‘I should have taken a second apprentice,’ Piers mumbled disconsolately.
‘What’s that?’ Baldwin asked, kicking at his horse to urge it alongside. It wasn’t easy: he had picked a mare, and she resolutely fought every tug on the reins. Simon’s mount was no better – it preferred to wander off the road to the grasses that grew thickly nearer the riverbank.
Piers sighed and spread his hands. ‘An apprentice, Sir Baldwin. Mine is sick, and all the time I spend wandering down here, my business is wasting. I’ve got a cartload of flour sitting in the yard and if it rains it’ll be ruined. My wife does all she can, but without my apprentice or me she’ll never get it done. Oh God! I wish I’d never seen the bugger.’
‘The man who stopped you?’
‘Yes. If he’d missed me and found someone else I’d be indoors now, baking, all my flour safely locked away. Instead here I am, amerced and riding away again. Daft, I call it.’
‘The man who stopped you – was he a local?’
‘I didn’t recognise him. His voice was odd, too. Very strong accent.’
Casting a look ahead, Baldwin asked, ‘How much farther to the place where this stranger found you?’
Piers shielded his eyes. ‘About another half mile. You see where the trees follow the curve of the river over there? I think it was about there.’
‘I see.’ Baldwin nodded and was about to drop back when Piers nodded meaningfully at the Coroner ahead and said, ‘Sir Baldwin, I understand how these things are done. If I pay you as well as the priest and the Coroner there, will you speak for me?’
Baldwin’s voice was icy as he replied, ‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace. I cannot be bought, you fool!’ He dragged viciously on the reins and went to join Simon.
‘What is it?’ Simon asked. He could see that his friend was peeved, but he hadn’t heard the baker’s quiet offer.
‘That idiot asked me to accept a payment. It is probably true that he needs to get back to work, but to offer me a bribe…’ His voice tailed off in disgust.
‘It’s common enough, isn’t it?’ Simon pointed out reasonably. ‘Especially for Coroners. How else are they expected to cover their expenses, always riding here and there, inspecting corpses along the way, and all for no pay?’
‘Hah! They get paid all right,’ Baldwin burst out. ‘They charge fortunes for looking at dead bodies, and if the people of the area don’t pay up, the Coroner won’t visit, which means the folk have to leave the corpse lying in the open, rotting, eaten by wild animals, until they agree to cough up. And then the Coroner will add a fresh fine as like as not, just to signal his displeasure.’
‘They aren’t all like that,’ Simon soothed.
‘No – some are worse! They gain their post as a result of a great magnate’s favour and use their position to serve his interests, releasing his servants and imprisoning his enemies.’
‘And you’ve obviously made up your mind that this fine fellow is of that ilk.’
‘Look at him! Fat, foolish, a sluggard… What would you think?’
‘I would think we’ve arrived,’ Simon said.
The Coroner was waving to the baker, and Piers kicked his little pony forward, pointing in among the trees. Baldwin wrenched his horse’s head around after a struggle; Simon’s was still more recalcitrant. It obstinately tugged at the grasses and flowers at the side of the river, and Simon had to kick it hard, swearing, to make it obey. It turned, and then, for no apparent reason, bolted. Caught off-balance, Simon clung to the reins even as his feet flew from the stirrups. He could feel himself gradually toppling backwards but by fighting he managed to remain in his seat and, as he passed Baldwin, who was ambling along gently, he turned and called, ‘My beast has more fire than yours, anyway!’
‘Simon!’
He saw Baldwin’s anguished expression and turned just in time to see the branch.
Jeanne had felt the mood of the hall lighten after Simon and Baldwin left with Harlewin. It was as if the presence of the Coroner had put a blight upon the proceedings.
Petronilla had gone to a quiet room to feed Stephen as soon as they had arrived, agreeing to come and help the servants in the hall as soon as her child was sleeping. A maid in the castle also had a young child and had agreed to look after Stephen while Petronilla helped her mistress. Now Jeanne saw Petronilla enter carrying pots of wine for guests and sent Edgar over to help her – and to ask where Wat had got to. Jeanne was always nervous if the cattleman’s son disappeared when there was ale or wine available. Wat enjoyed alcohol and was often to be found snoring in a hidden corner of a buttery when left to his own devices.
‘It’s all right, my Lady,’ Petronilla said quietly. ‘He’s in the dairy. I sent him there to help since so many of the maids are in the kitchens.’
‘Well done,’ Jeanne said. If Wat was occupied there was less chance he could embarrass her or her husband. Glancing up, Jeanne saw Petronilla move away from a passing man. ‘Are you well?’
Petronilla nodded, but didn’t speak for fear of shaming herself. It was daunting in here, with knights, bannarets, even lords and their ladies. Some might think the same as the Coroner.
Horrible man, she thought, shuddering. All greasy and slimy, like a fat reptile. As he’d gone out, he’d put his arm around her in the hallway, his hand grasping her buttock, trying to force her to kiss him. It was only for a moment, and his thick-lipped face had been so close, slobbering like a great dog inches from her.
‘Come on, pretty little maid, give me a kiss or later you might regret it!’
Petronilla was revolted. She had turned her head away, and before he could do more than grope her breast and backside, Edgar had appeared. He quickly stepped close and the Coroner hastily fell back. ‘Yes?’
Edgar instantly moved between them. With a muttered prayer of relief she had fled back into the buttery. At the door she had glanced back. The Coroner had looked angry, but before he could say anything there was a calclass="underline" Simon and Baldwin had arrived with their horses. The Coroner stalked out.
Now Petronilla was determined to remain close to Edgar. He would protect her. He was like that: kind and generous.
Jeanne was unaware of the anguish in Petronilla’s face. All she saw, she thought, was petulance, as if Petronilla resented having to help serve guests in another household. ‘Edgar, take Petronilla out and see if you can help in the kitchen or the buttery.’
Nodding, he led the way. As she left, Petronilla threw Jeanne a look of immense gratitude, which Jeanne recognised but couldn’t understand. Musings as to her maid’s feelings were cut short as Sir Peregrine called loudly: ‘My Lords and Ladies, Lord Hugh de Courtenay.’
Baldwin’s cry of warning reached Simon a second before his chest struck the branch squarely with a hollow thud that made Baldwin wince.
The breath was forced from Simon’s lungs with an audible ‘Oof!’ and Baldwin gave a bellow of laughter as his friend hooked both arms over the branch to stop himself being knocked to the ground. However, his horse kept going, leaving Simon clinging to the tree. The white-faced bailiff was held in mid-air staring after his mount as it stopped and began to crop the grass once more. With a slow inevitability, Simon’s weight begin to bow the branch, until with a report like black powder exploding, the tree gave up its limb and Simon dropped smartly onto his rump with a curse. Snorting and snuffling, desperate not to laugh, Baldwin persuaded his reluctant beast to walk to Simon’s side.
‘God’s Saints! If all you can do is grin,’ Simon growled from beneath the branch, ‘I’d prefer you to get someone who can help. Better still, fetch yourself a bow and shoot that bloody horse!’ He lifted the branch and threw it aside. ‘Rotten! Typical! I get flung from a horse by a twig that’s not got enough strength to cleave to its tree.’