Christ in Heaven! She had to consider! Quickly!
Serlo had threatened her with exposure, and Athelina had known. That was the plain meaning of his words at the inquest — but he hadn’t had time before the end of the inquest to speak to Nicholas, surely? He’d stood there until his wife’s appearance with his son’s corpse, then he had run in a welter of panic and grief to the alehouse.
No, there had been no opportunity for him to ruin her marriage.
Unless Athelina had already done so, of course. When had Nicholas grown so withdrawn from her? Was it just after hearing of Athelina’s death, or before, when he might have visited the woman and learned about his wife’s infidelity? It was possible. May be Athelina had told him, and he had killed her in a sudden rage. Just as he could have killed Serlo.
‘My God!’ she murmured.
Nicholas was being driven to distraction by something, she knew. She only prayed it wasn’t her and her child. That would be too cruel.
Simon and Baldwin stood in the yard, but when Baldwin caught sight of Ivo loitering, he grunted, ‘Let’s get away from this place. It’s making me choke!’ and led the way to the gate.
Their path took them along the protected corridor that led out to the open air. A waft of breeze brought with it the stench of the shit-bespattered ground under the garderobe at the western edge of the wall, and without speaking, the two walked away from the castle and the foul smell.
Following their feet, the two trailed down the hill towards the vill itself. Here the land was much like Devonshire’s, and Simon felt his heart being drawn eastwards again. He had endured enough travelling, enough death and hardship to last him the rest of his lifetime. The little house which Meg, his wife, had made so welcoming was never so appealing as now. He hoped his family were well. Praying for them was one thing, but there was no guarantee that God would protect them. Christ’s bones, but he missed them!
At the bottom of the little hill were more trees. A charcoal-burner was camping there, and a stack of wood smouldered merrily under its covering of wet sacks. They walked on past and down to the small stream that chuckled its way northwards. Even the sound made Simon homesick: the stream was a tiny version of the water that thundered in the gorge at Lydford.
‘I can make little of this,’ he said, sitting on a fallen trunk. ‘The folk here seem unsettled by the murders. There is much bubbling away below the surface.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘There is much going on: Athelina’s murder with her children, the priest’s tale, Danny’s death, crushed in the mill, and Serlo’s killing made to look like his. And now Nicholas’s story.’
‘An odd little story, that. He wanted us to help protect his son, but there seemed something else in his manner. Does he think his son is guilty? How can that be? The first death was Danny’s, which happened long before Richer arrived.’
‘Not quite true, Simon. The first deaths were Richer’s supposed family. It was their deaths which made him leave the vill, and now he’s returned the killings have started again.’
‘Iwan seemed to think Serlo killed them … many must believe he also got rid of Athelina and her children too because she couldn’t pay her rent. Someone then retaliated and killed him.’
‘So the connection is revenge. Perhaps it was Richer,’ Baldwin mused.
‘And perhaps there is no connection whatever. The fire at Richer’s home was fifteen years ago. It stretches my credulity.’
‘A man who lost his whole family would demand revenge,’ Baldwin said.
‘Surely he would have sought it before?’ Simon grunted. ‘God’s teeth, Baldwin. There is an unwholesome atmosphere here. I shall be glad to get back home again.’
‘A family perhaps murdered in an arson attack fifteen years ago; an apprentice killed by accident, perhaps: a woman murdered and her children slaughtered, definitely; and now a man killed and his body planted in the machine like the apprentice.’
‘You forgot Serlo’s boy.’
‘I cannot believe that young Ham was a part of this,’ Baldwin said. ‘The lad’s mother surely wouldn’t have killed him. No, that was definitely an accident.’
‘The people here thought that the apprentice was, too,’ Simon pointed out.
‘True enough.’
‘So if that’s the case, the killer of Serlo was merely saying that he was a lousy master.’
Baldwin frowned at the ground by his boot. ‘Or that he didn’t take enough care of his charge. Surely the most sensible explanation would be that the father of the apprentice considered Serlo too careless and decided to punish him.’
‘If only we knew who the father was,’ Simon said.
‘The priest at Temple said it was a man from the castle,’ Baldwin said.
‘Who do you mean?’ Simon asked, turning to him. ‘Nicholas, the castellan?’
‘He controls this castle and vill in the name of his lord; he has powers through his men-at-arms, and all would fear him if they lived within the reach of his arms,’ Baldwin said. ‘I should think that he would make an excellent suspect.’
‘No. The man is honest, I am sure. There are others, though: I still want to know more about Squire Warin. That fellow seems less than entirely open.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘And he’s not in the castle. So let’s see if we can find him.’
‘Where are you thinking of looking?’ Simon asked, reluctantly rising to his feet.
‘There are few enough places in this vill to rest,’ Baldwin said determinedly, rising to his feet.
The Lady Anne couldn’t bear to see Nicholas, not now, while he looked so desperate. Instead, she went out to her orchard and little garden, seeking peace and tranquillity in solitude.
The orchard had been here for many years, a small space set aside for apples and some pears, but when Anne first arrived it had been terribly overgrown and ill-kempt. No one had pruned the trees in years, and the farther side of the orchard, which had originally been planted with cider apples, was filled with fallen boughs. Anne had set to with a will, having the dead trees cleared and setting out a number of low turf banks which could be used as benches in fine weather. It was to one of these that she walked now, sitting and staring back along the valley to the west.
‘I thought I might find you here.’
She did not turn to face him. ‘Gervase, I wanted some peace.’
‘I think we need to talk, my love. There is much to discuss.’
‘We lay together, Gervase. That is all. There is nothing to talk about.’
‘And what if your child is born early? So early that even Nicholas realises it isn’t his?’
That was her fear. To have been cuckolded might break his heart. ‘I wish …’
‘What?’ he pressed. ‘That you’d agreed to accept me before you took the older man’s hand?’
She gazed at him stonily. ‘I love my husband, Gervase. Don’t deceive yourself.’
‘I loved him myself,’ he said earnestly. ‘I still do, a little. But I adore you, my love. You should have taken me when we first met.’
‘You had enough women. No doubt you still have.’
‘No! Even Julia cannot tempt me. I won’t have anything to do with her — I haven’t seen her in months.’
‘Athelina was still coming to the castle until recently.’
‘She was trying to persuade me to give her money. I wouldn’t, though.’
Anne looked up at him. His face was filled with a strange mixture of dread and yearning, as though he feared what she might say or do. ‘Did she go to you and threaten us? Did she tell you she’d seen us lying together that day in the meadow?’
He waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes. She said that, but it meant nothing. I told her I’d kill her if anything got out about it, and that was all.’
‘She did see us, so Serlo told me the truth,’ Anne said with a blank stare at the distance.
‘Anne, why don’t we run away from here? I can protect you! All we need is a small cottage somewhere away from Sir Henry’s lands, and we can live decently enough. Perhaps I could find a new position as steward somewhere, and we …’