And just now he had little else to do. Perhaps in the morning the man Langatre would be back again. Ready to prey on others.
It was disgusting. Yet there was little he could do about it.
Chapter Thirteen
North-East Dartmoor
Simon was anxious now. The weather was closing in as the sun sank behind them. Although he didn’t slow to peer over his shoulder,he could gauge the sun’s position by his shadow, and now that it was reaching out for yards before him he knew that they mustseek shelter for the night, and that right soon.
Busse had grown more quiet as they continued, and his face was strangely drawn. When Simon glanced over at him, he was remindedof de Courtenay’s words, how this man had apparently gone to one of the dreaded necromancers and sought, by means of somesort of foul spell, to have his election guaranteed. It turned Simon’s stomach to think that a man — especially a man of God- could attempt such a thing. Simon’s was a simple faith, reinforced at every opportunity by the canons at Crediton church,where he had gained an education. Their exhortations, often delivered at the end of a switch to make the lesson more instructive,had rejected absolutely the idea of conjuring demons to help with any worldly acts. It was heretical to believe that an agentof the devil could assist a true Christian.
Perhaps it would be better if Simon and Rob could leave Busse out here to die … and yet Simon had always rather enjoyed his companionship before. It was odd that he should have fallen so far that he could have sought the help of the blackarts … he was a bloody monk, for Christ’s sake! In God’s name, how could he have done such a thing?
Even as he was thinking this, he saw the monk’s eye upon him, and he cleared his throat without knowing what on earth to sayto the man. Then he sighed in relief. Ahead, through the gathering gloom, he could just make out the lines of trees movingin the wind. There was a wood ahead, and he began to try to work out where he was. From the direction he had taken, this shouldbe the large wood just outside Gidleigh, where the moors lapped up against cultivated lands. Not far from here was Chagford,the bustling stannary town where they could be assured of a warm bed in an inn.
The first light flicks at his face woke him from a mild daydream in which he saw a roaring fire, a pot of warming ale, anda heavy joint of beef or shoulder of mutton slowly roasting. The scene was so distinct and alluring, it was hard to dismissit, but the insistent soft patters at his cheeks soon told their own tale.
‘Shit! Of all the foul fortune!’ He rested a hand fore and aft and turned in the saddle. Behind them, the sun was almost touchingthe horizon. They had only a very short time. ‘Right, Master Busse, you must continue straight ahead, and do not hurry. Keepwith Rob there, so that he doesn’t become lost himself, and do not let him flag. Keep on in this direction.’
‘What of you, Bailiff?’
‘I am going to ride on to make sure that we have a store of firewood before all the light fades. In God’s name, I only pray I have time to gather enough.’
‘Then go, in God’s name!’
Exeter City
Master Richard de Langatre should have been grateful to meet these two men, perhaps, but just at the moment he was feeling more thana little disgruntled. It was humiliating to be grabbed by this beadle and his shabby little watchmen! What did they thinkthey were doing? Was any poor professional to be man-handled like this without excuse?
‘We shall go to the Suttonsysyn near the guildhall,’ Baldwin decided. It was easier to ensure the cooperation of the coronerif mention was made of an alehouse of some sort, he knew.
‘That would be a good one,’ the coroner said approvingly, perking up considerably.
The beadle Elias if anything looked even more harassed. ‘I can’t allow that, master …’
Coroner Richard beamed down at him, but there was a steely glitter in his eyes. ‘I think you should remember to call us “sir”. Or perhaps “Keeper” and “Coroner”? Either way, my fellow, you will remember what your station is, and what ours is. Sir Baldwinhere has just made an excellent suggestion. We will follow it.’
‘But I was ordered to deliver this man to the gaol.’
‘By whom?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘The sheriff. He ordered us himself. He said we had to come here, take this man, bring him up to the castle’s gaol, and keepthe body of the dead boy at the house until the coroner could be called.’
‘Right, and now the coroner is arrived,’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘So do you go about your duties, and leave me to mine, eh?’
‘But I am to …’
Baldwin stopped him. ‘You have delivered your charge into my custody. Now return to the house and take care of the poor fellow’s body. I shall see to this man.’
With a nervous reluctance, the beadle finally agreed. He made one last effort to have a watchman or two remain with the knights,but Sir Richard was so scornful in his response to the idea that two armed knights could not subdue such a feeble-lookingpiece of human flotsam that the man soon gave up and submitted to their commands.
‘At last,’ Baldwin said. Coroner Richard was already signalling impatiently to the wench serving at the bar, and Baldwin saton a barrel which served as a stool, and studied the creature before him. ‘Now, what manner of man are you, I wonder?’
Robinet had seen them walk into the tavern, and now he saw the beadle and his men leave the place and begin to make theirway back down to Stepecote Street and the house where the dead servant lay. Making a quick decision, he followed them.
Outside the house there was one remaining watchman, a youth of maybe twenty, who stood nervously eyeing the crowd. Newt couldhear him clearly as he called to the beadle, and even when the beadle was at his side, a hand on his arm, trying to calm him,the lad’s voice remained high and loud enough for Newt to hear every word.
‘They’ve been trying to get past me! There’s some want to stone the place and others will have it burned to the ground… they were going to beat me to get me out of the way, if I didn’t do what they wanted. That one there, look! He’s got a stone! Make him put it down!’
Newt smiled to himself at the sound of the lad’s voice. There was enough anxiety in it to make a whining puppy sound bold. He was not sure what was best for him to do. At first he had an inclination to go to the beadle and ask him whatwas happening, but the sound of a foreign voice in the area might make one or two men wonder where he came from and what hewas doing in Exeter. That was the easiest way to have himself taken and questioned he could think of. And he couldn’t affordthat in case people had seen him with James. Perhaps seen them argue — or fight.
No, walking up to a nervous law officer was not a good idea for him just now. Better that he should leave well alone …and yet he wanted to learn if there was anything about the man who lived here that could suggest he could have been guiltyof the murder of James.
His problem was solved when he saw the beadle jerk his thumb at the youth. Nothing loath, the fellow gripped his staff firmlyand eyed the crowd with the truculence of a rabbit before squaring his shoulders and setting off up the hill towards Robinet.
Newt turned and began to walk slowly up the hill, bent over as he went, his frame the very picture of decrepitude and weariness. When he heard the swift-pacing approach, he groaned and let himself sink slowly to his knee in the street.
‘Are you all right, father?’
‘Ach, fellow, it’s my old feet. They give me gip on occasion. Today I’ve been walking from the coast, and my old bones areweary,’ Newt lied, smiling bravely.