‘Well, so I might have done,’ the swineherd admitted, puzzled. ‘I don’t recollect saying anything of the sort, mind you, but if I did, it’s nothing but the truth. Nothing to get worked up about.’
‘Do you recall the whereabouts of that oak tree?’ I demanded, laying an urgent hand on his arm. ‘Think, man! Think! I know it’s a lot to ask, but-’
‘I dare say I could find it again if I had to,’ he replied, freeing himself somewhat peevishly from my grip. ‘You’re right. It is close to where we said goodbye, and that was within fifty yards or so west of the main track to the sea. But why? What’s the purpose of all this?’
‘I’m not certain yet,’ I answered. ‘It’s just that … Well, it’s just that I believe something may be buried there. Are we any distance from your cottage? Do you have a spade that I could borrow?’
‘I might.’ He paused, frowning, reluctant to retrace his steps, but consumed by the curiosity that my words had aroused in him. ‘You’ll have to keep your eye on the pigs, though, while I fetch it. And don’t let ’em stray too deep into the woods, or we’ll never see hide nor hair of them again, dratted creatures! Here,’ he added, ‘you’ll need my stick. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
He was as good as his word, returning with a stout spade after less than ten minutes, plainly relieved to see all three of his charges still within view. He handed me the implement to carry, retrieved his stick and, with words of encouragement to the animals, continued along the track that we were on, myself close at his heels.
He was obviously familiar with all the woodland paths for, within a very short space of time, and after taking a number of extremely narrow, tortuous and occasionally almost nonexistent trails, we emerged on to the main road leading from Modbury to the sea. Some thirty or so yards further on, we turned at a right angle along another track, and I recognised the spot where I had taken leave of my companion earlier in the day. We proceeded a little further in a westerly direction and then, like a small miracle, the largest of the pigs, the one my companion referred to as Jupiter, left the path and trotted off into the trees towards an ancient oak. Here, after only a few seconds, he began snuffling and digging at its base, the other two pigs lending him their assistance in a great state of excitement.
‘What is it?’ the swineherd asked uneasily. ‘What is it they’ve found?’
‘I think,’ I replied cautiously, ‘that it could be a body — or what remains of one after nearly half a year.’
My companion swallowed noisily. ‘Who … Whose body?’ he stammered.
I did not answer at once, except to request him to move the pigs away from the tree if he could. This was no easy task, but he finally managed to drive them off, and while he kept them under his eye, some few yards distant, I peered closer to inspect what had already been uncovered. I could see little at that stage, but there was something there for I could smell the stench of putrefaction, and although it made my flesh creep, I resolutely began to dig with the spade.
The grave was quite shallow as, had I stopped to think about it, I might have expected. It was doubtful if even two women, digging alternately, would have had the strength to make it deeper. A hand, with tatters of flesh still clinging to the bones, was the first thing to emerge, and then an arm, partly concealed by the rags of a disintegrating shirt. I fell to my knees and manually scraped away the final thin blanket of earth and leaves to reveal a now almost fleshless corpse. The shirt had been its shroud, for there was no sign of any other clothing. The women must have stripped Beric nearly naked before putting him in the ground, Berenice probably having reasoned that she would be more likely to be mistaken for her brother if she were wearing the same garments that Beric had had on the previous day.
But it was the corpse’s head, once I had overcome my revulsion that interested me most. The skull on the left-hand side was shattered into fragments, and had obviously received a very heavy blow. I wondered which of the two women had administered it, and with what. Then I noticed some fragments of bark embedded in the wound, and I remembered the broken branch that I had found in the little glade, lying on the ground. Had they intended to kill Beric? Or had it been merely a fortuitous accident? Either way, it had not taken them long to perceive the advantage of his death to themselves.
I realized that the swineherd had approached and was looking over my shoulder. Just at that moment, some maggots crawled out of the undamaged eye-socket and he had to turn aside in a hurry to be sick.
‘God in heaven!’ he exclaimed as soon as he could speak, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘You might have warned me. Who is it, do you know?’
I sat back on my heels. ‘Not for certain, but I believe it to be Beric Gifford.’
‘What? You mean him that murdered his uncle?’
‘Was thought to have done so, yes. But I’m pretty sure now that he was innocent of the crime.’
‘Then who did kill the old man?’
‘His sister and Katherine Glover,’ I answered. ‘Beric was also their victim.’ I added, ‘I think Berenice and Katherine are lovers.’
It took a moment or two for my words to sink in, then a look of horror spread across his weather-beaten features. ‘They could be put to death for that,’ he whispered.
‘A fact of which I suspect they are fully aware,’ I said. ‘I believe Beric discovered their secret and threatened them with exposure. Exposure, if not to the law, at least to Oliver Capstick.’
The swineherd was still looking ill, a fact for which I was grateful as it prevented him from asking too many questions. But the pigs were beginning to show an interest in the corpse, and I had to beg his help in covering it up again. When it was once more decently shrouded in earth, I had another favour to ask him.
‘Will you stay here with your animals and keep guard over the grave? I’m going to Valletort Manor to confront Mistress Berenice with her crimes.’
He agreed, albeit reluctantly, once I had convinced him that I now knew where I was, and that I could find my way to the house without the necessity of a guide.
‘Keep close to the edge of the track,’ I instructed him, ‘and if Sergeant Warren should pass this way in pursuit of Sir Walter Champernowne, whom I believe to be at the manor, you may tell him what you know and invite him to take a look at the body himself.’
‘And if he doesn’t pass this way?’
‘I shall meet up with him eventually and bring him here. Now I have to be off. We must put our trust in God to make all right.’ And I waved my hand in farewell before setting out along the track that led to Valletort Manor.
* * *
As I passed through the little glade, I looked at the tree-tent with new eyes, now that I knew its true purpose. It also occurred to me to wonder why I wished to confront Berenice Gifford and Katherine Glover before first going in search of Sergeant Warren. Was it because I was not absolutely certain that my version of what had happened last spring was the correct one? Or was it because they were women and, heinous as I believed their crimes to be, I wanted to give them a chance of escaping the full rigour of the law? The more I thought about it, the less I was able to decide.
When I reached Valletort Manor, the courtyard was full of those riders, together with their horses, whom I had met on the road from Modbury earlier in the day. The men looked bored and the animals fretful, as they might well be after several hours of enforced inactivity. There was no sign however of the man I believed to be Sir Walter, and I presumed him to be indoors, comforting the bereaved Berenice.
The Champernowne servants looked at me with indifference as I threaded my way amongst them and entered the great hall by the main door. The remains of a meal stood on the table on the dais, but the participants were now gathered together in the middle of the room, seated beside the fire. At least, Sir Walter and Berenice were seated, with Katherine Glover standing behind her mistress’s chair. Sir Walter’s stern countenance had mellowed a little since I had last seen it, and his head was inclined towards Berenice, whose cheeks were becomingly tear-stained, although her eyes, I noticed, were not in the least swollen or red.