‘You will open this gate in the King’s name, or you will be kept inside to starve.’
‘You can sit there outside as long as you want, friend, but we have plenty of stores here. Now leave the gate unless you want an arrow to speed you on your way!’
‘You dare to threaten a Coroner? Fetch out your master, you brigand!’
‘Call me a brigand?’ Brian called sharply, and snatched up a crossbow. He aimed it at Coroner Roger. ‘You will not speak to Sir Ralph while you wait there at his gate like a thief! What, do you want to take his castle for yourself? Get away before I loose this bolt!’
‘I shall not go until I speak to the master of the castle!’
‘He orders me to hold you away. Would you have me break my master’s lawful command? Go!’
It didn’t occur to Coroner Roger that he was speaking to a mutineer, so he was in two minds. There was no clamour of fighting from the rear of the castle as yet, and he would have expected some noise by now. If he remained, he was sure that he would soon be punctured by the man’s bolt, but if he left, it could mean that the men attempting to scale the walls might be seen and slaughtered.
‘Very well, I shall go. But first, ask your Lord to come here. I want to speak to him about the inquest.’
‘You aren’t listening, are you? I told you, he said I was to come up here and hold you away. He won’t come.’
‘What of his son? Is Esmon in the castle?’
‘Old man, I am growing bored with your questions. Go back to your tavern and wait. We’ll send for you when my master wants to speak with you.’
‘I shall, but first–’
Brian heard it a moment before Coroner Roger, and he whirled around, frowning. There had been a cry of pain; only quiet, but it sounded like the call of a man who was suddenly struck down. Brian had been a warrior too long to mistake the noise.
The Keeper and his Bailiff friend were still down there in the yard with two men guarding each, while Sir Ralph was a short way away with another three men about him. None of them had broken free, so far as Brian could see. No, the call came from somewhere else. In the hall, he knew, Esmon was sitting with a crossbow pointing at his breast. There was no sign that he had escaped.
Brian turned back to the Coroner, but there was a niggling doubt in his mind. This little uprising of his had been thought out long ago, but now he had implemented it, he was nervous. It had seemed the ideal time to take over the castle, when he heard that there was a small band arriving to question Sir Ralph, because it gave Brian and his men the excuse to kill Sir Ralph and Esmon while blaming the attackers. Brian and his men would swear that they had turned to support the Coroner’s men, and had had to kill Sir Ralph and Esmon because they refused to put up their weapons. Easy. And while the Coroner investigated, Brian and his men could have it away on their feet with any of Sir Ralph’s plate and money they could lay their hands on. There was little need to fear a small local force such as the one which the Coroner had brought. In Brian’s band there were men who had killed and fought in battles up and down the kingdom.
Yet there was something amiss. A man had cried out. Where, and who was it?
Lady Annicia retired to her solar with Flora as soon as Mark fell. The sight of Sir Baldwin swiping the clerk’s hand off, the blood fountaining from the stump spattering the tables, made the Lady curl her lip in distaste, but she saw that Flora was close to fainting.
‘Come, child!’ she said, leading Flora from the room and through into the solar.
Ben had leaped to his feet, and now he stayed at the back of the hall staring about him at the clerk, Sir Baldwin and the other men as though expecting to be run through himself at any moment. He scarcely glanced at his sister as Lady Annicia gently pulled Flora after her.
‘Thank you, my Lady,’ Flora stammered as they went into the little downstairs chamber.
‘You have had to cope with enough already,’ Lady Annicia said coldly. ‘Your house, your father, and now this.’
‘Why should he want to kill Sir Ralph?’
‘Come, dear. Call him by the correct title: “Father”.’
Flora closed her eyes and hung her head. She had hoped that there would be no need to talk about that. ‘I am sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, child. It’s my husband and your mother we must blame, if anyone.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Of course. At least he kept it quiet,’ Lady Annicia said, pouring wine.
They had said nothing after that. Both had plenty to occupy their minds. While Flora wept silently, in memory of Huward and her mother, both dead, Annicia was musing on the shame that her husband’s affairs had heaped upon her. It was not pleasant. There were all too many catty wives in the shire who would be delighted to bruit news abroad of Sir Ralph’s womanising. They would say that it was no surprise he sought younger flesh when the alternative was an ugly old bitch like his wife. She knew how women of her class would turn on any other who had shown a chink in her armour. Draining her cup, she poured more wine.
When the shouting started outside, she did little more than glance up, but when the man entered her solar, she stood with quivering outrage. ‘What do you think you are doing in here?’
To her astonishment, he drew his knife and pointed it at her. ‘Keeping you quiet, Lady. Make a squeak and I’ll use this to mark your face for ever. Be still and sit silent. All right?’
Astonished, she flopped into her chair and gazed at Flora as though this too was her fault. It felt as though everything was going wrong. Flora was her husband’s, not hers; the justifiable vengeance on that miner had brought her son, apparently, into danger – and now there was this man…
‘I know you. You’re one of Brian’s men.’
‘Quiet.’
She knew him. That could only mean one thing: treachery. Lady Annicia shot a look at Flora, but she obviously didn’t understand what was happening. Lady Annicia sipped reflectively at her wine, and then poured more.
‘You want some?’ she asked him, motioning towards her drink and taking hold of the heavy pewter jug.
‘You can’t get me drunk!’ he said sneeringly.
Without pausing to think, she continued the movement. It sent the wine from her cup dashing into the guard’s eyes. He raised his hands to protect his face, and as he did so, the Lady leaped at him, knocking his knife-hand away with her cup, then swinging the jug with all her weight and malice. The almost full jug connected with a dull, echoing crack, and then she was lifting it again and bringing it down with both hands. It hit the man between his ear and temple, and he fell like a pole-axed ox, suddenly collapsing vertically.
She stood, panting slightly, watching for any movement. His knife was on the floor, and she put her foot on it. At the same time she noticed the blood welling from a gash on the side of his skull, and the twitching in his hands and feet. He looked as though he would never rise again. To be safe, she brought it down once more, with full force, and then crouched and took his knife. Because she was practical, she thrust it into his breast to make sure of him. There was surprisingly little blood, she thought.
‘Come!’ she said to Flora, and went to the door.
The lock opened quietly enough, and she peered through the tapestries, which had been pulled aside. In the room beyond she could see Ben and Esmon sitting side by side, a guard holding a crossbow standing with his back to her. Esmon, her Esmon, looked merely enraged, but Ben was listless, as though he expected or even welcomed death. Beyond the two were many of the castle’s servants, held in a corner of the room by two men armed with swords. She gauged the distance. It was at least six yards between her and the bowman, and the high table was in the way. She wasn’t sure if she could get to him.