True, the knight’s suggestion would save a lot of difficulty; it was a logical explanation; and he had a duty to his Lord. Draining his pot, he marched back to the hall. Seeing Simon and Baldwin with Jeanne at the far side of the hall, Harlewin smiled broadly.
‘Bailiff Puttock, Sir Baldwin? Congratulate me! I have slept on the problem and already I have solved both murders!’
Chapter Twelve
Toker stretched and walked into the bright daylight of the castle’s court. He didn’t notice Aylmer, who had found a cool patch of grass at the entrance to one of the servants’ rooms and lay down blocking the doorway. Toker knew he had come across the man he had seen the previous evening fairly recently, but much had happened over the last few weeks and he had met a great many new people.
Idly, he ran his mind over the last few days. He had detoured on the journey back to Tiverton, taking his men with him on the road to Bristol to hear the latest news from Wales.
The Despenser lands, he learned, were being systematically ruined, their crops destroyed, houses and castles burned or otherwise wasted. Eight Despenser castles were already wrecked. All the family’s possessions were being ransacked, their luxurious belongings stolen. The list of goods was proof enough of their greed: tables of ivory and ebony, chessboards with chessmen of fine crystal, rich clothing, silver and jewellery.
It wasn’t enough that the Despensers had lost it alclass="underline" they had escaped into exile. If Toker could have had his way, both Despensers would have been hanged, drawn and quartered. They were an abomination: power-crazed thieves whose robberies were all the more obscene in the light of their already enormous wealth.
Toker spat and took a long draught of ale; William was completely forgotten now. The waste of the Despensers’ lands was good to hear. It proved that the tyranny of that deplorable family was ended. No Despenser would ever again be able to hold the kingdom in his hand. Even the King must recognise the damage done to his realm.
The attitude of people up towards Bristol had surprised him. They appeared to think the Lords of the Marches were acting from self-interest and were no better than the Despensers. Toker was convinced they were wrong. Without the Despensers, the country could be ruled once more by the King with wise and pragmatic advisers: men who looked more to the chivalric codes than to their own advantage; men who could be trusted. Perhaps he might even be able to find a little honour and forget the lawless period of his life. That thought brought a wry smile to this face, for he knew that when he had the chance he couldn’t help but return to his felonious ways. In London he had joined his men in looting a shop during a riot; on another occasion, while bonfires lit the night sky, he’d slipped inside a merchant’s house and walked away with a good collection of plate. The instinct to take what he could was too strong; the urge to serve himself in case he lost his lord again.
Toker knew himself. He would always tend to resort to theft when he could. He needed a war, a means of winning money. If the Despensers returned – then, Toker thought, he would be able to get enough to set himself up for life. He’d never have to work again; he could just sit in a tavern all day and drink.
‘Whose dog is that?’
It was Perkin; he was staring at the hound. Aylmer lay in a doorway out of the sun, but Perkin glared at him with loathing.
‘I’ve seen that mutt somewhere,’ Perkin said.
As he spoke Wat walked towards Aylmer. His foot caught a stone, which flew through the air and hit the dog’s shoulder. Instantly Aylmer woke and rose fluidly into a menacing crouch, his head below his shoulders, his legs bent ready to spring, while a low, vicious growl rumbled from deep in his throat.
Wat froze in fear. ‘Christ!’
A groom laughed: a maid from the kitchen cried, ‘Don’t touch him – he must be rabid.’
‘Yeah, mind out, dog!’ someone called with a laugh.
Toker’s men sniggered as Wat nervously retreated. ‘I only wanted to get to the storeroom. Someone call the dog off.’
‘Who owns the thing?’ shouted Owen.
Toker listened but didn’t look at him. The little Welshman was always nervous, and the anxiety in his voice was proof, if Toker had needed it, that the man was unreliable. Sir Peregrine had foisted him on Toker before going to London saying he was a good archer, but so far he’d been useless in fights. Anyway, why call the dog off? Toker was like his men – he was interested to see how the dog would see off the brat. Yet the dog’s stance looked familiar…
‘He doesn’t like being kicked,’ said William. He lounged at the door to the hall, a large pot in his hand, leaning on the rough wooden handrail. The sun was warm on his face and he felt good. He didn’t notice Toker or his men, he was watching Wat with an amused grin. Taking a deep, contented gulp of ale, he said, ‘Aylmer gets angry when people prod him.’
Toker lifted his eyes to stare. It was that man again, and his voice was familiar… and then Toker remembered a street in London, two dogs, two servants and a knight.
‘He’s going to bite me – can’t you move him?’ Wat cried, close to tears.
‘Alymer – move!’ William shouted without looking.
Instantly the dog circled warily around Wat and walked to a patch of scrubby grass where he lay down. It was at the same time that Toker felt the burst of excitement in his breast as he remembered that interesting little chest. Slowly he made an oath, pulled out his dagger and kissed the blade.
Jeanne could see that her husband was astonished at the Coroner’s words.
Baldwin blinked and stammered, ‘How…? But who?’ Harlewin was evidently delighted to see how his words had stunned the knight. The Coroner chuckled fruitily, drained his jug of ale and tossed it towards Edgar, who just managed to catch it.
‘Fill that, man. Well, Sir Baldwin, the beheaded man, Philip Dyne, was an abjurer.’
Jeanne raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Edgar, who stuck his nose in the air and sniffed scornfully before walking out.
Harlewin continued without noticing: ‘Philip Dyne had raped and murdered a girl here in Tiverton – Carter’s daughter. Caused quite a stir. Managed to get to St Peter’s and hide in the sanctuary. Of course I went and demanded that he should give himself up, but he wouldn’t: demanded his forty days of sanctuary. So that was that. I posted guards, hoping that one of them would sleep and give him a chance to escape so we could hunt the bastard down, but he knew he was safe in there. So, we held a formal ceremony of abjuration and off he went.’
‘Carter’s daughter?’ Simon cried.
‘Yesterday. Didn’t get very far, did he?’ He looked up as Edgar passed him a jug. It was filled, but the Coroner winced at the taste. ‘God’s bollocks, man! This is practically undrinkable!’
‘It is the normal ale, sir.’
Jeanne looked away, trying not to giggle. Edgar’s distant manner, his offhandedness, was as near to an open insult as a servant could go.
Baldwin frowned. ‘But so what? If the man made his confession and left, he was protected. He should not have been killed.’
‘No, Sir Baldwin, he shouldn’t. Unless, of course, he tried to commit another felony. Or left the road ordained.’
‘And that is what you think happened?’
Jeanne watched Harlewin as he drank. An unmannered man, he belched and wiped his mouth with his hand before picking his ear with an enquiring finger, studying the wax adhering to his nail with interest. Jeanne had the impression that he wouldn’t be capable of any flights of intellect. He was a simple man at heart.
Harlewin rolled the wax into a ball and flicked it away. ‘Yes, Sir Baldwin, I think that’s what happened. The fool saw the knight in among the trees and nipped in after him. While he was there, he stabbed Sir Gilbert and took his purse but then he was ridden down by two law-abiding men who took off his head for his crime.’