From an early age Richer had been enslaved by Athelina’s beauty. A child’s view of marriage was different to the reality of hot, sweating bodies moving to create a new life, but Richer had always been sure that he would have her. He knew that he loved her. And that night, he almost won her.
The evening had drawn in and the sky was purpling. As the swooping swallows and martins ceased their loud screechings and the bats began to dart as darkness deepened, Richer lay on his back on the bed of straw he had made for himself, and kissed Athelina. Their passion excited by hard work and copious quantities of cider, they were soon engaged in the pursuit of their pleasures, when they heard a scream and a cry for help.
‘Ignore it,’ Richer had said as distinctly as he could while his mouth was welded to Athelina’s, but she pushed him away. Forced to pause, while the blood yet boiled in his veins, Richer heard the cries calling all to join in putting out the blaze. Over his protests that they could be little aid after all the drink they had consumed, Richer found that he and Athelina were soon joining the crowd heading back towards the vill. He could still remember the ferocious face of Serlo at the rear of the group, sneering at Athelina for disappearing with Richer. ‘You should have come with me, wench. I’d have given you something to gag on!’
‘Leave her alone,’ Richer grated, but then his attention was drawn away as he saw the towering column of flames in front of him. It was very close to his parents’ house, he thought with dread, and he wondered which of the nearby homes it could be. Through the trees it was hard to gauge, but as they drew ever nearer, he saw that it was …
In his mind there was a blankness, a stolid refusal to believe what his eyes told him. He preferred to think that it was the woods behind the house which were alight; his family should gather up all their belongings as soon as they could, and try to escape, he thought frantically; then he pretended that it was a fire in the small barn his father had built a few yards from the house, and that it would soon burn out; then the log store on the side. Someone should find a grapnel and tug the logs away so that their flames couldn’t hurt the thatch …
Even now, after so many years, he could recall the horror he felt as the enormity of the disaster hit him. His father was in there, so was his mother, Avice, his brothers, his beloved sister … and the family home was an inferno. Flames thrust up through the thatch like daggers of gold and crimson; thick, greasy smoke coiled and spread high overhead like a cloud belched from Hell.
Richer stood back, appalled, and then cried once for his mother. He was about to dart forwards, when strong hands grabbed him. It was Iwan, the smith, who held him back, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘You’d never make it, lad. No. You can’t go.’
He had tried, he’d clenched a fist and swung it, but Iwan was faster, and caught the fist in his palm. He gripped his fingers tight, in a hand that used a three-pound hammer for hour after hour every day, and there was nothing Richer could do. He wept as he watched his home burn; he continued weeping as the roof caved in with an almighty gust of hot air like the Devil’s exhalation; he wept as the walls fell in, as the sparks were flung higher, as the timbers glowed pale in the night air, and he continued weeping long after.
They found the bodies three days later. It took that long for the fires to cool sufficiently. His parents’ skulls were easily discernible, although those of his brothers were difficult to find. His sister was reduced to two hipbones and her jaw. All other sign of her had been crushed or burned away. It was only a few days afterwards that the first of his migraines had begun.
‘Master, we met last night at the castle.’
The strong voice brought him back to the present with a jerk. He squinted up. ‘Who is that?’
‘I am Sir Baldwin of Furnshill. This is the Coroner, Sir Jules of Fowey, and my companion Simon Puttock.’
‘Sir Knight, I have a dreadful ache in my skull — it is hard to see anyone or anything today.’
‘Friend, I know others who suffer from the same sick headaches. You have my sympathy. Tell me, do you know this area well? You said you were born here, but have been away many years.’
‘I can recall it all tolerably well. I’ve been back a few weeks now.’
‘You knew this Athelina?’ Jules asked.
‘She was my first love,’ Richer said sadly. ‘But I left this place fifteen years ago, and only returned this summer.’
‘You were a free man?’ Baldwin said.
‘No. But I lived free in Exeter and then London, and I’ve returned a free man.’
Baldwin nodded. That was the law. If a peasant could run away and find himself a job for a year and a day, he was considered free from then on. ‘You were a man-at-arms?’
‘Yes. I have fought with the King’s host.’
‘Under whose banner?’
‘My lord Sir Henry of Cardinham’s. He took me on when I told him who I was.’
Simon frowned in surprise. ‘It’s not usual for a lord to take on his own runaway peasant as a man-at-arms, is it?’
‘Perhaps not all lords would have done so, but Sir Henry is a fair man. He took me, and now I live in the castle.’
‘This woman Athelina — do you know of anyone who had cause to wish her harm?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘We believe that her suicide may have been faked. It’s possible that she was murdered, and her children too,’ Baldwin explained.
Richer squeezed his eyes tight shut as another wave of pain forced its way through his head. ‘That’s impossible. No one could have held so much hatred for her!’
‘Yet you have not known her for fifteen years,’ Baldwin pointed out. ‘A woman can change a great deal in that time. She gained children, she wedded and lost a husband. Perhaps she won an enemy.’
‘I refuse to believe it.’ Richer’s voice was hoarse. ‘She was a kind girl, generous-hearted and warm. No one could have wished to kill her. I still find it hard to believe that she is dead, let alone murdered. Dear God — who could do such a thing?’
‘I am afraid there is no doubt,’ Baldwin said gently. ‘There were marks upon her neck which show that she was murdered.’ He stopped because the man-at-arms before him suddenly dropped his head into both hands.
Richer pressed hard with his palms against his temples. Athelina murdered! It was impossible! She had done no harm to anyone in all her life … He had doubted from the first moment that she could have killed her children, though. It simply didn’t ring true. A despair terrible enough to kill herself was possible, but not to kill those whom she adored the most. Never.
‘I knew her well. I wanted to marry her, but there was a fire at my parents’ home and my family was burned to death. I left soon after. When I returned here after many years of wandering, it was like becoming young again just to see her smile at me. She was my first love, and I don’t think I ever lost my adoration for her.’
Baldwin smiled understandingly. ‘It can be difficult to meet again with an old lover. Sometimes they can wish to renew a former relationship.’
‘She didn’t,’ Richer said sadly, but then he stared up at the serious-faced knight. ‘You mean, did I want to jump upon her at once and she refused me, so I killed her! If you believe that, you are a cretin, Sir Knight.’
‘Not many men speak thus to a knight,’ Sir Jules growled, his face hardening.
‘I doubt whether you accuse many men of murder and rape in the same breath,’ Richer replied equally harshly. ‘If you don’t wish to make enemies, you should pick your words more cautiously.’