Esmon was capable. More than that, he had the men to succeed. With Brian and the others, he could hold both castle and vill, and if it appeared that there were richer pickings elsewhere, why, Esmon and his men could move on. This place held no real significance for him. His father had jealously desired it for years, but that was nothing to Esmon. He wanted a bigger, better place than a small rural castle.
It was a foolish dream, though, he told himself. Simple plans always looked simple until put into action, and his father wasn’t truly mad. Just a bit enfeebled for some reason.
‘So?’ asked a small, quiet voice at the back of his mind. ‘If he recovers, you could release him then, couldn’t you?’
All he would need was a strong-minded clerk or lawyer to declare that his father was mad, and he could take over the place. Get his mother out, install himself in the great chair before the hearth, and enjoy the life of the free.
His father would be insane with anger. Perhaps it would stir him from his lethargic mood. Since Mary’s death he’d been in a stupor.
Scut, said that quiet voice. There was a man whose integrity was negotiable.
No! It was mad even to think of such a thing. Quite out of the question. But he could, he supposed, sound out Brian. See what the leader of his men reckoned. And then maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Scut. See what the clerk had to say about such an idea. He could ask Scut to look at his hand, then spring the question.
He drained his cup, flexed his hand a few times to test his fingers, and then nodded, satisfied, and walked out to find Roger Scut.
When the door suddenly opened, Surval didn’t bother to turn from his contemplation of the cross before him.
‘So you came at last.’
‘What do you want, old man? Your messenger asked me to come – why?’
Surval crossed himself as he rose to his feet. ‘Yes, I am old. And so are you, my Lord. Look at us both: there are almost a hundred years between us. But I declare that there are also differences between us. I have learned by my mistakes; you have not.’
‘Ah yes?’ Sir Ralph curled his lip as he approached the fire. He didn’t sit, but stood with his back to the wall, the safest position for a man on his own in unwelcoming territory. ‘What lessons do you have to give me?’
‘You are a fornicator.’
‘Many are,’ Sir Ralph laughed. ‘You have no balls. That’s not my fault.’
‘I choose not to use them.’
‘But you have in the past, though, haven’t you?’ Sir Ralph sneered.
‘I saw the miller last night.’
‘So? What’s it to do with me? He’s just a serf. Where is he?’
‘I do not know. Perhaps on his way to Exeter to find a new life; perhaps he is going to the coast to board a ship.’
‘It’d be better if he does,’ Sir Ralph muttered, relaxing slightly.
‘All your fine clothes: velvet hose, crimson tunic, bright cloak of fur-trimmed wool, a man of power and authority – and you start at the slightest noise. You should copy me, my Lord,’ Surval jeered. ‘Join me here in my little chapel and help me serve the poor travellers you once fleeced.’
‘You mock me, hermit!’
‘Keep your hand from your sword, my Lord. I wouldn’t want you to have another death on your conscience.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘We both know, don’t we? Wylkyn had to die because he found out the truth.’
‘You pathetic little man, you know nothing!’
Surval smiled coldly. ‘Calm your ire, Sir Knight. You have much to mend, and little time to do it in.’
Sir Ralph had pulled his sword half from the scabbard, and now he thrust it back home with a muffled curse and sat down. ‘What am I to mend?’
‘You are sinful, Knight! You should be on your knees begging God’s forgiveness, not ranting at me, a mere humble spirit whose sole duty is to see God’s will done.’
‘Mere humble spirit, my arse! You were a priest who had a good position in the world, who could have been a great magnate in the Church, but no! You had a woman, didn’t you? And you killed her.’
‘Yes, and there isn’t a day I don’t sit here and plead with God to take me to Him so that I might see her again and beg for her forgiveness,’ Surval said, casting a longing look at his little altar. ‘If I could, I should depart this miserable life this moment, and thank my executioner.’
‘You ask me to murder you?’
‘No, I ask you to make good the sins you have committed. I am here, wallowing in guilt and yet trying to make amends. You, though, you sit in your fine castle and think so little of others that you see them slaughtered to save your name and conceal your guilt.’
‘I have nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Your guilt will result in the ruination of your family. Your children will die, Knight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Gilda told me of your crimes against Huward. You have ruined him utterly.’
Sir Ralph felt a sudden shock of weakness attack him. For a while he sat silently, scarcely breathing, merely listening to the blood hammering in his ears, and then he faced Surval once more, but all the boldness was gone from him. In its place was a quiet alarm, like a man who can see a runaway cart heading towards him in a dark alley, but who knows there is no escape.
‘Yes,’ Surval said quietly. ‘Huward knows how you cuckolded him!’
‘How could he have learned?’
‘Your wife told him. She is, I fear, horrified at what you have done.’
‘She will learn to be silent!’ Sir Ralph said with a flare of his passion. ‘Christ! The bitch knew what she was doing.’
‘Of course. You have stolen his life, Sir Ralph.’
‘Sweet Jesus! By God’s own pains, he could…’ Sir Ralph felt fear like a fist clench about his heart, and he thought he must die, but the sensation only lasted a moment, and then his sight cleared and he found himself staring at Surval. ‘He might kill them!’
‘Brother, I do not know,’ Surval said.
‘You bastard! You keep me here talking while he’s planning their death? You delay me… I shall return, and when I do, you shall have cause to regret your part in all this, you bastard whoreson!’
Surval set his jaw. ‘You would insult our own mother, brother? Begone from here, and I pray that you save their lives, but don’t look to return here unless you can be thankful to our blessed mother, and thank me for warning you!’
Baldwin and Simon soon reached the castle.
To Simon’s eyes it was curious. For the first time since they had seen it, the place seemed quiet, as if there had been a death and a thrill of horror had affected all the men inside. For once there was no one at the gate itself, and the two passed straight through and into the main court. There they waited, Simon feeling that something was terribly wrong.
It was a relief, when he glanced over towards the hall, to see Hugh walking out with Thomas behind him. Simon and Baldwin crossed to meet them.
‘How’s the head, Hugh?’ Simon asked.
‘I’m all right,’ Hugh said gruffly. It wasn’t exactly true, because he still had a powerful headache, which he was attempting to cure with Sir Ralph’s best strong wine, but the wine itself was making him more comfortable. ‘Just a bit tired.’
‘He’s been sleeping all day,’ Thomas grumbled behind him.
‘Not all day. I spoke to that fat fool of a clerk, didn’t I?’
‘Much good it did.’
‘It did some good,’ Hugh declared firmly. He was quiet a moment, and when Simon followed his gaze, he saw Roger Scut appear in a doorway near the gate. Simon glanced back at Hugh, who was assuming once more his customary glower. ‘Don’t like him.’