‘Yes.’
Simon nodded dubiously. ‘The friend of Emma and Joan. I have heard a little about you.’
‘Yeah, well. What of it?’
‘Where were you when the inquest was being held into the death of Aline, the girl found in the wall?’
‘I’m not a villager there. Different parish,’ Serlo said defensively.
‘True. Yet you weren’t up at your warren either,’ Simon noted.
‘How do you know?’
‘I spoke to Joan and Emma after the inquest. They said you weren’t about.’
‘So? I was out on the moors.’
Baldwin said, ‘I recall seeing you on the night before the inquest. You were there, where the body was found, weren’t you?’
‘I was talking to Henry Batyn. He’d been told to guard the body until the Coroner arrived,’ Serlo explained, ‘but none of the lazy buggers in the vill thought of taking him ale or anything, so I gave him some.’
‘I see. Did you know the girl?’
‘Who, Aline?’ Serlo asked. ‘Of course.’
Simon thought that he looked as though he was considering lying, and was instantly on his guard, listening for the subtle changes in tone that would show the Warrener was inventing, but Baldwin, watching his eyes, saw no guile or deceit. Serlo didn’t look away or shuffle his feet, he met Baldwin’s gaze steadily. Baldwin made a beckoning gesture with his fingers, and Serlo shrugged.
‘I knew her as well as any, I suppose. A pretty maid, with a sweet nature to go with her looks. Her father never could see it. Kept telling her she was ugly, poor lass. Slim, she was, and long-bodied. Near as tall as me, I’d guess, with hair like ripened wheat, and eyes as blue as clean water under a clear sky. She used to visit me up at the warren of a day, and chat to me. Lots of the youngsters do.’
Baldwin said, ‘What of Denise?’
‘Poor Peter’s maid? That was a bit before. I think she died in the first year of the famine. She was as lively as a hawk, she was. Auburn hair and dark, dark eyes. Born before our King’s crowning. King Edward took his crown from Edward his father fifteen years ago, didn’t he? I think she must have been ten or eleven when the famine struck.’
Baldwin glanced at Simon. ‘Same age as Aline.’
‘Yes,’ Simon said doubtfully. He didn’t trust men who were so twisted and deformed. Someone in so foul a condition must have done something to deserve it.
Baldwin had known many cripples from his sojourn in Acre, and thought disability to be irrelevant. He had the belief that men’s souls were their own, unaffected by their outward appearance; though he knew some could grow bitter as a result of wounds, there were others who showed a saintly patience. Listening to Serlo, he felt the Warrener was trustworthy, an impression which was validated by Aylmer. Baldwin respected the judgement of his dog, and Aylmer was now leaning against Serlo while the Warrener scratched his flanks.
‘I reckon so,’ Serlo agreed. ‘Everyone thought she’d run away.’
It was odd to be questioned by this tall, grave man. Usually a knight was a source of fear to be avoided, especially one who was a Keeper. Keepers of the King’s Peace were as corrupt as Coroners and Sheriffs; worse, they were often more greedy about getting cash from people because they received no official compensation for their efforts, whereas the others did at least get a salary.
This one looked different. His dark eyes held an inner calmness, like one of the monks at Tavistock, as if he was content with himself and knew his faults – a rare trait among his sort. Most knights thought their strength made them better than other men – the arrogant pricks! – but this one looked as if he was capable of understanding the life of an ordinary churl. He even understood Serlo, if that expression of benign sympathy meant anything.
Serlo was in two minds whether to trust him. Caution was so firmly ingrained in him that it was impossible to throw it from him like a cloak, to be donned or doffed as the mood took him.
When Baldwin next spoke, his question didn’t surprise Serlo. ‘Did you know of other girls who died?’
The Warrener snorted. ‘There are loads of girls about here. And many die.’
‘What do you mean?’ Simon snapped. ‘How do they die?’
‘The same as anywhere else, Bailiff. How do you think? Some get kicked by cattle or horses, some fall into bogs. There are many of those on the moors. One drowned in the Taw last year. Some get run down by accident, and some even get raped and killed, just because they have a beautiful body to a man who’s fired with lust. There are all sorts of ways for a young girl to die.’
‘You know how Denise and Aline died, don’t you?’ Baldwin said.
‘I reckon.’ In his mind’s eye Serlo could see again that broken and mutilated body.
‘So – were there others?’ Baldwin persisted.
‘Some, I think.’
‘By God’s own bones, you’re lying!’ Simon burst out. ‘You mean to tell us that none of the people who visit you gossip? You’ve heard them talking, man! Especially the girls, like Joan and Emma.’
‘What if I have?’
Baldwin set his head on one side. He still wore an expression of sympathy, but now it was mingled with sadness. ‘We have heard that at least one other girl died in a similar way – an orphan called Mary. You are friends with so many of the vill’s girls, and I dare say that others have felt as trusting of you beforehand, haven’t they? Did Denise and Aline drop by the warren when they were bored or worried? Did Mary come to talk things through with an adult who was sympathetic?’
Serlo scowled at him. ‘Are you accusing me? Just because some kids like to visit me, that doesn’t mean that I kill them.’
‘No, but if you are reluctant to talk about children who have died, when they have been along to see you, it puts you under suspicion when the reason for their visit might have been entirely innocent – and when you were innocent too, of course.’
Serlo wasn’t fooled by Sir Baldwin’s suave tone. There was steel in that voice. The knight was angry that a man should have killed these girls. It was there in his eyes. If he thought for a moment that Serlo was truly guilty of the murders, Serlo knew that Sir Baldwin would personally seek him out and decapitate him in vengeance. With that realisation, Serlo felt a shiver pass through him.
He explained, ‘The girls would often come by to see what I was doing. They liked to watch the rabbits and help me kill the animals which came to take them. There was nothing more to it than that.’
‘Denise and Aline used to come by and see you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And in the same way, Joan and Emma have done so more recently?’
‘Yes. They enjoy a chat. I am different from the adults down there in their vill. Always have been. They feel they can trust me.’
‘Why?’
Hearing Simon’s harsh sneer, Serlo faced him. In his eyes Serlo could see the distaste for someone… something which was so damaged and ugly. It was a look Serlo had seen every day for many years. It made the blood rise in the Warrener’s heart, and he felt anger begin to flood his veins.
To his surprise he saw that the knight didn’t wear the same expression. Like a monk, his face held only compassion, as though he knew what it was to be reviled and persecuted. The fury which had been threatening to engulf Serlo receded. His bitterness became sadness, and his voice lost its harshness as he felt his frame sag.
‘You can’t understand, Master Bailiff. You are whole and strong, powerful. When little girls from a peasant’s home look at you, they see a man of authority and strength, tall and imposing. Look at me! I’m only a little taller than a child. Their parents all gaze upon me with horror and loathing, but the children just see another person and they are happy to come and chat to me, because I’m an outsider, and I can talk to them on their own level.’