Slowly he eased himself onto it and stared out over the grounds in front.
Baldwin arrived almost an hour later, dirty and soaked from his ride. As he came up the track, he waved and roared a greeting to Simon, who still sat on his log. He returned the wave, smiling briefly at his friend’s obvious pleasure in seeing him, then ambled round to the stable yard as the knight came up to it.
“Simon, so you’re back then. You were quick. I wasn’t expecting you yet,” Baldwin shouted as he dropped from the saddle and reached forward to shake Simon’s hand. “Have you brought your wife? Is Margaret here?”
“No, Baldwin. I thought it best not to bring her. Not today,” said Simon, his face haggard. He tried to smile as he shook hands with the knight, but although the mouth obeyed his brain’s command, his eyes could not lose their look of hunted fear.
“You look very serious. Is there something the matter?” said Baldwin, pausing as he led his horse to the stable. Simon shook his head dumbly, and, shrugging, the knight continued. Simon felt his eyes drawn down, and he stared in misery. There could be no doubt. There on the ground in front of him was the proof. He put his thumbs into his belt and followed the knight, who was taking the saddle off his horse and patting its neck.
“What is it, Simon? Can I help?” said Baldwin, the sympathy showing in his grave eyes and making Simon feel even worse.
“The abbot,” he said flatly, making the knight pause in his patting.
“Yes?”
“Why did you murder him?”
Baldwin’s eyes glittered, a spark of anger lighting his features, but as quickly as it had flared it died, and he sighed. “How did you And out?” He sounded almost uninterested as if he did not really care but thought the question should be asked for form’s sake.
“I didn’t, really,” sighed Simon. “I felt it couldn’t be the trail bastons, but I didn’t really know it was you until I saw your horse’s hoofprints.”
The knight looked down in surprise.
“You’re missing a nail in one of the hind hoofs. We saw that at the murder scene. It was the only thing we had to follow.”
Baldwin patted the horse’s neck again absentmindedly. “Well, we’d better go indoors and talk about it,” he said, and slowly led the way into the house.
As he entered the hall and saw Edgar sitting on the floor in front of a grim-faced Hugh, who was sitting with his sword drawn and pointing at him, Baldwin turned in anger. “Why do you hold my man like this?” he grated. “Is it not enough that I-”
“Sir Baldwin! Sir Baldwin, I have already admitted it,” said Edgar, quickly interrupting. When Simon looked at him, he thought that the man seemed almost to be pleading. He sat there with an expression of desperate yearning, as if he was anxious that he should be permitted to confess, as if the knight should not take away this chance of… what? Confession? Absolution? Simon turned back to the knight as he slowly made his way to his servant.
“You have admitted it? You?” Baldwin said softly. He walked to Edgar’s side, then crouched by him, his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Will that help us? We have nothing to fear, Edgar. If die I must, I will die happy at last. But I will not let you die for something I was responsible for.” He looked at Simon. “I can guarantee this man’s obedience. You have no need to leave him tied up like an animal.”
Simon heard Hugh’s cry of“ Master!”, but he kept his eyes on Baldwin. He gazed back, not with anger, but a kind of indifferent sadness and pain, as if this was the last thing he wanted, to have brought his servant to this pass and put the bailiff, his friend, to this trouble. Simon could not discern any remorse, any guilt. It was as though he was fully aware of what he had done, but that he felt it was nothing – of no importance. With a curt gesture, Simon acquiesced, and Baldwin took his own dagger and released his man.
“Go and fetch wine. There is no need for us to suffer thirst while I confess,” he said, patting Edgar on his shoulder. He walked unhurriedly to the bench. Seated, he motioned to Simon, who slowly walked over and sat opposite, next to Hugh.
The knight sighed, the firelight throwing occasional flashes of orange and red on his face and making his eyes glitter. He studied Simon carefully, a small smile on his face even as his brow wrinkled, as if he was wondering how to tell his tale.
“I killed him because he was a heretic and evil, and because he caused hundreds of my loyal companions to die.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“I suppose I have to begin with why I left the country and what happened to me. Otherwise it will all make no sense to you; it won’t explain why I had to kill de Penne. it all seems so long ago now, but I suppose that’s how things happen,“ he said, staring at Hugh and Simon with a weary calmness now that he had begun, I told you that I left my home when I was young, did I not? Well, you are too young, I suppose, to remember, but then, when I left, the whole of the world was in a ferment. The kingdom of Jerusalem was falling to the Saracens, Tripoli had fallen a year or so before, and King Hugh sent to the kings of Europe for aid, for men and money to defend the cities that remained, few as they were.
“I decided to help if I could. After all, I had little to keep me here. Under the law of primogeniture I was an embarrassment to my brother, who was the elder of us. He inherited the lands from our father when he died, so there was little to keep me here. I decided to do as so many had before and go to Outremer to see if I could make my own inheritance. The news was just coming in of a new Saracen army that was being sent to take Acre, the last great city in the Holy Land, and it seemed a good time to go there. I joined a small ship and went to join the defenders. I managed to gain a place on a Venetian ship and arrived in early April, in twelve hundred and ninety-one.
“The whole city was under siege from the Saracens. They had huge weapons – nearly a hundred catapults! It was obvious that they meant to take the city, and they had the men to be able to do it.” He stared into the fire for a moment, then carried on. “There must have been a hundred thousand men against the city. And what did we have? Barely fifteen thousand knights and men-at-arms, all told.
“They began their assault in early April. I was serving under Otto de Grandison, the Swiss, who was there with a small number of Englishmen when it began. At first they merely battered at the walls – my God! It was awful to see those great stones coming at us – and then they started throwing in clay pots, filled with Greek fire. As soon as the pot broke, when it hit the ground or a building, it burst into flames and it was almost impossible to put out the fire.”
Edgar came back in, carrying a jug of wine and some tankards, and he set the jug by the fire and poured them all wine, listening to his master as he worked.
“Thank you, Edgar. Well, for the first few days I thought we could hold out. We still had the port, and the Saracens had no ships, so we could still get supplies in and evacuate the wounded. I thought we should be safe. After all, I was young. I had never seen city walls like those of Acre. They were huge, a pair of double walls with ten towers in the outer one, spreading to the north and east of the city. South and west was the sea, so all the Saracens could do was try to destroy the walls to be able to get into the city.” He sighed. “But I did not know how much damage could be done by them.
“We suffered from the catapult bombardment, from the rocks and the fires, from the arrows and the constant attacks of the enemy. It seemed as though there was nothing we could do to keep them away, but then, after I had been there for about a month, King Hugh of Cyprus arrived with his soldiers, and it seemed that we might win -but it was too late even then.