He swept the stone along the blade of his scythe with smooth, rhythmic strokes, top to bottom, top to bottom … only stopping when he heard the hooves.
‘Master Smith?’
‘I was,’ Iwan said. He had watched this man during the inquest, and rather liked the serious expression in those dark eyes. ‘You’re the knight.’
‘I am Sir Baldwin. This is Coroner Jules and his clerk Roger, and my friend, Bailiff Puttock of Lydford. Smith, do you have a little time to talk with us?’
‘Would I have any choice?’
‘A man of your age does not need to ask a question like that,’ Baldwin smiled.
‘Which means I don’t.’
‘You have the choice. We are not here to interrogate you for no reason, but to ask for your help.’
Iwan eyed him again, then nodded and set his scythe down, sitting beside it. ‘Ask.’
Baldwin had already swung from his mount. Now the others joined him as he hunkered down before the old smith. ‘There was a lad who died in Serlo’s mill. What can you tell us about him?’
‘Dan? He was a good fellow. Son of Matefrid from Temple. Matty, we all called her. Lovely girl — beautiful. Died two years ago when the crops last failed, like so many.’
‘Who was the father?’ Baldwin asked.
‘What makes you think I’d know a thing like that?’ Iwan asked with twinkling eyes. He waited to hear the knight’s response. He was in no hurry, and he was intrigued by Sir Baldwin’s interest.
‘I think a man like the local smith would hear all sorts of stories about the men and women in his area,’ Baldwin smiled.
‘I’m no smith now. Just an old peasant who helps his son with the fields.’
‘Once a man has forged and harnessed fire, I think he can’t lose the skill,’ Baldwin said.
‘There were tales about Dan’s father,’ Iwan nodded after some moments. ‘’Twas said, Matty had her boy sired by a rich stud.’
‘You think it was a knight?’ Jules demanded.
Baldwin held up his hand for silence without taking his eyes from Iwan.
For his part the smith sat relaxed and happy, ignoring the Coroner’s expostulation, a cheerful smile on his weather-beaten face.
Baldwin continued. ‘You don’t think it was a knight, do you?’
‘No. Where is there a knight about here?’
‘But it was a man from the castle?’
Iwan shrugged, but his steady gaze was enough for Simon and Baldwin. They exchanged a sharp glance.
‘There are two other women who’ve had lovers,’ Baldwin said. ‘Athelina had a protector, and Julia at the priest’s house has a child.’
Iwan lifted his brows. ‘Round here there aren’t many men as would take on all that. It’s said one man at the castle likes women, though.’
‘That’s very interesting,’ Simon said. ‘And you say Matefrid died before her son? She died two years ago, and he was crushed in the mill last year?’
‘That’s right.’
‘If his father was alive,’ Roger said slowly, ‘he would surely have borne a strong anger against the man who was responsible for his boy’s death so young.’
‘I would,’ Iwan agreed.
‘Do you say that this man might have killed Serlo for an accident which happened over a year ago?’ the Coroner asked doubtfully.
Baldwin raised his shoulders. ‘It makes as much sense as anything else. What more can you tell us, Iwan Smith?’
‘What more do you expect me to tell?’
‘We would be grateful for your help,’ Baldwin said. ‘Serlo’s murder was no accident. He was slaughtered like a bullock at market.’
‘Ah? Some might say he deserved it.’
‘Some might. Would you?’
Iwan slowly shook his head.
‘What can you tell us?’ Baldwin pressed him gently.
‘When I was younger, Serlo and Richer had a fight or two. Richer was the son of a local man, a bright, clever fellow. By his efforts, they got money for theirsel’s. That was good, but Richer was a bit loud, proud of his sire, like boys will be. He used to bully Serlo and laugh at him because of Serlo’s father, Almeric. Richer’s a year younger than Serlo, but no one could bully Richer, not even Alexander, because he was big enough even then. And then Richer got to want Athelina. Poor child.’
Simon was struck by the way the smile was wiped from the old man’s face. It was like seeing a picture in the sand smoothed away by a wave. In that moment Simon had a feel for the man: so old was he, Iwan must have seen almost all his childhood friends and relations die, and now he was left, the last remnant of a happy tribe. He had his children and grandchildren, it was true, but without a man’s childhood companions, what was he? A mere antique bobbing in the seas of history. And now he was seeing even youngsters die.
‘Why “poor”?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Because she loved Richer back, but he left her here. It was a long while before she found another, Hob, who suited her. When she did, he died too soon, and since then she’s been lonely.’
‘She was murdered too,’ Simon said quietly. ‘Who could have done that?’
‘If I knew that, I’d have killed him by now,’ Iwan stated flatly.
Baldwin said, ‘Tell me about Richer and Serlo.’
‘Richer left because of the way his family were wiped out. One night late in the summer, when the harvest was in and the fellows were enjoying themselves with their women, his house caught fire. When they got there, all those inside were burned. It was Serlo gave the alarm. He tried to save them.’
‘And?’ Simon prompted. ‘You saw something, didn’t you?’
‘No need to hide it now. I wasn’t at the harvest. Before the fire I was down that way, near the house. It was dark: I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a man slip away in among the trees and I thought nothing on it. Later I heard Serlo had called on the rest of the men to come and put out the fire, but they were all drunk and stupid, and took their time.’
‘So you think he may have had a part in the deaths of the atte Brook family?’ Baldwin asked.
‘A friend of mine also thought he saw Serlo hanging round just before the fire started. There weren’t that many men here who are so broad but also so short, you see. Little while later, he saw him running up to the harvest, calling out that there’d been a fire, and everyone ran back. So, he wasn’t there with all the youngsters at the harvest, and he came up to raise the alarm. Sounds like he could have been the one set fire to the place.’
‘We have heard that he hinted at something like that to Richer last night,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps he was taunting him.’
‘If so,’ Simon considered, ‘he succeeded. It looks as though Richer might have killed him.’
Baldwin frowned. ‘And yet why should he have done so in that manner?’
‘What was that, master?’ the old smith asked.
‘Serlo was killed, but then his head was deliberately crushed in the mill-wheel, just as the boy Dan’s had been.’
Iwan stared away down the gently sloping hill towards the vill. ‘So, likely it was the boy’s relation, or friend of his father or mother who killed Serlo?’
‘Or his father himself,’ Simon pointed out. ‘We don’t know who his father was, after all.’
‘Why should Serlo do that to Richer’s family?’ Roger wondered, still harking back to the fire. ‘What could drive a man to such a barbaric act?’
‘Perhaps it was retaliation for some other slight?’ Baldwin said.
Iwan nodded slowly. ‘It was only a little while after Serlo’s father Almeric lost a sheep. It strayed out from his fold and onto the lord’s land, and was forfeit because it ate his crop. That was a bit of a laugh for most of us hereabouts, but Richer, he liked it more’n most. He laughed loudest whenever Serlo was about, and that hurt Serlo. He was always irresponsible, and who knows? He himself might have left the fold open so that the beast could escape. Anyway, Serlo got thrashed, and Richer made fun of him. That could have been enough.’
‘Serlo wanted to make Richer suffer the indignity and ignominy of failure and disaster,’ Baldwin nodded. ‘It is possible.’
‘But how does that measure up with the dead boy and Serlo’s head being crushed?’ Simon demanded. ‘There are too many threads to this tapestry, and none seem to lead to the full picture.’