‘Hadn’t you heard?’ he asked sharply. ‘They are saying that Athelina’s death wasn’t suicide at all. They think she was murdered.’
She could feel his eyes on her as she returned to the pot and stirred it. After a while she asked: ‘And do they know who did it?’
‘No.’
She nodded, but when she looked up, she could see his face, and knew what he was thinking. He was sure he knew who had killed poor Athelina, she thought to herself sadly.
They both did: Serlo.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Do you think Richer will do something stupid?’ Simon asked Baldwin as they walked away with Sir Jules.
‘He is in no fit state to hurt Serlo,’ Baldwin said. ‘In fact, in his present condition, I would expect the miller to thrash him.’
‘Would you care for some food?’ Sir Jules said.
‘Perhaps later,’ Baldwin said pensively.
‘That means at some time when he realises he hasn’t eaten for a month or more,’ Simon said caustically. ‘For my part, I’d enjoy some cuts of meat with bread.’
‘There is so much to do,’ Baldwin objected. ‘We have to speak to as many people here in the vill as possible, then perhaps go to the castle and question the men there. We should also travel to Temple to interview the priest there, find out what he thinks of Adam.’
‘You don’t believe him?’ Sir Jules asked. His young face was already troubled, but on hearing this his eyebrows shot up almost under his unkempt hair.
‘I don’t disbelieve him yet,’ Baldwin corrected him. ‘But in a situation like this, with a woman murdered, it’s first necessary to hear what people have to say about the matter, and then pass their evidence through the most effective sieve available — the mind. If one man says a thing is so, you trust him until you hear a second say that it is not so; then you ask a third, and see what he says.’
‘And if two men say a thing is so, and the third doesn’t, you assume the latter is the liar, so he’s the killer,’ Sir Jules said dismissively. If this was the sum of intelligence that these two could bring, then they were little more use than himself, he reckoned.
‘No. Then you find others and learn why any of them could have lied, whether they hate each other, so that two were putting the blame on one innocent, or whether all were wrong and were giving evidence based on bigotry or stupidity,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘There is rarely an easy path to the truth with a murder of this type. It is always a matter of balancing facts and using intuition. But one way in which to gain knowledge and base intuition upon fact, is to ask all the people you may about the folk involved.’
‘And then ask more,’ Simon said, adding, ‘but we can plan who we need to speak to over ale and pie.’
‘You are incorrigible, Bailiff,’ Baldwin said, but he chuckled. ‘Let us find our way to the alehouse.’
‘It’s this way,’ Sir Jules said. He was still confused. ‘What would you hope to learn from the priest at Temple, though? The man here appeared honest enough to me.’
‘And to me,’ Baldwin acknowledged. ‘Yet his evidence should be tested, just as Richer’s must be. Why, for example, did Father John evict the girl Julia, who now lives happily with Father Adam? Was it bigotry, or was there another reason? We have to find others in the vill who can vouch for him.’
They had reached a long, low cottage with three unglazed, barred windows open to the road. From inside came the smell of good clean woodsmoke and sour ale. ‘Shall we try our fortune here?’ Baldwin asked tentatively. There was a bush tied to a pole beside the doorway, which proved that there was ale ready to be consumed, but Baldwin couldn’t help but reflect on the semi-poisonous brews he had been sold in the past. With a sigh he recalled the strong wines of Galicia, the sweeter and more refreshing wines of Portugal, and the delicious black olives. They were a delight of which few men or women of England could have dreamed, and he knew that he was now spoiled for ever.
The others had entered, and reluctantly he ducked below the lintel and followed them.
Lady Anne was happy to see her husband return, even though he was late for their usual meal. ‘My love, are you hungry?’
‘I am ravenous.’
She kissed him, then called for the servants to bring the food. Like a good wife, she had not eaten while he was out, and she was glad to see the plates of meat arrive with a loaf ready sliced, the crusts removed by her panter. Nicholas said grace, and then the two set themselves to their task.
Anne herself was voraciously hungry, and it was only after she had taken the edge off her appetite that she could pay attention to her man. It was often the way, she had heard: sickly and repelled by food all morning, then starving and vexed all afternoon. At least her appetite had not been altered by pregnancy. One friend had told her that she desired only bloody pork, eaten raw, while another discovered the delights of charcoal. ‘Charcoal?’ Anne had demanded. ‘You’re joking!’
‘With gravy, of course,’ her friend had replied distantly.
She was tempted to mention this revelation to Nicholas, but something about his demeanour told her that he was in no mood for pleasantries. ‘You are very upset?’
He looked at her and smiled, but his face was quite pale. ‘I am sorry, my love,’ he said, his eyes going to her bump. ‘Are you all right? I don’t want to trouble you.’
‘I am all right,’ she smiled. ‘Please tell me.’
He nodded. ‘It’s Athelina, of course. Her corpse and those of her boys were hauled out for the jury, but as we were proceeding, Keeper Baldwin and Bailiff Puttock suggested that she was herself murdered.’
With a flare of pride, Anne recalled that it was she herself who had pointed out the grazes on the corpse’s throat. ‘Who could have wanted to kill her?’
‘A rapist? Someone who thought she had money to steal?’ he guessed, and then waved a hand in frustration. ‘Who would think that!’
‘What of poor Aumery?’
‘I forgot you were there.’ He studied her face a moment, anxious not to alarm her in her delicate state. ‘It was all Serlo’s fault. The idiot left the children with his sick wife. The family pig got in, and knocked a basinful of boiling pottage over little Ham. The poor lad was dead in an instant.’
‘Oh, poor Muriel!’ She put a hand to her breast to stop her heart’s fluttering, but no matter what she did, she could feel the beat racing. As if in sympathy, her baby gave a convulsive kick. Perhaps he was simply complaining, she thought, and then she felt her mood lighten. By now she was quite certain her child would be a boy. That was wonderful. Her husband would be delighted to know that he had an heir.
But then, looking at him again, she knew that this was the wrong moment to share her pleasure. ‘My love, you are very upset by all this, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Nicholas said heavily, his face still troubled. ‘But talking of Serlo — what did he want with you? I saw him approach you at the inquest. What was that about?’
She smiled at him, but it was some moments before she could trust her voice. ‘Why, nothing, dear. Nothing at all.’
Warin had stood at the back of the inquest, but left long before the arrival of Muriel with the body of Hamelin and the revelation about Athelina’s death. He had other work to do. Behind the churchyard he had left a horse. He went there now, and mounted it.
From the churchyard where the inquest was being held, the road led northwards past the spring called the Holy Well. It joined up with the road to the moors after a while, a long road that opened out after a quarter mile or so, away from the trees and low bushes that lay about the vill itself. Here the land undulated more smoothly, with sprinkles of bright yellow where the gorse flowered. Warin stopped once, staring about him at the view, and then took a deep breath before setting off once more.