‘Even though you were killing him?’ Simon burst out.
‘Bailiff, a man’s soul is more important than any petty disputes on earth,’ the hermit said sententiously.
‘You killed him to keep your place here,’ Baldwin stated.
‘It is everything to me!’
‘What of the girl?’ Baldwin asked, a sadness gradually overtaking him on hearing this confession. Surval was clearly an intelligent man, and he had sought to protect himself as best he might, but in so doing he had caused the deaths of too many others: Sir Richard, Mary and Wylkyn at first, but now Mark, Esmon, Sir Ralph, Ben, Huward and all the others, because if he had not committed those first crimes, Sir Ralph’s affair might not have become known, his men might not have rebelled, and many would now be alive who had died.
Surval shook his head, staring down at the ground. ‘I knew of the affair between Mark and her. Who didn’t? In a vill, there are never any secrets. No matter what, lovers will be seen. And these two were. It was terrible. The appalling sin of incest in the first degree.’
‘But they had no idea that they were guilty of such a sin!’
‘They knew he was a monk, sworn to celibacy,’ Surval shot out. ‘He was supposed to have dedicated himself to God, but instead he enjoyed the girl’s body.’
‘She was pregnant,’ Simon said quietly.
‘I didn’t realise that at first, but then she began to moan and cry.’
‘In the road? You were there with her?’ Baldwin confirmed.
‘Yes. I went to speak to her after the others had passed by. She looked unhappy, troubled. Of course, she had just lost her child.’
‘The blow,’ Baldwin mused.
‘Yes, I think her shock and horror at Mark’s violence made her miscarry. I tried to soothe her, explained that it was for the best because it was her brother’s child, but she wouldn’t listen. She screamed at me, really loudly, and I… well, I saw that the anguish and morbid terror were gripping her, so I killed her. It was kinder. She was in terrible pain, and bleeding heavily.’
‘You murdered her just as you did your own woman.’
‘No, Sir Baldwin. I protected her from her shame. Imagine how she could have lived, knowing that her child was repellent to God Himself? It was better to spare her that. I was being kind.’
‘And you were willing to allow Mark to hang for your crime.’
‘Ach! There was no risk he’d hang. He was young. He could soon rebuild his life. Perhaps he’d be protected by the Bishop. But me, what could I do? If I was accused again, I’d die. This place is all I have. Without it, I am dead.’
A week later, Simon and Baldwin returned to Gidleigh with Coroner Roger’s body. Baldwin was in a filthy mood, because he had ridden all the way to Exeter with Thomas, delivering Surval to the Bishop, and all during that long journey, Thomas had done nothing but complain about Godwen’s behaviour, how he was insulting Thomas’s family and Thomas himself, making sneering jibes about Thomas’s brother-in-law and others.
‘In God’s name,’ Baldwin exploded after ten miles, ‘I begin to wish you had not bothered to save his damned life, if you loathe the man so much!’
Thomas had stared at him, quite appalled. ‘Sir Baldwin! You can’t choose who should live or die just because you like them or not!’
‘I believe you saved him because life without your feuding partner would be insufferable.’
‘That is a terrible accusation!’ Thomas said with hurt in his voice, and he was silent. Then he flashed a grin at Baldwin. ‘Mind, it does add spice to have an enemy!’
Baldwin had given a longsuffering grunt. Now, with Coroner Roger’s widow at his side, walking to the church in Gidleigh, he could not recall any humour. It felt as though in the midst of her grief, she had sucked all the levity from people about her. Not surprising, Baldwin told himself; not after the shock of loss which she had suffered.
‘He always adored this area,’ Roger’s widow said. She was a large woman, her face ravaged with tears, and she leaned heavily on her maidservant as she walked behind the sheeted body of her husband.
Simon nodded. ‘He was born here, wasn’t he?’
‘And now he has died here and can be buried here,’ she agreed. ‘Daft old fool that he was, he’d probably be glad to think that although he lived most of his life in Exeter, he still came back here in the end.’
‘I am so sorry,’ Baldwin said sincerely. ‘If I could have done anything to save him, I would.’
‘I know that,’ she said.
She moved on behind the body being carried by the four bearers, all of whom were servants from his home in Exeter. The weather was foul, which was nothing new, merely a return to normal conditions, Baldwin thought to himself. Grey skies hurled chilly gobbets of rain like slingshots at the people standing by the grave. It was an old-fashioned grave, like those of many in this area, so that Roger would be buried kneeling as though in prayer. He would have liked that, his wife had said. He had not been as religious as he should have been during life, so it was best that he had a head start in death. Surely a man praying would win God’s attention faster than a lazy fool lying on his back.
After the short ceremony, Baldwin and Simon walked together to the entrance of Gidleigh Castle. The gate stood wide still, and servants bustled about as enthusiastically as they ever had.
‘You can hardly tell anything happened, can you?’ Simon said.
‘No. But the memories are here nonetheless,’ Baldwin said, tapping his breast.
‘You still feel the pain, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I murdered that poor devil when all he wanted was to stop the pain.’
‘He was mad, Baldwin. You wouldn’t hesitate if it were a rabid dog, would you?’
‘No. Yet Mark’s offence was, he wanted to learn more about his real father. Since he had learned who his father was, he wanted to come and be accepted. Instead, he found himself being made the convenient scapegoat of another’s crimes.’
‘He did hit poor Mary. From what Surval said, he made her miscarry.’
‘True – but I doubt he intended to. And I do not think he would have wanted her to lose their child, either. Yet when he saw her dead body, he bolted. He thought his careless blow had killed her, so he hared off in the hope that he could make it to the Bishop’s palace where he would be safe. And he would have been, had I not insisted on bringing him back, partly because of Scut and my loathing for him. Only then did he hear of her broken neck and realise he was innocent.’
‘You aren’t to blame for his death,’ Simon tried again.
‘I think I am. I brought him back here, I surrendered him to his father’s tender care, I had him exposed in court, and I actually ended his life.’
‘Because he was attempting a murder!’
‘The murder of a man who probably deserved it. Some men do, because there is no other means by which their crimes can be resolved or justice dealt. Yet I executed poor Mark, the final terrible act in his pathetic life. And I must carry the guilt of that with me for ever.’
‘You should not carry guilt, Sir Knight, but exorcise it,’ said a fussy voice.
‘Scut. I should have expected you to appear at some point,’ Baldwin said, but without warmth.
‘People have been coming here to see where the battle was fought,’ the cleric said. ‘They call it the “Battle of the Mad Monk of Gidleigh” now, and folk have come all the way from Moretonhampstead to see where it took place.’
‘You will remain here?’ Baldwin asked, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice.
‘No, I shall return to Crediton. I wish nothing more to do with this area. I shall return to the church and forget.’