Nicholas glanced behind him at the men of his party. ‘Silence, both of you! Richer: be still!’
‘She was a woman who had lost all hope,’ Sir Baldwin said with cold deliberation. ‘A woman who kills her children is one who has learned true despair. She saw no life for them. That was why she slaughtered them before hanging herself. You should pity her, not scorn her.’
Muriel looked at him sharply. She almost expected to see him draw steel, his voice was so harsh. It made her heart go to him, this odd knight, because he obviously felt compassion for poor Athelina. It was rare enough for anyone to feel something for a beggar like her, other than distaste.
‘Sir Knight, I am sure he didn’t mean anything by his words,’ Nicholas said, meanwhile giving his man a look of chilling contempt, ‘although a man may believe that a woman who murders her child must be particularly foul.’
‘I have seen too many real murders to believe that. If a woman has done this, it is because of desperation or lunacy, not innate evil,’ Baldwin said. He stared at the man-at-arms.
‘Do you think that this woman was lunatic?’ Nicholas asked.
‘It is possible. There are some diseases which can affect a person’s mind,’ Baldwin said. ‘You need only think of the rage which affects men after they have been bitten by a dog. It makes a man crave water, but when it is provided, he is driven insane. Perhaps this poor woman had a disease which made her lose her mind.’
‘Some sicknesses are terrible,’ Nicholas agreed thoughtfully. ‘Sir, I have sent a man to fetch the Coroner. Is there anything you observed in there which could be useful?’
‘She has grown stiff already, as have her children, so I should think that she was dead yesterday, or even before that. Perhaps Saturday — perhaps Friday. Only God knows. The smell is repellent, so it is possible that the blood has been upon the walls and floor for some days. Do you know when she was last seen?’
‘No. We can ask, though,’ Nicholas said, glancing at the silent, listening crowd. ‘Has anyone seen Alexander? Where is that Constable?’
The men had all gone, and Gervase saw Lady Anne at the door to the hall. She turned away as soon as she saw his eyes on her, the bitch!
He could have loved her — that was part of his problem. She was adorable. If unattached at that time, he would have tried his luck. Jesus! He would have considered marrying her, if he hadn’t realised that she was stale. That much was obvious as soon as he had seen her reactions to poor Nick. She’d been experienced beyond her years, and Gervase, with a punter’s knowledge of whores, had been able to see it, whereas poor Nick was so infatuated that he couldn’t see it. And it wouldn’t serve to save him. No, he was bound to be made miserable by her.
Christ Jesus — wasn’t Gervase the man to prove it?
When a boy had been sent to fetch the Constable, Nicholas spoke quietly. ‘We’d best set a guard about these bodies until the Coroner arrives. Who actually found them?’
‘Me, sir.’
Muriel saw young Hob step forward. He was a close friend of Ben, Athelina’s oldest son.
‘What were you doing here?’ Sir Baldwin asked in friendly fashion. He appeared to lose the aura of authority which Muriel had detected before, and in its place was a curious youthfulness, as though he was actually nearer to Hob’s own age than his advanced years.
‘Sir, I was trying to get Ben to come with me. I had to go and scare the birds from the gleanings, and I thought he’d like to come too. I didn’t expect …’ The boy faltered. Tears shone in his eyes.
‘No, of course not,’ Sir Baldwin said kindly. ‘Was the door open?’
‘I … yes, I think so. A little. It never closed well.’
‘And you walked straight in?’
‘Well, I called out first. Then I went in.’
‘And saw them?’
‘I only saw her. Didn’t see them.’ He shuddered violently.
‘When did you last see Ben?’
‘Saturday.’
‘Two days ago. That would make sense,’ Baldwin said.
Nicholas was frowning, as was Muriel herself. What did the knight mean by that?
‘Why do you say that?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Because of the way that the bodies are lying. The two boys were killed on their palliasse in the corner. As I said, they died some little while ago. It was dark in there because the shutter is pulled across the window, so I think it could be that this woman killed them at night. That would explain why the two boys died together. She slit their throats when they were asleep. Then she covered them with blankets, horrified with what she had done, and hanged herself, dropping her knife as she died. Both lads were asleep, so neither could give the alarm to the other. She must have planned this. Poor woman.’
‘Poor children, more to the point,’ Nicholas said, and Muriel had to agree with him. She could feel little empathy with a woman who could slaughter her own children like lambs for the pot.
The scene was terrible, and although she would have liked to see the bodies removed, because all men and women must be intrigued by death, yet she was suddenly taken with a feeling of guilt, as though she was intruding. Athelina must have been dreadfully depressed to have committed this grievous crime, and listening to these men speculating on her last moments felt almost blasphemous.
At the mill, when she returned, she told Serlo about the woman’s death.
He was quiet for a few moments as he absorbed her words, but then, when he turned to her, his face twisted petulantly. ‘Bugger! It’ll take an age to clean all the blood away. How are we going to get money in from the place if it stinks like a charnelhouse?’
She was left with the impression, as he walked off, that he had already known of the matter, and she wondered why he hadn’t admitted it. Serlo was not the type to bottle up such things. If he thought that he knew more than another, he would gladly boast about it. Most unlike him, she reckoned, but then she heard Aumie cry, and her maternal instincts took over for a while. It was only later that she returned to the theme. ‘It was terrible, Serlo!’ she told him. ‘Those two poor boys, dead like that! I don’t know what to say!’
‘Then shut up,’ he said unsympathetically. ‘I don’t give a toss for that beggarwoman or her brood. Now what’s for supper?’
She couldn’t ignore his mood. All too often in the past when he had been in this frame of mind, he had beaten her. Rather than risk that, she offered him a thickened pottage with some lamb meat, and left him to his solitary contemplation of the fire, walking out to watch over her children as they played in the yard. She was still there a while later when he came out.
‘I’m going to see my brother,’ he said, and strode off up the road towards the vill and his precious Alexander.
He was a hard devil to please sometimes, that husband of hers.
Lady Anne heard the men return from the vill and, rather than wait for her husband, she walked carefully down the stairs to greet him and learn what had been happening.
He was still in the yard when she reached the top of the staircase outside the hall. Like so many newer castles, this one was built with a view to defence, so the hall was up a flight of stone steps; beneath was a large undercroft for storing foods. From her vantage point, she could see that Nicholas was visibly upset. He had the expression that he usually wore when a dog misbehaved and sprang the game too early, or when a peasant didn’t turn up for his traditional labour days. He carried his head lower, like a bull preparing to charge, and his brows came together above his nose, giving him, so Anne thought, a deliciously aggressive aspect.
Others would quail in his presence when he wore that expression, but not Lady Anne. She knew her man better than that. For her, there was no danger from him. Although he could be as terrifying as an ogre to the men-at-arms about the castle, towards her he was ever a polite and kindly gentleman. Even now, she saw the two new men-at-arms, Richer and Warin, receiving a blunt reproach from Nicholas. Richer, she noted, looked close to answering back. For a moment Anne actually thought he would, but then Warin took his shoulder, and he calmed down. Fortunately, Nicholas hadn’t noticed; he was shouting at a groom for being lazy.