‘She was well when I left… My poor Mary.’
‘Did you see anyone else who could have killed her? Anyone at all, from after you left her to when you found her dead?’ Baldwin had to know.
Mark winced, both eyes snapping shut with a sudden pain. He raised an arm to wipe his face, but it was his stump. His face seemed to tear with loss, with the realisation that he was dying. He sobbed silently a moment, then breathed, ‘Sir Ralph.’
‘Is that why you wanted to kill him? You thought he was the murderer?’
The man was fading fast now. A quivering as though he was terribly frozen was causing his limbs to shudder and one heel was knocking a staccato rhythm on the dais’s floor. His face was a deathly pale, his eyes wide with knowledge of his impending doom. Roger Scut murmured that he should conserve his breath to confess his sins, but he continued weakly.
‘No more… All done. Sir Ralph was father of Mary… father of me too… Incest… Ruined… me…’
‘By God’s love,’ Roger Scut muttered under his breath, and then swiftly began the process of the Seven Interrogations, his guilt making him careful and precise. Mark choked and answered as he could, but Baldwin could only feel relief that he was able to respond to the last and relax on hearing the viaticum. It would have been a terrible weight for Baldwin to bear, had Mark not received the promise of God’s forgiveness.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ Baldwin stood, his head bowed, staring at the boy as his lifeblood drained, forming a puddle which surrounded his head like a red halo. ‘He wanted to murder Sir Ralph because Sir Ralph was his father.’
‘That’s hardly the best excuse for murder!’
‘This is no laughing matter, Simon!’ Baldwin burst out. ‘That boy discovered that the girl he loved was his sister; he had got his own sister with child without knowing it! An incest! Is it any wonder his mind was turned?’
‘You mean Mary was Sir Ralph’s child as well?’
‘Exactly – and I killed him,’ Baldwin said. He suddenly felt the appalling weight of his action. ‘That boy was forced into crimes because of Sir Ralph’s offences, Simon – not because of his own sins. Oh God! What have I done? I killed him for that? I should have killed Sir Ralph!’
‘You prevented a murder,’ Simon said steadily.
‘By committing an injustice! And that’s worse than a mere crime!’ Baldwin hissed.
Coroner Roger was at the tavern when the men started to arrive. Those from Chagford were first, led by a Reeve, John. All were grim-faced at the thought of the work they must do today, but shouldered poles with their billhooks rammed hard onto the ends. Some self-consciously carried swords which their forefathers had passed down over long years, but the Coroner was happier to see that many of them bore bows and quivers full of arrows. If this day was to end in a battle, the more archers the better, and since King Edward I’s day, every vill had men trained with long bows.
Next were the men from South Tawton with a trained Squire, Master Hector, who had seen battles, and whom Coroner Roger felt he could trust. That was a relief, for so often there were knaves and fools sent when a posse was commanded to ride.
Aye, it was all too common that you’d end up with the dullest slugs in the county when you had to catch someone, when what you needed were the strongest men both in the arm and in the head, the Coroner told himself, running an eye over the men gathered in the roadway in front of the inn. At least this lot seemed intelligent enough, and most were experienced in fighting. If they hadn’t been in tussles in the wars with or against the King, and God knew, few enough men in the realm had avoided any fighting in the last few years, then they had been involved in scrapes with the bands of cudgel-men, the trail bastons who were still such a pest.
He didn’t like to admit the fact even to himself, but Coroner Roger was anxious. Sir Baldwin and Master Puttock were both capable fighters; Roger had seen Sir Baldwin last year fighting a powerful opponent and slaying him, and he knew Simon was a doughty ally. If they had been set upon, they would have given a good account of themselves – of that he was quite certain.
The question was, had they been given a chance to defend themselves? Coroner Roger knew that they had left this place yesterday afternoon, intending to rescue the Coroner’s two men and Saul, and the three had returned safe and well, if grumbling bitterly, and said that the Keeper and his friend were still at the castle. There had been news of a fire, too, but no sign of Baldwin or Simon. It was a known fact that Sir Ralph and his son were capable of taking hostages and ransoming them. If that was what they intended with Baldwin and Simon, Coroner Roger would soon show them the error of their ways.
Although he had never seen the need to broadcast his affection, Roger was fond of both men, and the thought that they might be held in a grotty cell without food was disquieting. Still worse was the thought that they might even now be in peril of their lives. What Sir Ralph could be holding them for, Coroner Roger had no idea, and he didn’t care. If they were being held, he would have them released. If he was to act swiftly, he could come to the castle and surprise the men guarding it. Then he could take the place quickly with a minimum of bloodshed.
The Coroner sat with the Squire and the Reeve, and debated with them the best means of gaining access to the castle. None of them knew it well, but the Squire had passed by it a few times, and the Reeve had once gone there with a message.
‘Sir Richard never had the money to properly guard it and the perimeter is largely a wooden palisade at the rear, dug into the wall.’ The Reeve was a sharp-eyed man with the dark, weather-beaten features of a farmer. Although his waist spoke of his prosperity, the green tunic he wore was faded, and his leather belt was straining as though he had not bought new clothes for many years. He had a quick mind, and spoke with decision about matters he understood.
‘How clear are the approaches?’ Coroner Roger asked. They were using sticks to mark out the land in the dirt at their feet.
‘Not very. There are trees on the hillside behind here, but there is a broad expanse leading to the walls which is still clear. If the guards are attentive, it’ll be a hard fight to break in over the wall. If they aren’t, it’d be quite easy to get in.’
‘What about the front?’ asked Squire Hubert, a heavy-shouldered man in his early twenties with a narrow, regular face and light hair. His eyes were a startling blue, and when they fixed upon the Coroner, Roger had the uncomfortable impression that he was being interrogated. Squire Hubert sat quietly for the most part, deferring to Coroner Roger, but he was clearly a trained warrior. Younger than the other two men, he yet had experience of three wars and had managed men in battle. He was no strategist, he said, but if he was told what he must do, he would achieve his objectives.
‘Clear. There’s roads coming in from the north here, from the east here, and the south too. We could ride to the gate, but then we’d be standing out in the open with arrows and all sorts being thrown at us. Not a nice prospect.’
‘But if we had a small party at the rear, while more go to the front as though to storm, and then pull back as though defeated, the guards might all go to the front, leaving the rear walls clear to be scaled. If need be, we can deal with any individual guards who remain.’
Coroner Roger nodded. ‘That makes most sense. We have to rescue my friends and end this family’s reign of fear.’
‘We’ve heard about their depredations for too long,’ the Reeve said. ‘No one wanted to accuse the new Lord of Gidleigh, though. Bastard! I can’t guess how much he and his son have extorted from people passing by.’