Chapter Twenty-Nine
Odo dropped from his mount and patted the mare’s neck as he watched Baldwin being helped from the field.
‘A good fight, by God!’ Coroner Roger said at his side.
‘Yes! I’m glad I didn’t have to ride against Sir John. He was a terrifying opponent.’
‘Yes. And now he and his son are dead,’ Coroner Roger said heavily. ‘Come, we should speak to the Bailiff.’
They met Simon as he was picking up a large piece of wood.
‘What is it?’ Coroner Roger asked.
‘Baldwin told me to look at this. I can’t see why.’
Odo glanced over a timber splinter. ‘This is odd,’ he said. ‘Look, the wood here was cut.’
Simon took it from him and examined it. ‘Why, yes. Someone has drawn a narrow saw through it – why should they do that?’
‘To guarantee the winner,’ Odo said grimly. ‘I’ve seen it done in France. A slight saw cut through the lance weakens it so that it shatters as it hits a man without knocking him down. Sometimes men will gamble heavily on a man’s victory in the lists, and they’ll pay to ensure that the right man wins.’
‘But how could they guarantee that the right man would get the damaged lance?’
‘By having an accomplice waiting at the lance-rack and giving the damaged lance to the man they wished to lose,’ Odo said.
‘It’s always a squire who passes the lances,’ said Coroner Roger.
Simon finished his thought for him. ‘And William used to help in the lists! So there is a connection between him and the other three.’
‘Who would have wanted them to die, though?’ Coroner Roger mused.
Simon felt as though he had a new lease of life. ‘First let’s go back to where the body was found,’ he said, setting off towards the camp.
‘We spoke to all the men about there, but no one saw or heard anything last night,’ Roger said.
Odo recalled his last thought before he was called back to witness Baldwin’s fight. ‘We spoke to the knights and squires, but there was one group we didn’t question: the grooms. If someone was to go that way and pet his horse, no one would think anything of it, would they? And from there it would be a short walk to the river to murder Sir William.’
Simon caught his breath. ‘Of course!’ It would be the perfect excuse, he thought. Nobody would question a man-at-arms who went to ensure that his horse was settled for the night. Unconsciously, his pace increased as he neared the horse-lines.
Odo hurried too. This development had confused him. It made no sense for Sir William to have been murdered.
The great destriers and several riding-horses of quality were hobbled or tethered near the water up by the castle’s bailey. Odo looked about him. Simon did not hesitate but walked straight to a skinny youth clad in a faded and scratched leather jerkin. Odo found himself staring at one of the lad’s eyes because he had a terrible cast in the other. Afterwards he could remember nothing else about him.
‘Were you here last night?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes, sir. I didn’t go to my bed until very late.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘Some of the time, when my mates were eating. We all sleep here, so I was never really alone.’
‘Did you hear anyone near the river?’
‘Not really,’ the youth said, but there was a dryness to his tone that caught Simon’s attention. He was holding something back: he hadn’t been asked the right question and wouldn’t willingly volunteer anything to someone in authority.
Simon had dealt with types like him before. ‘Did you, or did you not, see or hear anyone there?’ he demanded.
‘There were some people walking up there.’
‘Who?’
‘A girl and a man.’
‘Who was the girl?’
The lad shrugged. ‘How should I know?’
Simon suddenly sprang forward. He reached out and grabbed his jerkin.
Odo moved forward. ‘Bailiff, I think… ’
‘Silence, Herald! Baldwin nearly died saving my skin just now, and I don’t have the patience to listen to this fool playing games. Did you hear that, groom? Don’t try to be clever with me because I don’t understand, and when I don’t understand I get irritable. Like this,’ he said, tightening his grip. ‘All right? If you don’t begin to help I’ll choke the life from you. Is that clear enough?’
The youth could hardly speak, but simply nodded.
‘Good. Because I want to know all you know about the people moving about last night, near where Sir William’s body was found today,’ Simon said, releasing his grip a little.
The lad spoke hurriedly. ‘The girl was Lady Helen. She is wife to Sir Walter Basset. There was a man with her. Andrew – Sir Edmund’s squire.’
‘What? Together?’
‘Well… ’
‘Tell us what you saw, you damned whore’s kitling.’
‘That’s all. I saw the two of them walking out to the river together. I thought nothing of it.’
‘This was after dark?’
‘Yes. Will you take your hands away now?’
‘Not yet. What of Sir William? When did you see him?’
‘I didn’t say I did. Ouch!’
‘No, you didn’t. I did. Did you see him before or after the others?’
‘He walked up here a little before them – if it was him. I saw him at the other side of the river, then I saw the girl with Andrew.’
‘What then?’
‘Yes, what then?’
And Simon turned and found himself staring into the congested face of Sir Walter Basset.
‘It was awful, Roger. Probably the most embarrassing situation I’ve ever talked myself into,’ Simon admitted the next morning.
They were sitting in the hall. It was the first opportunity they had found to discuss the murders and Coroner Roger shared the same rickety bench as Simon. When either man moved, both had to grab at the wood. ‘Sir Walter forced the groom to admit that Andrew had come away from there shortly afterwards, and then after a long pause, Lady Helen left the place, closely followed by Sir Edmund.’
‘It was not your fault,’ Roger said. He eyed his jug of wine sourly. ‘So what have we learned?’
‘Little enough. We know that many people over the years could have wanted to see Hal and Wymond dead. It’s trying to see who could have wanted them dead now that’s the problem.’
Margaret sat at the other side of the room, feeding her baby. ‘What of the girl?’ She reminded them.
‘Which girl?’ Coroner Roger asked.
‘The wife of that squire who was killed in the lists.’
‘Alice? What of her?’
‘It’s just that I don’t understand her. She was desperately keen to escape from her guardian, to marry Geoffrey.’
‘Yes. She would have done anything to avoid marrying Sir William,’ Roger said. ‘You don’t mean… ?’
Simon stared at his cup. ‘That she killed William to prevent him from marrying her? Why should she have killed the others?’
‘Maybe someone else killed the others,’ put in Sir Baldwin.
‘Baldwin, are you well enough to be up?’ Margaret demanded, surveying him anxiously. Her gratitude to this man would never end, she knew.
‘Do not fuss. I shall be perfectly well, if a little sore,’ Baldwin smiled. Then he said thoughtfully: ‘Look at the wounds on Hal and Wymond – and, from what you’ve said, Benjamin too. All were beaten severely with some sort of blunt instrument. And now we have William stabbed. It is a different approach. Then again, a club is definitely a man’s weapon, whereas a small knife could be a woman’s – perhaps striking in defence rather than in any desire to kill.’