Warin was staring at the priest with a disapproving expression on his face, but without condemnation. ‘I think I know what the note means. I should welcome an opportunity to speak with Adam alone.’
‘You can do so when we have returned to the castle, then,’ Sir Jules said. ‘For my part, I should welcome a rest in front of a fire with a good pitcher of wine in my fist. This matter is finally resolving itself. Sir Baldwin, it’s late today, but I shall hold my inquest tomorrow. Perhaps then I can return to Bodmin,’ he added hopefully.
However, that hope was soon dashed. As they walked towards the castle, Ivo met them near Father Adam’s house. ‘Sir Baldwin?’
‘What?’ he grunted tiredly.
‘I thought you ought to know that the steward has taken a horse and fled the place.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
There was no doubt of the rage felt by Nicholas when he learned that Gervase had fled. His escape from what Nicholas saw as justice was humiliating. It was only after he had spoken to his wife at some length that he had tried to find the man, but by then there was little to be done. Gervase could be many leagues away.
‘I’ll find him,’ Nicholas swore.
‘I hope so,’ Coroner Jules responded. ‘You must raise the Hue and Cry after him. He is a suspect in these murders, after all.’
It was Baldwin who urged a little more calmness, saying they should wait until the following morning before attempting to follow him. ‘He is not a practised horseman, and he will not travel far at night in any case. Better to save ourselves the risk of more broken bones by following him now, when we may take entirely the wrong path. Let us rest well tonight in a warm hall, and chase after him tomorrow, when he’ll have spent a miserable, cold night on the ground, or better, have had no sleep at all.’
‘I prefer to follow him now,’ Nicholas said.
Warin glanced at Baldwin, and nodded. It was his agreement which carried the rest of the men, and all were commanded to be ready at first light. In the meantime Nicholas ordered their meals to be readied so that all would sleep well.
While he marched away to the kitchens, Warin smiled at Baldwin enigmatically.
‘Sir Baldwin, would you speak with me?’ Warin said in a low voice. ‘I would like to consult you on a grave matter.’
They had eaten well, and the hall was growing quieter as men nodded drowsily, basking in the comfortable warmth that only hard work followed by a fire and filled belly can induce.
Beside him, Simon was already asleep, his head resting against the wall, arms crossed over his breast, mouth slack and drooping, making him look rather like a bewildered mastiff. Baldwin himself had not been able to relax. The thought of the murders was preying upon his mind, and he was concerned that the following day’s inquest could well lead to bloodshed. Alexander’s hatred of the men of the castle who might have caused his brother’s death made him fear the worst. ‘Please do so,’ he said as the two left the hall and stood on the small platform at the top of the stairs.
In the open air, Warin seemed to take some time to collect his thoughts. Then he gave the knight a long, serious stare. ‘Sir Baldwin, war is again going to rend our country. You have heard of Mortimer’s escape?’
‘Yes. The whole land is discussing it, either more or less openly,’ Baldwin said suspiciously.
‘A prudent lord will always listen to his people and see what they believe, where their loyalties lie. You would agree?’
‘A prudent lord will ensure that his people are fully aware of his loyalty to the Crown above all else,’ Baldwin said firmly.
His hackles were rising — or maybe it was alarm that stimulated the hairs at the back of his neck. He had a hatred of politics and politicians: he doubted their words, their honour and their integrity, and his purpose was to avoid becoming embroiled in political issues. It could lead to advancement and wealth, but more often it resulted in a swift descent and painful death. He had seen that during the destruction of the Templars, and again when Piers Gaveston, Earl Thomas of Lancaster, and others were executed. Recently the victims had been the Despensers, but now the tables had turned, and the King’s enemies were the very men who had forced him to exile Hugh Despenser and his father. At such a time the only sensible course was discretion. No man could be blamed for loyalty to his liege-lord.
‘I can’t disagree with that,’ Warin said. He was quiet for a short while, then, ‘Sir Baldwin, I consider you a man of integrity so I shall explain. I have told you that the lord of this manor, my father, Sir Henry, is concerned about the loyalty of his folk. Where he lives at his other manor, in Kent, the people are very antagonistic to our King. There are tales of miracles at the grave of Earl Thomas of Lancaster — had you heard? — and these are giving rise to a feeling that he was wrongly executed. Rebellion is openly discussed in London.
‘My lord is of course devoted to King Edward, but the people are less so. In London there have been many mutterings since 1321, when the King imposed his judicial enquiry. The City is angry because he curtailed their powers. Sir Henry is prudent: he can see troubles, he can hear murmurings of disquiet, and seeks to make sure that he is as well-informed as possible.’
Baldwin said nothing. A man might be determined to be well-advised either to make sure that he could properly support his master, or in order to know when to jump to another.
‘That is why I am here,’ Warin said. ‘It is also why I went to speak to John at the Temple church, because John is related to Sir Henry’s oldest friend. I sought to learn how the people are feeling down here.’
‘This is very interesting, friend Warin, but …’
‘I’m coming to the point. While I was here, I heard it suggested that John and Father Adam were close — very close. People have suggested that Adam might play the catamite to John. When I mentioned this, John was very alarmed. I need hardly say that he strenuously denied the accusation.’
‘This is not necessarily of any interest to any man but them,’ Baldwin said.
‘I agree. I mention it only to show that the two are very close, as was proved by Adam’s behaviour today.’
‘What of it?’
‘Only this: some seek to foment unrest against our King. John’s family has always been loyal to the King, but his uncle died for Thomas of Lancaster at Boroughbridge.’
‘I know. Roger, the Coroner’s clerk, mentioned it.’
‘Then you’ll understand that if John’s relationship to his uncle came to be bruited abroad, it could be embarrassing. A rebel in my father’s manor would be sure to come to the ears of the King, which is why I ask that you keep this concealed.’
‘You would have me hide a traitor?’ Baldwin rumbled, alarmed. ‘I will not! I am a loyal servant to the King. I shall have no part in concealing this man’s crimes.’
‘He has done nothing. What is his crime?’ Warin asked reasonably, his hands held out palms uppermost. ‘He is related to a rebel, that is all. He’s not seeking to overrule the King.’
‘I am not sure,’ Baldwin said. This was a difficult matter. He needed to consider it carefully, and yet … It was awful to think of John being imprisoned, probably for many years until he was a mere broken shell, and all because of an act by his uncle which may well not have been condoned by him. It stank of the persecution of his Order, and he couldn’t condone putting another innocent through such trials.
Warin saw his wavering. ‘I went to see John and I mentioned that I knew his uncle. Perhaps I unwittingly upset him, and that’s why he wrote to Adam warning him of me.’
‘He didn’t. He warned Adam about the Coroner’s clerk. Because his secret support for Lancaster was out, he realised that other secrets might be unleashed too.’