‘What did you think?’ he asked the Coroner.
Coroner Roger was pulling his hose off and he grunted, pausing while he considered. ‘Houndestail seems a reliable enough man. I wonder how many others he thinks might have been killed?’
‘An excellent question. And why should they immediately think of cannibals?’ Baldwin wondered from the other side of the fire.
‘Or a curse,’ Simon added.
‘Ridiculous! Only a foreigner would think of such a thing,’ the Coroner said with disdain. He recalled the innkeeper’s words. ‘And if Samson is a rapist, that isn’t the same as a cannibal.’
Stroking Aylmer’s head, Baldwin recalled his horror in the lane. ‘Perhaps there is a popular superstition here.’
The Coroner was pulling rugs and a thick sheepskin over him. He yawned and cast a sour eye at the knight. ‘Oh yes? What are you speculating about now, Baldwin?’
The knight smiled weakly. ‘It is that time of night, is it not, when men should tell tall tales to freeze the blood of others.’
‘Not me!’ Simon declared firmly. ‘All I want is sleep.’
‘What story were you thinking of, Baldwin?’ asked the Coroner, ignoring him.
‘Have you ever heard of William of Newburgh?’
‘No,’ said the Coroner. ‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t want to hear this,’ Simon said determinedly. ‘Shut up and go to sleep.’
‘Was would be more accurate,’ Baldwin said, putting his arms behind his head and staring up at the blackened thatch that comprised the ceiling, ‘for he is long dead now. He wrote a history of England, in which there were stories of ghosts in Buckinghamshire and the north… I think in Yorkshire near the Scottish March.’
‘Do we have to hear this?’ Simon growled.
‘Oh, I merely thought there could be some bearing on the case,’ Baldwin said innocently.
‘I believe you,’ Simon said with heavy irony. ‘After all, it would never occur to you to try to ruin my night’s sleep by telling me of hideous things that I could not possibly imagine on my own, would it?’
‘Oh well, if you don’t wish to know,’ Baldwin said with a certain petulance. ‘I should hate to bore you with a tedious story.’
‘Good. Now will you just go to sleep?’
‘What was this story, Baldwin?’ the Coroner chuckled.
Baldwin sat up and swung his legs down, frowning at the fire. The flames lighted his face with a yellow glow and left his eyes in shadow. Simon thought it made him look solemn – and alarming. His eyes gleamed, and Simon shivered in anticipation. He knew he would regret hearing this, whatever it was.
‘William told of many fantastic things,’ Baldwin said as Aylmer walked to sit at his feet. He stroked the dog’s head as he spoke. ‘There were miracles and wonderful omens. I read his book many years ago, in the last century, and most of the tales have slipped from my mind, but some were so intriguing that they have remained with me.
‘Those which caught my attention most of all were the tales of the men who had died and been buried, but continued to live. There have been many accounts of such things. I remember one story of a man who returned from burying his wife, only to see her dancing with other women at his vill. He caught hold of her, and took her to his bed, and fathered three sons by her. The boys remained, so this story must be held to be true.
‘But there are others, men and women who died, but who were apparently still alive when their graves were opened. These beings would walk about the world at night, victimising an area, killing people and eating them, drinking their blood. William called them by a special name: he called them sanguisuga – vampire.’
Simon growled, ‘I suppose there is a reason for this tale, other than to give me nightmares?’
Baldwin continued, ‘The people who found these strange beings asked the parson what they should do, and in almost all the cases he referred the matter to higher ecclesiastical authorities. They told the people to break open the tomb or grave and place a piece of paper on the breast of the dead man, with instructions to the soul explaining how to find absolution and free their spirits.’
‘Did it work?’ asked Coroner Roger.
‘It was not attempted,’ Baldwin chuckled. ‘Do you really think a vill which suffered from pestilential creatures like that would be so merciful? No. The graves were opened, the poor fellows inside were removed, their hearts were cut out, and they were flung onto pyres.’
‘Why cut out the heart?’ Simon asked, horrified.
‘Otherwise the body would not burn, apparently. William said little about it. In fact, he made practically no comment of any sort; I gained the impression that he thought it not unnatural. Certainly he mentioned that all unpleasantness stopped. The air was cleaner, the noises which had been heard in the night ceased, and dogs which were wont to howl at night suddenly were calm. The burnings were successful, by all accounts.’
Simon stared at him across the fire. ‘You made that up, didn’t you?’
‘No, Simon. I assure you, I got it all from William’s book.’
Simon’s face was bleak. Then he sighed, ‘You miserable poxed bastard. I’ll never bloody sleep now.’
He was right. Simon tossed and turned all night, and it was only in the early morning that he finally dropped off, dreaming of funeral pyres with bloody bodies tied to stakes, and although all had hideous wounds in their chests where their hearts had once beaten, they were all alive and stared at Simon with bitter hatred.
Eventually he was woken by the taverner, whistling cheerfully while he walked about, and crouching at Simon’s side to stir the fire into life. The Bailiff was forced to rasp, ‘Get out, you heathen bugger, or I’ll have the Coroner amerce you for violence to my ears and breaking the King’s Peace!’
The man left with amused unconcern, but by then Simon’s rest was ruined; especially because his hoarse voice and the innkeeper’s whistling had been sufficient to wake the other two.
Edgar had slept at the door to Jeanne and Petronilla’s room to protect them from intruders, but by the time Simon sat up, blearily gazing about him, his mind muzzy from lack of sleep, his belly rumbling and acrid from the mixture of rough wine and thin ale, Edgar was already at Baldwin’s side with a jug of water.
Christ’s bones, the place stank! Simon thought. The odours of vomit and urine made him feel queasy. It was always the trouble with cheaper inns; few tavernkeepers would bother to keep the place clean. At least there were no other people staying here. A big city inn might have real beds to sleep in, but the casual visitor had no choice of bedmate. A man could climb naked between his sheets to find that on one side his companion for the night was a grubby merchant who reeked of fish and whose breath wasn’t cleansed by chewing spices, while on the other was a tanner who stank of ammonia, or worse. Perhaps that was why Houndestail was not unhappy to have lost his bed with Ivo Bel.
He shouted to the tavernkeeper to bring him weak ale, before gradually climbing to his feet, standing and stretching, feeling the cool morning air wash over his bare body. He dragged his cloak about him like a robe, pulling it tight over his chest. Although there was a fine wisping of smoke up in the eaves, the room was brighter than on the previous afternoon because the window in the eastern wall caught the early sun. It made the room appear less foreboding than it had during the night.
He shivered again at the memory of Baldwin’s words. ‘Vampires!’ he muttered. ‘Stuff to scare children!’
Glancing at his friend, Simon saw to his surprise that Baldwin was not yet up. He lay on his bench, idly stroking Aylmer’s head, staring up at the ceiling.