‘Miserable thief!’ Simon muttered, throwing an angry look after the disappearing baker.
Baldwin grinned. Simon’s views on people who cheated the poor out of their food were trenchant and well-known to him. ‘But the fact that he came here to raise the Hue and Cry is evidence of his honesty. The man whom you should question is the one who was already there, this man who called Piers from his journey.’
‘Good point, Sir Baldwin,’ Harlewin said. ‘Yes, I shall question him most carefully.’
A sneering voice made Harlewin whirl. ‘You do that, Coroner, you do that. And don’t allow anyone to escape, will you? Earl Thomas might be upset!’
Baldwin felt rather than saw Edgar join him, and looking at the man who had appeared, he could understand why Edgar should have sprung to his side. It was John Sherman.
Harlewin had gone quite white. At first Baldwin thought it was fear, but then the Coroner spoke and his tone was one of rage. ‘You dare accuse me of bribery? Of corruption? That is a deplorable suggestion, even for you, Master Sherman.’
‘Well, take independent witnesses so that you can prove me wrong then, Coroner.’
Harlewin leaned forward, his face suddenly mauve. Baldwin stepped between the two men before he could speak.
‘Gentlemen, please remember where you are,’ he said urgently. ‘This is your lord’s hall, and we are here to feast, not quarrel. Come, Coroner, you have to visit the scene and begin your inquest.’
‘Be damned to that,’ Harlewin rasped.
‘Silence, Coroner!’ said another man at Baldwin’s elbow and Baldwin had a sense of foreboding. He recognised that voice: it was Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple.
‘Who are you?’ Sherman demanded of Baldwin, but then he caught sight of Sir Peregrine, who smiled thinly.
‘This is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton.’
‘Oh, a Keeper?’ His eyes registered interest, then amusement. ‘Well, why don’t you go along with this brave Coroner of ours and then he can prove his innocence!’
Harlewin pursed his lips with fury. ‘You dare to suggest that I–’
‘Coroner, this is your lord’s hall,’ Baldwin repeated. ‘He would not wish to see you fighting with another of his guests. Now, sir,’ he said, facing Sherman, ‘I don’t know what you intend by this display, but you are provoking the good Coroner without reason.’
‘You think so? Then go with him and help his investigation. Or does he have something to hide?’
‘God damn your eyes, Sherman! I have nothing to conceal, but next time I’m at your shop I’ll have the assizes check your weights.’
‘Do so, Coroner. You’ll find everything above the boards, nothing hidden,’ Sherman shot back.
‘Oh, yes? What of…?’ But Harlewin choked off whatever he was about to say. Sherman leaned forward, an intent expression in his eyes. Harlewin waved a hand in angry rejection. ‘I’ll not be drawn into debate with a fool. Sir Baldwin, since this cretin wishes my inquest to be witnessed, I ask you to join my posse.’
‘Me?’ Baldwin said, and felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted was to be cossetted with the Coroner; he was here to be presented to his lord, not to join another investigation. If he had time he wanted to show Jeanne the sights of the town, not spend it chasing over the countryside looking for a band of murderers. ‘Oh, I do not think I should intervene in…’
‘I would look on it as a special favour, Sir Baldwin,’ Harlewin pressed him. ‘My integrity, my honour, has been impugned. I must ask that you assist me.’
Baldwin glanced over his shoulder. Jeanne saw his strained visage, and gave him a gay smile. It was his own fault for intervening between the two men, she thought. He could expect little sympathy from her.
Then came the smooth voice he feared. ‘I am sure it would be an excellent idea.’
‘Good. Thank you, Sir Peregrine. That’s settled, then,’ Harlewin said, rubbing his hands together.
‘Oh, very well,’ Baldwin agreed despondently. An esquire carrying a plate was moving past him, and Baldwin picked off a handful of pastries and thrust them into the wallet at his belt, moodily reflecting that he might not see any other items from the feast that day.
Chapter Eight
Cecily Sherman breathed a sigh of relief. The bloody fool had almost given away their secret. It was hazardous enough trying to meet while John was so suspicious, but if Harlewin was to give away every secret she had mentioned to him while they were in bed, she would have to seek another lover.
She turned her charm on to Father Abraham. He looked most distracted, unhappy and nervous. ‘Father, won’t you have some wine with me? It is the best that Nicholas Lovecok could supply and the flavour is splendid.’
He shuddered and turned away.
‘Father, what…?’
‘You know what it is. Last night,’ he rasped.
‘Father, don’t be like that, please!’ she entreated, touching his shoulder and exerting a slight pressure to make him face her. He tried to avoid her eyes, but she remained still, gazing up at him with an expression of sadness. ‘I know you don’t approve of me or my behaviour, but I can’t help the way I’m made.’
‘What were you doing last night?’ he grated. ‘Seeing your lover again?’ He didn’t wait for her reply, but averted his face and stalked away, disgusted. His demeanour made her smile as she walked to her husband’s side. She beamed at him with every sign of warmth, but he returned her only a grimace.
‘Husband, I am glad you didn’t go with them. Would you like to go back home soon?’
‘Why are you so glad to find me here still? Are you bored now your lover’s gone?’
‘John, believe me, I would never seek another.’
‘Then where did you go last night?’
‘Last night? I…’
‘You were with him again, weren’t you?’
Cecily gave him a look of pain. ‘How could you think that?’
‘It’s true, isn’t it? You were with your lover again – that fat fool Harlewin.’
‘You saw him off well. He is gross, isn’t he?’
Sherman eyed her furiously. While she could treat his accusations with such calmness he had to doubt his own sanity, but he knew she was lying. The trouble was, he couldn’t accuse her now. That would mean confessing what he had been doing last night, and he didn’t want everyone to know he had been out there in the woods.
Simon volunteered to join them although Baldwin insisted that Edgar should remain with his wife in case she chose to visit the market.
It took some time to find a pair of mounts. Neither Simon nor Baldwin wanted to use their own: Baldwin’s had travelled far enough already for one day and Simon’s had a strained fetlock. Instead, both went to the hackneyman nearest the castle. He had been recommended to them by a steward, but Baldwin gave an inward groan on seeing the proprietor, a fawning man with filthy fingers and thin, waxen features. ‘Oh yes, masters, yes. I have some of the best horseflesh in Devon, yes.’
His words were far from the mark. In the stalls they found several sumpters, rough pack horses, a couple of rounseys, both badly spavined, and some worn and ancient hackneys. One heavy beast like a draughthorse stood out, but it was filthy, plastered with mud over neck and thighs. Nearby was a young mare which tempted Baldwin, but when he went closer he saw that she had cut her forehead on a splinter or nail, and the wound was flyblown: maggots squirmed and wriggled. Baldwin felt his stomach heave and called the man over.
While the hackneyman tried to hold her head steady so he could pick the maggots out, Simon and Baldwin looked about them with near-despair; they had to have something. They settled for a couple of the less exhausted-looking beasts. Soon they were mounted and met the Coroner at the castle gate.
The Coroner had brought a man-at-arms with him, and Piers was seated on his wagon, his expression bitter as he thought of the dough he should even now be mixing. For all his insistence of hurrying to report the dead bodies, Baldwin noticed that his cart was empty of the flour he declared he had collected, and was sure that the baker had gone to his home and off-loaded it before going to seek the Coroner. It made Baldwin grin to himself. The baker was no fool – he knew he must report the murders, but that was no reason to ruin himself.