Whenever Simon glanced at his friend, Baldwin’s face was set as solidly as the brass plate on a tomb. Although he maintained an expressionless demeanour, Simon could see the pain in his eyes. It was too clear, and it made him try to think of something to lighten his friend’s mood. But what can soothe a wounded heart? In the end he gave up the struggle and stared ahead glumly, sadly aware of his inability to offer any comfort.
Chapter Twenty-five
They clattered up to the entrance of the house in the early afternoon, halting and dismounting before the front door. Soon hostlers appeared and took their horses while Baldwin tied the dog to a hook by the door. Then they entered. In the hall they found the lady of the house, sitting alone in front of her fire and looking up at them with fear in her eyes.
“Yes?” she said, her voice quavering.
Baldwin stepped forward, but Simon interrupted him quickly and, pushing in front, bowed quickly to the lady. “Madam, we need to speak to your son. Is he here?”
She shot a glance at Baldwin and Edgar, her eyes wide and fearful, before they rested on the bailiff once more. “You want to speak to Stephen again? But why? He told you all he knew the last time you were here, what more do you want of him?”
“I’m sorry, madam, but we need to ask him some questions. Is he here?”
“No… No, he’s in Crediton. He left some time ago. He should be back tomorrow, though, so if you want to come back then.”
“No, I think we’ll wait.”
“But why?”
Simon looked at her sympathetically. He was beginning to feel that all he could do today was try to offer support to those he was bound to upset. Trying to smile, he said as soothingly as he could, “We have to ask him about the death of Agatha Kyteler and Alan Trevellyn. We think that…‘
He paused at the sight of her pale, terrified face in which the eyes appeared to have grown to the size of plums, huge and startling against the pallor of her skin. “Are you all right? Can we get you anything?”
Waving a hand in irritable dismissal of the offer, she held his gaze, and to his sudden distress, he saw a large tear roll down her dried and wrinkled cheek. It was as if he had upset his own mother, and he felt her pain like a band constricting his chest. Yet there was nothing he could do to make it easier for her. If her son was, as he believed, responsible for the two murders, she would live to see her only son die, and in a cruel and degrading manner.
He averted his gaze and settled to wait, but he had only just made himself comfortable in a small chair, while Baldwin and Edgar stood lounging against the screens, when Walter de la Forte came in, closely followed by the thin and perpetually anxious manservant.
It was apparent that he had not seen the knight and his man to his left as he entered, because he immediately strode to the bailiff and stood before him bristling with rage.
“What is this? I understand you’re here to question my son again? What gives you the right to invade my house? You may be an officer, but you’re not an officer here?”
“I am an official. I can…‘
“Not in my house, you can’t. I’ve a good mind to teach you not to molest a man in his own home. I could kill you now, and all my servants would swear that you attacked me and…‘
At the sound of Baldwin clearing his throat from behind, he underwent a sudden transformation. His anger disappeared to be replaced by a kind of cunning sharpness before he risked a quick glance over his shoulder and found Baldwin and Edgar to be close behind him. He slowly turned back to Simon, who did not move or respond, but merely sat and stared up at him with an expression of faint disbelief. When it became apparent that the man was still wondering what he could say, Simon softly spoke. “You just threatened an officer in the presence of two other men of high honour. You will sit and be silent. We shall deal with you later.”
At first it looked like he was going to attempt an attack on Simon. His eyes bulged with his emotion, and his hands clenched, but then the fire died. His shoulders dropping, he looked as though he recognised defeat. Turning away, he stumbled to a bench and sat, his face in his hands.
Looking up at Baldwin, Simon saw that his eyes were on the fire. However, Edgar was aware that the man could be a problem, and when the bailiff gave a quick nod, the servant walked round to take up a position behind the merchant.
On Simon’s cloak there was a twig caught among the threads. Reaching down, he lifted the heavy cloth and studied it. Pulling at the stick, he murmured softly, “It must have been hard, having to be suspicious of your own son. I don’t suppose you really wanted your partner killed so that your son could take over his position. It sets a rather unpleasant precedent to have partnerships dissolved by death. I must admit, though, I don’t understand why he wanted to kill old Agatha Kyteler.” He plucked the twig free and gazed at it ruminatively for a moment before tossing it into the fire.
The older man stared at him for what seemed a long time, then he turned to gaze at the fire, as if debating with himself whether to tell his story or not. After a minute or two, looking up, he said to his wife, “You had better leave us.” She stared at him, and appeared to be about to say something, but then thought the better of it, rose, and swept out.
It was some more minutes before Walter de la Forte began to talk, it was so long ago, we never thought it could hurt us. You don’t worry like that when you’re young, do you? You think you’re immune to any problems caused by your actions. You don’t realise that they can return to haunt you in your later life. In our case, we thought the past was far behind us, but it was lying dormant, waiting until we should be so arrogant as to think ourselves safe. Then it pounced.“
The room was silent apart from the crackling of the logs on the fire, but even they looked subdued, as if the flames too were listening.
“When Alan and I were much younger, when we were beginning our business, we set up as traders from the money we made during the evacuation from Acre. There were no English knights to take over our ship, Alan and I did it ourselves. Our captain had died in the city. He was hit by shrapnel from a catapult’s stone. We took charge of the ship. It was so easy!
“There were people thronging the docks, trying to escape, looking like ants swarming over all the land, streaming on to any old cog or carrack that would carry them. We were careful, we took on board only those who had money or gold. With the wealth in the city we could afford to be choosy. We had no need of furs, so if that was all the people had, they stayed. We took men and women and children. The children were best. They took little space and the mothers were often glad to see them sent away safely.
“There was one couple, a mother with her boy, who tried to persuade us to take them. She was a little older than us, a strong girl, but what a beauty! The boy was only a baby. Well, I was happy enough to take her for the jewels she carried, but Alan took a fancy to her. He was adamant. He wanted her, and that was to be her price for freedom. He always was a randy fool. I think it was because he had never managed to father a child. If it had been me, I would have taken her on board and then raped her, but he always was a fool about that sort of thing. He told her what the price of her passage would be and she refused. And with obvious loathing. So! He refused to take her or her child, no matter what she said. That was that!” He glanced up bleakly.
Sighing, he continued, now holding the bailiffs eyes as he spoke. “Later, another woman came, one who was not the same in looks or in position. She had a young child, and she had money. We let her aboard. How were we to know that she had the son of the first? And we could not tell that the first was the woman of a powerful man in Gascony, the Captal de Beaumont, who had been in Acre to help defend the city.