Glancing across to Baldwin as they rode in through the main gate, he saw the same easy smile on the knight’s face. He too was missing his wife, the Lady Jeanne, and the chagrin he would feel at failing to complete this investigation must be leavened with the knowledge that he would see his lady that little bit sooner.
Aye, Simon thought, it was good to have a wife.
And then that niggling sensation returned to him. A feeling that he was being less than honest to himself and to his wife, let alone to the memory of the dead women and their children. He was not concerned about Serlo, for the miller had been a brutish man, prepared to use violence against anyone smaller or weaker than him. Although the priest John had implied he might have been different, no one else thought much of Serlo. The miller seemed to have shrugged off the death of his apprentice, but had harped on about the cost of it — the fines and expenses he must suffer. John could argue that Serlo was misunderstood, but as far as Simon was concerned, Serlo was a nasty piece of work who was no loss to anyone. It didn’t matter if his killer wasn’t found.
Yet Serlo had been murdered. His death was a crime.
Surely Simon could forget this case and return to Lydford. It was what his wife deserved.
But Meg, were he to die, murdered, would at least expect someone to try to find the murderer. If a man were to kill Simon’s son, he would like to think that someone would be prepared to seek the killer, even if that son were a brute. It would be intolerable to think that he would go unrevenged, that no one would seek to impose justice of some sort.
With a grunt of irritation, he realised that he could not give up the matter just yet. He must persevere, do all he could to learn what had really happened here, and even if he discovered who had killed Athelina, he must also try to find Serlo’s killer.
Simon could not flee homewards yet.
John cleaned himself again at the trough, and busied himself about his little church to keep his mind from less pleasant thoughts.
He might have to leave this place. If the truth was to be released about his support of Earl Thomas’s family, there was no escape, and John didn’t trust that clerk, Roger. He rarely trusted any clerks, but the man with the Coroner seemed to have no sympathy. John would be better — safer — in a convent. Whether or not Sir Henry sought to have him removed was irrelevant: the fact was, the King could make life here impossible for him. He’d ensure that another man was put in; a friend of his own, or of the Despensers, would find themselves enriched.
How had news of his loyalty been spread? he wondered again. Could Adam have said something to Roger? No. But if the clerk had learned of John’s secret, could he not also have learned of Adam’s?
John had little cause to love Adam, and yet the fellow didn’t deserve the fate reserved for men like him, inside or outside the Church. Perhaps John should give him some sort of a warning? Tell him to beware?
The march to the alehouse felt longer than usual to Warin. Usually, his boots and sword were enough of a proof of his authority, and people moved out of his path, averting their eyes in case they might give him offence, but here, today, there was an air of rebellion.
It was just as he had feared! The folk all thought the murderer was someone from the castle. Worse, they remembered the enmity between Richer and Serlo. Richer was the man who had loved Athelina, but who had lost her; he was the one who had threatened Serlo over his tolls, who had threatened to get the man ruined. Now that Serlo was dead, it was scarcely surprising that people thought he must be guilty. God’s teeth, even Warin thought him the obvious suspect!
Richer could survive the accusations. If he could stand his ground and absorb the verbal attacks of Alexander, he could stay on at Warin’s side, but if he failed, Warin would find a new man-at-arms. Alexander might try to have Richer taken and held in a gaol, but he would never risk offending Warin. A Constable didn’t pick fights with a squire, when all was said and done. No, Warin and Richer together should be able to defend themselves against a few malcontents. It should be all right.
But the atmosphere as he approached the vill was grim. Suddenly Warin wasn’t sure that he had chosen the most sensible path. It was only a few years ago in Courtrai that a bunch of peasants had taken on a French army and destroyed it, killing hundreds of knights and taking their golden spurs to hang in their churches. English peasants weren’t so bold as that, nor so competent, Warin told himself. But as he walked, his hand remained on his belt, near his sword, and when he saw a farmer spit in his direction, that hand began to shake a little.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ivo watched them arrive back at the castle with a sense of mild disappointment. He had been hoping to get away from here before they returned, but that looked impossible now. Still, being an optimist, he felt sure he’d soon be able to nip down to the vill and see Julia.
So far he’d been quite lucky, hanging around in the vill at every opportunity since he’d first met Julia. He had discovered her route to the Holy Well where she filled her buckets every day, and had carried them for her, and she’d rewarded him after the inquest with a tussle and grope in her room. He was hoping that another trip to town might produce better results. Country wenches were sometimes all for it, but a few like this one needed nurturing, he reckoned. Hey, that was part of the fun though, the thrill of the chase. It was less exciting when the draggle-tail agreed immediately.
He ran out from the stable where he had been loitering, and took hold of Baldwin’s reins while the knight dismounted. ‘Sir? Did you have any joy?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Baldwin growled. ‘Have you no duties to attend to?’
‘I think everyone is waiting to hear what is happening. A fresh messenger has just gone up to see the castellan. How was Temple? Did you learn much?’
‘A little, maybe,’ Baldwin said tersely. He nodded to the Coroner and Roger, who walked their mounts straight to the stables, not wishing to discuss the matter with a mere hobbledehoy like Ivo. He was completely beneath Jules’s dignity, of course. For his part, Baldwin could easily comprehend his feelings.
Ivo recalled something. ‘Maybe you should ask Squire Warin, the friend of Richer, if he saw anything. I saw him going up towards Temple last evening while you were at the inquest.’
‘Squire Warin,’ Simon mused. ‘Richer’s companion. Have you heard anything about him? He isn’t a local man, from his accent.’
Ivo shook his head as he stroked Baldwin’s horse. ‘No. He’s a man-at-arms who came back here with Richer a short while ago. No one here seems to know much about him. Regular mystery, he is.’
‘A close friend of Richer?’ Simon wondered.
‘Seems close enough …’ Ivo said, but added, ‘for a man who’s Richer’s master. That Richer’s just a mounted warrior, when all’s said and done. They’ve been through some things together, though.’
‘Why should you say that?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Just looking at them, you can tell. They mix with others when they want, but not too often, and more often they’ll stay together talking low, away from anyone as might listen. They seem to trust each other, though. Warin often seems wary of others, but he’ll go to talk to Richer; Richer looks to Warin when he feels threatened, too.’
‘You’ve seen him threatened?’ Baldwin asked.
‘When you were with him this morning,’ Ivo said. ‘Soon as you were gone, he went to the bar for a whet, but when he came out, he saw Warin and the two of them went into a little huddle to discuss things. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them do that.’
Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. Simon was interested in what the lad had said, but he could see Baldwin was reluctant to discuss matters in front of Ivo. He hadn’t got over his initial revulsion during the ride here. In case Baldwin was going to forget the information, Simon said, ‘We’ve heard from the priest at Temple that the maid, Julia, has taken up with the man who was supporting Athelina.’