Yes, he had sent the message to warn his neighbour of the risks which he ran. And in the meantime, John had time to sit and contemplate the dangers. Not of his allegiance becoming more commonly known — since that was already a problem, if Warin was telling the truth — no, it was the hideous fact of becoming embroiled in the nation’s politics. That didn’t bear thinking about. Shivering, John wrapped his arms about him and he entered the church to kneel and pray, staring at the cross all the while.
That was what Warin had said, that Sir Henry sought to turn his allegiance from the King. There was no Lancastrian power with authority enough now, but others would soon appear, especially if Roger Mortimer was executed, as was rumoured. Then others would be bound to come forward and Sir Henry wanted the vill’s people readied for the coming wars. It was John’s duty to prepare the way, Warin told him.
He had seen the country at war; he knew what war was like. When the Lords Marcher had laid waste a wide swathe of the country, winding up at London, their armies drinking and whoring the nights away, John had been on pilgrimage to Canterbury. He had seen armies at close range, and had witnessed the depredations. Men argued and slaughtered each other, or threatened others with death if they were stopped in their drunken, thieving progress. He had come across a poor family standing sobbing in a road, because a man-at-arms had ridden down their youngest son — not by accident, but for fun. He galloped off, laughing. John had done what he could, but the boy was dead long before he arrived, and he could only give consolation to the family, not save the lad’s soul. He said prayers for the child, and continued on his way, a sad, more fearful man.
If war was to come here, to Temple, he knew the result. Bodies lying in the roads and fields; homes burning; women raped and slaughtered. In the fields, cattle killed for sport. Not even dogs or cats would escape. His little church would be razed to the ground, the ambry broken open and the church’s most prized possessions taken.
This was what Warin and his father threatened to unleash upon the vill.
They must be mad!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nicholas couldn’t do it. As his fist approached her belly, her sweet eyes closed, tears trembling on the lower lids, he gave a loud bellow of rage and frustration, and sent his fist slamming into the mattress beside her instead.
Spinning around, he made for the stairs. He couldn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t stay and listen to her. She was a whore, just some bitch who would spread her legs for the first man who came along. He would have nothing to do with her.
‘Do you want me to go?’
Her voice, teetering on the brink of despair, halted him. He stood at the top of the stairs, staring down like a man contemplating jumping from a cliff. ‘I don’t know what I want. I want revenge. Someone to pay.’
‘I thought you were dead. I was terrified. I thought I must again become what you detest. I thought I had lost my home, my love, everything. I was desperate, Nick.’
‘What do you mean, you thought I was dead?’
He turned, and now her floodgates opened. She sat outwardly composed, apart from the streams running down either cheek, and he felt his breast sear with sympathy. ‘What can I do? All I wanted was to love you, but you have betrayed me.’
‘Nick, I grew convinced that you were lost to me. Gervase and I … it was consolation I sought, nothing more.’
‘And the reward is another man’s brat!’
‘It could have been yours,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘You are very definite.’
‘I …’ His throat felt as though it was closing. ‘I had a disease sixteen years ago. It was mumps. I can’t father a child. The only child I will ever have is Richer. I had thought — hoped — that God had been generous, had given me a miracle. But it was just the foolish dreams of an old man. I am barren.’
Alexander sat silently as Warin and Richer chatted to Sue. Iwan stood again, sipping at his ale, and as he finished his cup and was about to leave them all, the door slammed open and two more knights walked in: Baldwin and Jules.
Knights! Honourable, chivalric men! They all made Alexander want to puke. These two in particular: one a Coroner, one a Keeper of the King’s Peace, and neither could find out the real killer of his brother or Athelina. Gormless fools!
‘Wine! A jug for us here,’ Baldwin roared as he entered. ‘Now, Sir Jules, I wish to delay the inquest until we have had time to speak to a few more people …’ He caught sight of the group sitting at the farther wall. ‘Good! We have been looking for you. Master Richer, Squire Warin, may we join you?’
‘By all means,’ the squire said easily, and pushed himself away from the table, his bench scraping loudly on the rush-strewn packed-earth floor. He stood as the two knights approached, and moved the table for them, Richer swiftly getting to his feet and helping. When Baldwin and Sir Jules were seated, Richer and Warin returned to their own seats.
‘You are commendably courteous,’ Baldwin said when they were seated.
Sue arrived with wine and a pot of ale for Alexander, who sat glowering darkly as the others spoke.
‘I have been long in my master’s service,’ Warin said.
‘He is Sir Henry?’
‘Of Cardinham, yes. I am his son. I am here to look over the castle with a view to making it secure. When I am done, it may defy any siege.’
‘I did not appreciate you were Sir Henry’s son,’ Sir Jules said. ‘I’d thought you were a mere squire.’
‘Thank you,’ Warin said, but there was no amusement in his voice or on his face.
‘Nicholas did not tell me you were his master’s son,’ Jules said in a rather sulky tone. ‘I’d have thought he could have introduced us.’
‘He was ordered to keep my position secret,’ Warin said. ‘I’m here to assess the security of this place without great fanfare.’
‘So the people at the castle did not recognise you?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I was sent to Sir Reginald of Goddestoun’s household to learn my duties when I was seven years old,’ Warin said. ‘That was long before most of the men came to my father’s manor.’
‘You arrived a little before Athelina’s death,’ Baldwin noted.
‘Yes. It is very sad,’ Warin said with a notable lack of feeling. Richer bowed his head.
‘You do not sound particularly regretful,’ Baldwin said.
‘Should I? I regret the loss of so many of my father’s villeins. Some are valued, such as Alexander’s brother, Serlo. To lose a good miller is a matter of concern. It will be difficult to replace him in a hurry, and we have grain to be milled.’
‘I miss him because he was my brother,’ Alexander burst out.
Iwan sniffed loudly, hawked and spat. ‘Not everyone knew him so well as you, Alex.’
‘Not many wanted to!’
‘What sort of man was he?’ Baldwin asked.
‘A strong, powerful fellow. He had the muscles of a Goliath …’
‘And the brain of a midge,’ Iwan added.
Alexander stared at him. ‘You insult the dead?’
‘Alex, I insulted him alive — why change my habits?’ Iwan asked.
‘We’ve heard that he might have had enemies, Alexander. Can you think of any who would be bold enough to kill him?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Only one,’ Alexander said.
‘Speak!’
It was a relief. At last he could unburden himself of the story he had just worked out. ‘The way he died. It’s unnatural, to murder and then shove his head into a mill. I think that was a message. It was the killer showing that he killed justifiably, not murdering. This was retaliation.’
‘For what?’
‘Killing the apprentice.’
‘We know all about that,’ Sir Jules said. ‘The apprentice slipped and fell into the machine.’