was with a growing anger that he waited for the door to open. It creaked open a short way to show a tired young woman, dressed in a dark tunic with an apron. She looked as if she had been cooking, and from her hands came the scent of fresh-baked bread to tantalise them. Smiling, Simon asked, “Are Alfred and Edward here?”
Her eyes seemed confused as they peered up at him. She could only have been a little over five feet tall and she seemed smaller as she stood diffidently wiping her hands on the apron. A couple of strands of light brown hair strayed from under her wimple, and one curl was twitching with the breeze just under her eye. Her eyes still on his face, she caught at the hair and pushed it back. “Yes,” she said. “My brothers are here. Why?”
“Could you ask them to come to the door, please?”
She seemed reluctant, but then Edward appeared and smilingly asked the three to enter, and join them indoors, pushing his sister aside as he opened the door wide.
Simon and Baldwin followed him through into a wide and noisesome room. The farmhouse contained all the human and animal members of the farm during bad weather. Some semblance of refinement had been attempted by fencing off one side, so that the animals and humans were separated, but it did not help much. In the family area there was a large fire, roaring in its clay hearth with the smoke rising to the rafters and slowly leaking out to the open air through the louvres. There was only one sign of modernisation in the room – a platform had been built on stilts, with a narrow ladder leading up to it. Obviously this was a separate solar for the family, away from the stench of the farmyard below.
With the animal smells and smoke the atmosphere was disgusting. The ordure from the beasts assailed the nostrils, the bitter tang of the smoke caught in the throat, and the atmosphere was altogether brutal, attacking the senses with vicious sharpness. The light from the thin windows was pale, and shafted down to illuminate small pools of dirt on the floor, struggling on the way to fight past the thick smoke.
Coughing, Baldwin beckoned to Edward and Alfred and went back to the clean air at the front of the house. It was with relief that he managed to pass out through the front door again.
Once in the open air, Simon said, “About the night that Brewer died. We want to ask you some more questions. You both said that you were looking after your flocks.”
Edward seemed to catch his breath, freezing in an instant to become as still as a statue, his face fixed into a mask of fear. His brother was not affected. His thin features gazed back at the bailiff with what seemed to be a sneer fixed to his lips.
“So?” he asked. “Is there something wrong?”
At first Simon gazed at him in simple dislike – the man clearly cared nothing for the death of Brewer, although that was hardly surprising in view of the farmer’s unpopularity. But then all the anxieties of the last few days, the tiredness, the horrors, the pain and fear, suddenly caught hold of him and focused in an unreasoning rage against Carter.
In his arrogance, this little man seemed almost to be taunting the bailiff over his inability to find the killer of Brewer. It felt as if he knew too of Simon’s suspicions about Baldwin, as if his patronising smile ridiculed Simon’s efforts, and the fury blazed white-hot in response; it insulted not just him, but all the others as well – it demeaned the old fanner, the abbot, the merchants, the poor, broken, solitary girl on the moor, even those in the posse and the trail bastons who had died. The bailiff had seen more death and destruction in the last few days than ever before, and the brutality, the senseless butchery, that he had been forced to witness had left its mark. A blind loathing gripped him, almost choking him with its intensity.
With a snarl, he reached forward and grabbed the young man by the throat of his smock, twisting the cloth as he pulled it toward him, yanking the man off-balance as he dragged him forwards.
His action caught even Baldwin by surprise. All of a sudden the knight found himself gazing at his friend with a new-found respect. Simon, he could see, had hauled the boy three feet against his will with one arm, and the knight found himself trying to control a smile as he lifted his finger to scratch at his ear. This bailiff could be a right bastard to have a fight with, he thought to himself.
And now Simon was speaking to the Carter boy through gritted teeth, his voice low and venomous, eyes bulging. “We know you lied to us. I am in no mood for games! What did you do after you left the inn. Did you go straight to Brewer’s house? Kill him as soon as Ulton had gone? What happened?”
“We did nothing!” The boy was averting his face; they were so close their noses almost touched. “We came home!”
“Why did you lie to us?”
His voice was almost a whine now, wheedling to persuade the bailiff. “We didn’t think it mattered. If we’d told you our father might have found out, and he’d have thrashed us for not looking after the sheep when we were supposed to.”
“What time did you get home that night?”