‘But rumours persisted that the boy might have been pushed,’ Alexander said.
‘Why would Serlo do that to the lad?’ Baldwin asked, adding sarcastically, ‘To save the cost of a meal?’
It was Iwan who responded. ‘No, Sir Knight, it was to get back at the man he thought was making his life difficult: the man whose taxes were striking so deeply into his pocket.’
Baldwin was interested now. ‘Who do you mean?’
Iwan sighed. ‘You asked me about the father of the lad. Well, perhaps you should be told. I can say so while Warin is here, because ’tis something his father should know. The dead apprentice? Most reckon he was son to Gervase, the castle’s steward. Gervase’s been here a long while, and he’s had his fun with many of the women, so ’tis said.’
‘Baldwin, did you hear that?’ Sir Jules said. ‘It was Gervase’s boy, this apprentice Dan. Surely that means that Gervase had reason to want to see the instigator of his son’s death die in just such a painful manner — and not only that, he also had good reason to want to punish Serlo for his behaviour in taking tolls. This was simply a means of getting revenge, after all.’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin mused, staring keenly at Iwan. ‘But why did you not tell us this earlier when we asked you? All you said then was that the boy was the son of a rich man. Is Gervase rich?’
It was Warin who responded. ‘Wealthy enough, Sir Knight. He controls much of the business of the manor, and that makes him rich beyond the wildest dreams of many villagers in Cornwall. He sleeps on a mattress on a bed each night, he has a fresh tunic and shirts and robe each year from my father. Yes, I’d say he was very well off.’
‘What would you say, Iwan?’ Baldwin pressed. His eyes hadn’t left the smith’s wrinkled face. The old man stared back at him without apparent fear, but there was something in those eyes, some wariness, like a dog who sees a haunch of fresh meat held out, but wonders whether there’s a stick concealed nearby to thrash it, should it approach too close.
‘I’d say that the father of that boy is responsible for Serlo’s death.’
‘It’s obvious!’ Alexander burst out. ‘Look, my brother is dead, and Iwan’s just confirmed who the killer must have been! Let’s go and-’
‘No!’ Baldwin said, and although his voice wasn’t raised, it cut Alexander short like a whip. ‘There will be no more deaths here which are not sanctioned by the law. If a man is to be accused, he’ll stand before you and declare his guilt or innocence, and he’ll have his opportunity to call witnesses for his defence, just as you’ll have a chance to call your own for the prosecution.’
Baldwin spoke firmly, but he tried to show compassion. It was no surprise that Alexander wanted his brother avenged: the two had been inseparable and now that his younger brother, the brother whom he had always sought to protect, was dead, Alexander’s life, Baldwin thought, was all but over. He couldn’t keep still. Even as Baldwin watched, his fingers were twitching, as though they had minds of their own and wanted to grasp Gervase’s throat and squeeze tightly. The man was twisted like a cable under tension, by his desire to see revenge wrought on his brother’s killer.
‘Come,’ Baldwin added more gently. ‘Better by far that we find the man responsible and make him pay the full penalty. You don’t want the killer to escape, do you?’
‘I want his head for what he did to Serlo.’
‘We understand that,’ Sir Jules said. ‘We’ll see to it.’
‘I want to see him punished! If you don’t take him now, he might escape! What then? The Hue and Cry rarely fetches back a man who escapes into Devon or beyond. What would you do, leave him to run free?’
Baldwin spoke firmly again. ‘Alexander, trust us. We shall find your brother’s killer and bring him to justice.’
‘Justice? Whose justice will that be? Give him to me and let me shove his head into the machinery until his eyes pop. That would be justice! But you won’t let me, will you? My kid brother is going to go unavenged. He’s only a villein, isn’t he? Not a rich servant to a knight,’ Alexander sneered, and he stood and lurched from the room, more than a little drunk, and very peevish.
‘I can understand his feelings,’ Warin said. ‘I have a younger brother. If someone were to harm him, I would let nothing stand in my way. I would personally punish the man and ensure that he felt that his end lasted a lifetime.’
‘But that is not what will happen here while the good Coroner and I are investigating the murder,’ Baldwin said with acid in his tone.
He was about to say more when Roger entered, panting slightly, his face flushed from the exertion of running. ‘Coroner, I think you should come.’
Pausing, he took in the faces staring at him expectantly, and felt a small surge of pride to be the centre of attention for once. ‘Master,’ he continued with a certain hauteur, ‘the priest has just tried to murder me.’
Gervase had left the room shortly after Anne, and he went down to the orchard which he knew she loved so much.
It had been changed so much by her presence. It was like the rest of the castle. Before she arrived, it had been a rough, uncultured place, just like any other outpost far from civilisation, but when Anne came and ensnared their hearts, she had an impact far beyond anything she could have imagined.
Gervase couldn’t have imagined it either. He could not have conceived losing his best friend so swiftly.
Six years ago, before he laid his heart at her feet, Nicholas wouldn’t have dreamed of putting a woman before his comrades. He was a man’s man — hearty, rugged, but honourable. The kind of good companion whom others would follow into battle joyously.
Gervase didn’t know what he could do now. Clearly he couldn’t stay here. He had hoped that Anne would leave with him. Yes, it was a forlorn hope, but he’d imagined that he could persuade her. However, that look of near-loathing on her face as she rushed off after her husband, proved that he had not won her heart. No, she only wanted her man. Nicholas was hers; Gervase was merely an interlude. Or, as she had sneered, he was a source of protection in case Nicholas never returned. The hard bitch! Gervase had honestly believed that she loved him. Shit, he’d been prepared to give up everything for her.
Well, there was no point weeping over it. She was not Gervase’s any more, and never would be. And a secret like theirs would be bound to come out, which would be … painful. Gervase had no doubts that Nick would seek to take his revenge.
He couldn’t punish someone miles away, though. No, and if Gervase left the manor, he wouldn’t have to endure the sight of Nick fondling and kissing the woman they both loved. It would be better that way.
Gervase sniffed and wiped at his eye. This was not how he had expected things to go. No, he’d thought that life was going to resume its even tenor. But now his life was altered for ever. He had certainly burned all his bridges. No Athelina now, no Julia, and certainly no Anne. His women tended not to last long, but he regretted the lack of a woman now. A woman who could soothe his anger and hurt.
Damn her! Her and him! Why hadn’t Nick been killed in the war, like so many others? Then she’d have decided to love Gervase, and the two of them could have been happy. She was bound to love him, had she got to know him better. It was pure misfortune that Nick had won her.
Jealous, bitter and angry, Gervase walked slowly from the orchard to the stables, and called to the nearest hand.
Simon dragged the priest from his church as soon as Roger had gone to seek Baldwin and Coroner Jules, lifting Adam by his belt and depositing him in the yard. He used the priest’s belt to bind him to a small sapling, and then sat back to watch his charge, chewing a blade of grass.
‘Simon, are you all right?’
He looked up into Baldwin’s dark, anxious eyes. ‘Of course I am,’ he said testily. ‘Did you think that streak of piss could hurt me? Now, did you bring a skin of wine like I said?’