‘Simon! Bring a light.’
‘What is it? Oh, Christ’s bones!’
Baldwin was crouching at the long red trickle, and as Simon entered, he looked up, his face haggard. ‘This is my fault, Simon. I should have realised this before! It’s all my fault!’
He squatted, staring at the chest, while Simon fetched an axe. It didn’t take him long, and when he came back, he gave it to the knight. Baldwin swung it twice. At the second blow the padlock flew off. Baldwin took a deep breath and raised the lid.
There inside, neatly folded to fit the space, and with a small cushion under her head as though to give her some comfort, lay Letitia. The small stream of blood came from the savage slash in her neck, which had emptied the blood from her veins to form a pool in the bottom of the chest.
‘So it was Alexander,’ Simon breathed.
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said sadly. ‘He killed them all.’
Ivo had left Julia early, thinking that he’d be able to get back to the castle in time for Baldwin and Simon’s return, because he was keen to see whether they’d had any luck in their search for the steward. On his way, he heard hoofbeats approaching.
The first rider was a man-at-arms from the castle, who spat in his direction when he called out, asking whether they’d been successful. Ivo bit his thumb at him when he was safely past. Then a man Ivo had been friendly enough with rode past, and he shouted out that yes, they’d caught the bastard. The castellan was bringing him back, and God save him when he was thrown into the castle gaol, after what he’d done.
Ivo realised there was little point now in heading back to the castle. The place would be empty for some while, he had the news he wanted, and although the food was better in the castle, it was a long walk away and there were undoubted attractions to remaining in Julia’s bed. He wavered, but only for a moment or two, and then set off back towards the vill and Adam’s house.
The hall was dark and empty-looking when he arrived, and he walked straight through to the back, where Julia’s room was. Just as he rounded the corner, he heard a strange noise, a kind of loud report, like a wooden peg snapping. Then as he peered ahead he saw a line of bright light in the darkness from her open door, a figure standing in it with a large bar in his hand. He heard the man laugh, then a scream, and in that moment, he flung himself across the twenty feet or so of yard.
He caught the man squarely in the back, and hurled him into the room, narrowly missing Julia, who stood with her hands balled at her cheeks as she screamed. The sudden eruption of her lover caused her to fall silent for a moment, but then Ivo and his target fell onto her palliasse, almost crushing little Ned, and her cries were renewed.
Ivo felt a hand strike his temple, then nails raked along his cheek, but in the meantime he seemed incapable of finding his own target. The man squirmed and wriggled so much, Ivo could scarce guess where his head would be from one moment to the next, let alone hit it. There was a rasp, and then Ivo saw the knife. He reached for the hand that gripped it, but missed and caught the blade itself. He felt the shearing of his muscles and the grating of the knife against his bones, and was struck with horror as he realised his hand was ruined. If he could, this man would kill him, he sensed, and he grabbed for the nearest implement. It was the iron bar the man had used to break open the door. Ivo raised it, even as his left hand grew slick with his blood; then he brought the bar down upon the man’s head, once, twice, and then a third time, until he stopped trying to pull his knife from Ivo’s grasp.
At breakfast, Anne watched her husband cautiously. He still loved her, she was sure, but his discovery of her unfaithfulness had hurt him dreadfully, as it must. There weren’t enough words for her to explain how the emptiness of loss had affected her when she convinced herself that he was dead, nor that she still loved him. It was too late for all that. All she could do was wait, and hope, that he would rediscover his love for her.
At their table was a special guest. Gervase, clad in clean tunic but looking pale and fraught, was at his side as usual, but today without a trencher in front of him. The food was all for other people. Again Gervase must endure hunger, knowing that the only offering for him would be the stale, leftover crusts.
Nicholas finished his meal, and then stared at Gervase blankly for a long time, his expression utterly unfathomable. Then, ‘So, are you ready to answer the Coroner?’
‘Of course I am. I’ll tell him the truth.’
Gervase couldn’t meet his eye. Anne felt a fleeting sympathy for him, trapped here, with no way out. His face was mottled and bruised from the blows Nicholas had aimed at him yesterday, although Warin had ensured that he was safe enough when he returned to the castle. Warin said he wanted Gervase alive at least until he could brief Warin on the papers and records of the manor. The steward was a pitiful creature now, and the Lady Anne shuddered to see him.
‘In front of the vill?’ Nicholas rasped. ‘You’d shame her like that?’
Anne could feel her face flush. She put a hand on her belly, the other on the table to steady herself. Would Gervase really do that — confess his crime with her, her adultery, before the whole mass of peasants and farmers? She’d never be able to look the villeins in the eye again.
Gervase looked unhappy. ‘I wish … I am so sorry, Nicholas. This shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t mean it to … It was just something that-’
‘Will you shame her before the vill?’
‘I don’t want to, I hate the idea!’ Gervase was staring at her now, a kind of desperation in his eyes, the eyes of a stag at bay before the hunters rode in with their lances.
‘Will you shame her, I asked!’ Nicholas rasped.
‘I’ll have to tell the truth. There have been enough lies.’
‘I see,’ Nicholas said, and there was a sudden calmness in his voice. His two fists were set upon the tabletop and he leaned back, studying the man beside him with loathing. Then he almost lazily slammed a fist into Gervase’s already broken nose.
The steward was hurled from his stool, weeping as the blood flew from his nostrils. He gave a shrill cry, making the blood bubble, then rolled on to all fours and vomited.
Nicholas stood and walked about him, and then lifted a boot and kicked with all the full force of his malice. Anne winced as she saw the boot crashing into the man’s belly, and had to cover her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see any man suffer, nor could she bear to see the hatred in her own husband’s face.
‘Puke it up, churl! And get used to pain, because if I see you accuse my lady of adultery in front of the jury, I’ll ensure you receive more suffering than you could ever imagine!’
Gervase toppled, choking, to his side.
‘My wife means more to me than anything. I’ll protect her with the full extent of my power, and if that means I have to kill you, I will!’
Suddenly, Nicholas was overcome with uncontrollable rage. He kicked Gervase again and again, and Anne had to cover her eyes and ears as best she could against the terrible cries of the steward as the heavy boot crashed into his belly and breast, but when she heard his armbone crack with a noise like a mace striking a shield, she fled from the room even as Warin and Richer stormed in and pulled the castellan away.
Simon and Baldwin were already at the vill’s church house; they’d been there since a little after dawn. Simon was unhappy to be up at such an unpleasant hour for the second day running, but the urgency of their need to learn the truth bore them both up. They had returned to the castle to hear that Ivo had caught the murderer. He was waiting in the hall to explain what had happened.
The culprit was being held in the church house, and Baldwin had been all for going straight to him, but Ivo said that he’d knocked the man out with an iron bar, and Simon had persuaded Baldwin both to stop interrogating Ivo, who was as pale as a candle from loss of blood, and to forget the idea of questioning a man who had almost had his head crushed. Baldwin had reluctantly agreed to leave things until next morning. Alexander wasn’t going to escape them, after all.