‘Someone got in there and killed the boys first. Otherwise, one boy or both would have gone in, seen their mother hanging, and raised the alarm. If he killed the boys first, he could take them together, knock them on the head, and no noise. When she arrived, they were hidden.’
‘Perhaps. So what?’ Richer said.
‘They knew him. Why else would they let him inside without fear?’
Alexander slowly lifted his head until his eyes were on Susan, and then he felt the slow thrill of understanding as she spoke.
‘It can only have been someone they knew really well. Their mother’s lover, perhaps. Especially if he was also an important official — someone from the castle.’
Alexander released his breath with the relief of finding the explanation: yes, one man could have killed Serlo to punish him for the death of his son, Danny. The same man could have killed Athelina to stop her demanding money. And Alexander knew who had the greatest reputation for womanising, who was the only man who could have wanted Athelina dead as well as Serlo: Gervase, the man who was seen making love with Lady Anne.
Sir Jules marched from the church with a feeling of failure. He had his duty, and he intended to perform it. Here in this vill was a murderer — a mass murderer, no less — and he would have the man arrested and amerced as soon as he could. Yes, he knew his duty, but he wasn’t sure how he might execute it.
Christ Jesus, but there were a lot of men at the castle! He stopped as the thought came back to him. It was like a small tide washing over him, submerging his best intentions in a miasma of fear. To go against a man who had so many men-at-arms to defend him was madness itself!
‘Sir Jules, are you truly thinking of going up there and accusing Nicholas to his face?’
‘Hmm? Well yes, I suppose so, Roger.’
The clerk squinted at the sun, which was swiftly sinking towards the far hills. ‘Then may I take my leave of you here? I shall return to the church and demand sanctuary from the priest. Or perhaps I should walk to Temple. That might be safer. There is safety in distance, I believe.’
‘What? You must come with me to record my conversation.’
‘You think so? I don’t. No, I think I should avoid contact with you while you are set on the course of self-destruction,’ Roger said with equanimity.
Sir Jules’s jaw dropped. ‘You are my clerk,’ he managed after some moments.
‘That’s no reason for you to expect me to commit suicide with you! Dear God in Heaven! If you go there, and you are right and this man did commit these murders, he will kill you himself in his own defence, so that his accuser is no more. If he were innocent, I would expect him to whip your head off in a trice for being so gullible as to believe him guilty! Or to demand that any one of the six or seven squires he has in the castle do so for him. Many of them would be loyal enough for that little task, I should think. They all seem to respect and like him.’
‘He has been accused. I am the Coroner, and I must-’
‘The accuser was a child, Coroner. A small one, at that. You don’t have to follow up the uncorroborated word of a minor.’
‘He spoke with great conviction. I have a son, I know how they behave. That child made a convincing witness.’
‘Perhaps so, but that won’t keep your head on your shoulders, will it?’
‘It would be the right thing to do.’
‘So would many duties that are routinely left undone,’ the clerk commented imperturbably. ‘That doesn’t change the fact that you’d be running the risk of death if you were to go ahead.’
‘What would you have me do? Forget the allegation? Leave here and declare I could find no guilty party? Or would you prefer me to find another suitable culprit and take money from Nicholas in order to guarantee his continued freedom and supposed innocence?’ Sir Jules demanded witheringly.
‘Good God, Sir Knight, when did you stop thinking? You have a good intelligence, I am sure. Use it! Return to your original intention. Now you have a suspect, make use of your powers as a Coroner. Hold your inquests and demand answers from all whom you make attend. That way we may yet win through to an answer.’
‘And if we don’t?’
‘If we don’t, we fine the whole vill and go on to find our next body. That is our duty,’ Roger said tersely.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nicholas and Gervase, unaware of the ropes that were gradually being woven about their individual throats, were sitting together. They had completed their work when Anne walked into the room, and at once both men shot to their feet.
His wife smiled at Nick and he felt the warm flood of adoration flow through his heart once again. A look from her could make him so happy. He truly felt blessed with good fortune to have married her.
His sole regret was that he would not be here to look after her for very much longer. The pains in his fingers and hips were growing more serious with every passing year, and his back could be agony on occasion, as were the wounds which he had won in a lifetime’s service to his master. There was always the knowledge that he had outlived most of his friends and even some of their sons. He was old; he knew that.
Whereas she was a fragrant, lovely young woman, succulent as a ripening grape. Just to see her was to love her anew.
She walked in like a youthful princess, taking her seat at the bench nearest the hearth, holding out her hands to the flames. For the last few days she’d said that her hands and feet were feeling a little cold, and that her feet were swelling. It had worried him enough to speak to the vill’s midwife, but she reckoned that Anne was fine. She had even said that Anne appeared to be a little further on than she’d have expected, and suggested that the conception had taken place earlier than Nicholas and she had said, but he had to laugh at that.
Earlier? How could that be, since the child was the celebration of his return. After the last wars, Nicholas had remained with Sir Henry in his host rather longer than he’d expected, and when he returned, Anne had demonstrated how greatly she had missed him. She took not a moment’s delay in pulling him up to their chamber.
And it was a miracle that this time his seed had fulfilled its destiny. They had tried to produce a child so often over the last six years that he had all but given up hope, but now, God be praised, his wife was proof that patience would be rewarded. Soon she would give him the son he so greatly desired.
He rose from the table and went to pour himself a little wine. Richer was still special to him, the bastard born of the luscious woman he had desired in his youth, but that was different from the feelings he had for Anne. She had sought him out and adored him as much as he did her.
Raising his mazer, he turned to toast her, and it was then that he caught sight of the steward’s face.
Gervase was staring at Anne with an expression of longing so plain, he reminded Nicholas of a hunting dog he had once known, penned near a bitch on heat. The sudden memory of that scene was so comical, he chuckled to himself.
‘Your expression, you know what that reminded me of?’ he said, and explained. In the moment after he finished, he saw his wife flush, then go pale, and he saw the sharp glance she threw at Gervase.
The man, he realised, as a fist clenched about his heart, whom he had always thought of as his friend.
Sir Jules looked greatly annoyed, Baldwin thought as he and Simon approached Roger and the Coroner at the grassy bank near the church.
‘I am decided. I shall continue with my inquest as soon as I possibly can.’
Roger looked at Baldwin with an innocent expression that the knight found entirely unconvincing.
‘What is the reason for your decision, Coroner?’ he asked, and then his face lengthened as he heard the man’s reply. As Sir Jules came to the end of his tale, Baldwin glanced at Simon. ‘This is interesting, Coroner,’ he said, and explained what Father John had told them after Jules had left. ‘Perhaps this confirms what the priest said — that Gervase has had many women, including Athelina, then Julia, but that he’s recently thrown her over. I’ve heard from others that he might have a new lover.’