Baldwin smiled to himself as he passed over the skin. Made from a kid’s entire skin, it had a leather strap sewn to it, which ran from one foreleg to the opposing hindleg. Clearly the possession of the lady of the tavern, Simon looked at it with a dubious eye. It was rather too new, in his opinion, and a skin that fresh would surely colour the wine’s flavour.
He was right. The wine was harsh and strong, but there was a gamey tang to it from the poorly cured skin. Still, he reflected as he opened his mouth and poured in a decent amount, the flavour would probably grow on him.
‘So this is the fool?’ Sir Jules said, glaring at the unconscious priest. ‘He dared attack my clerk?’
‘Yes,’ Roger said. ‘Yet I have absolutely no idea why he should suddenly take it into his head to do so.’
‘We shall ask him presently,’ Baldwin said. ‘Richer — is there a spring nearby, or a brook?’
Richer smiled in response and set off towards the mill. The stream was only a short way beyond Alexander’s house, and he banged on Alexander’s door as he passed.
‘Letitia, I need some water. May I borrow a jug or bucket?’
‘Um … yes, I suppose so,’ she said, distractedly.
Over her shoulder he could see her husband sitting on a stool beside the dead fire, his hands covering his face. Two men from the vill stood at his side and stared back at Richer coldly.
‘They refused,’ Letitia said.
‘Refused what?’
‘Refused to storm the castle and pull out the steward for killing Serlo. None of the vill wants to offend your master.’
Glancing at her, Richer nodded understandingly, and gratefully took the proffered bucket. ‘Thank you.’
‘Just go!’
Later, as he walked past with the freshly filled bucket, he could hear laughing, as though a madman was shrieking with delight — or perhaps more like a demon laughing at the death and destruction all about Richer. That reflection made him hurry his steps towards the men around the priest.
Adam woke to the sting of freezing water, the annoying torrent running down his back, the swirl of moisture in his eyes. Trying to wipe it away, he realised his hands were bound, and he gave a whimper of fear.
His head hurt appallingly. If someone had possessed a poleaxe at that moment, Adam would have welcomed their use of it on him.
‘So then, priest. What would make you decide to launch an unprovoked attack on my clerk?’
The whole scene reappeared gradually before his closed eyes. That messenger, telling him in hushed tones that he had a missive from John, and the feeling of delight mingled with trepidation with which he took the note from his love. Written notes were rare from John, ever since that afternoon when Adam had declared his love for him.
That afternoon would be printed on his memory for ever. They had been down at the river not far from the mill, searching for fish, but neither had anything to show for it. Then Adam had stumbled and tipped headlong into the slow-moving waters. Gasping and blowing, he came back upright, overwhelmed with delight. It was mad, but what a glorious madness! He’d thrown his hands over his scalp, wiped the water from eyes and ears, and then put his head back and roared his pleasure to the world!
‘You, dear friend, are mad!’ John had said from the bank, but he was smiling.
That smile! So calm, but bright with contentment. If he could have kept one picture in his mind for all time and gone blind, it would be that one: John at the side of the river, the sun glinting off the waters, the trees dappled with golden light, and that wonderful, life-enhancing smile on John’s face.
It was then that Adam realised he adored his friend. More, he loved him — and not in a kindly manner, such as men usually would, but totally, unswervingly, with his whole heart. He loved John as another might love a woman.
John helped him from the river, and aided him in removing his clothing, shaking his head and murmuring his irritation, but all the time with that amused smile. And when he was tousling Adam’s head to dry his hair with his tunic, Adam impulsively took hold of John’s face and kissed him on the forehead, nose, and then the mouth.
That was the end of the idyll. John stiffened and pulled away. Nothing was said — there was nothing to say — but from that moment, their relationship altered. John kept away. A double punishment for Adam, who at a stroke lost his love and his friend.
He had chosen to keep his secret and protect John. It might be unrequited, but Adam’s love for John was the most passionate affair of his life. Others might mock or ridicule him, but he didn’t care. He was in love, and that was enough. Like a squire serving a lady who was impossibly out of his reach, so Adam paid compliments to John, no matter how often John rebuffed him. It didn’t matter. Adam’s only fear was that the rural dean might learn of his infatuation and remove him from this place, so that he could never again be near his love …
He tore the seal from the scrap of paper and eagerly read the hurried writing inside. Then, and only then, did his smile fade.
‘Are you all right, Father?’
The messenger’s voice had brought him to himself, and he’d given the lad a coin, sending him off with his thanks.
Then, outside, he saw the agent of his lover’s destruction, and knew what he must do.
The man was only a clerk, when all was said and done. There was no possibility of Adam’s overwhelming the Bailiff as well as Roger, but he fancied he was able to kill at least that one, provided he could get him on his own. Adam tried to recall what happened next. He had beckoned Roger, that was right, and Roger told the Bailiff to wait. The clerk stepped in through the porch, and immediately Adam leaped on him. But his blade went wide, and after a few moments of struggling, all went black. It was peculiar, like falling into a well.
‘Why am I bound like this?’ he asked pathetically.
‘Why did you try to stab this clerk?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I only … I don’t know.’
‘Really?’ Baldwin said. ‘Then we had best read out the note here, hadn’t we?’
Eyes snapping wide, Adam stared at them. ‘No, that’s a secret note!’
‘I am impressed that you can read,’ Roger said scornfully. His head hurt like hell. ‘Most shit-covered arse-for-brains like you can’t scrawl your own names, let alone another man’s.’
Adam was stung to defence. ‘I was well taught; better than most fools whose only task is to record where wounds may lie on a body!’
‘What does the note say?’ Baldwin asked.
‘So you can’t read it?’ Adam sneered. ‘I won’t tell you.’
‘Was it from Father John?’ Baldwin asked mildly. ‘There is surely no one else with whom you communicate up there.’
‘Just do your worst and be damned!’ Adam snapped. They had the evidence in their hands of his offences. It was known by that little bastard clerk, and he must have told all the others.
‘What made you attack me, though?’ Roger asked plaintively. ‘I still don’t know why you jumped upon me!’
Baldwin had spread out the small fragment of paper. It was much creased and wrinkled, because Adam had balled it in his fist before throwing it to the ground, and it bore the stains and marks of many hands, especially the villein who had brought it.
‘This says Beware the clerk to the Coroner,’ Baldwin read out slowly. ‘He knows about my uncle, and you and me. What does that mean?’
‘I won’t say anything. You can do what you want to me, I’ll not speak!’
‘Then you’ll be held in the castle until you see sense or the Bishop comes to collect you, Adam,’ Baldwin said, glancing at the Coroner, who nodded.
It was baffling, though. Baldwin detested unexplained events of this nature, and he eyed the clerk with consternation, wondering if he was mad. Yet although the fellow’s eyes were wild, he was sure that the way that the man held his gaze without shame was a proof of pride, and when he sat back, it was as though he was dismissing the company from him. He looked like a swain defending his woman’s honour.