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Slowly she lifted her head. Andrew Carter and Nicholas Lovecok had killed Philip believing in his guilt. If she told them the truth they would have to have Harlewin arrested simply to rectify their fault.

Filled with a new resolve, she stood and wiped her hands on her apron. She would speak to Andrew Carter. He would help find justice for Philip and his daughter.

Simon supervised the rescue of the body. It wasn’t easy to haul the waterlogged figure free. William Small the sailor lay at the bottom of the castle’s steep hill in deep water, and if there hadn’t been a tree trunk stuck across some ancient boulders further down, he could have been halfway to the sea by now. Not only was the bank very steep, making it tricky to lift him out, his clothing kept snagging on the bushes and brambles which predominated here, and none of the men appeared eager to join William in the water to get him out.

In the end Simon himself, swearing and contemptuous of the feeble efforts of the castle’s staff, slid down the bank and, with Edgar’s help, lashed a rope around the corpse’s chest. Throwing this to the men still on the bank, he had them pull while he and Edgar manhandled the stiffening body from the water. Aylmer sat mournfully on the bank and watched. He sniffed once at William’s body, then walked away to lie down.

‘Not a handsome sight,’ Edgar commented, looking at the body.

‘No,’ Simon agreed.

Sir Peregrine had watched their efforts with sardonic amusement from a little further up the bank. Now he slid down the incline to join them. To Simon’s private resentment he didn’t lose his balance and tumble into the water, but instead joined them both at the body.

‘Christ Jesus! What’s happened to him? He looks like he’s been beaten to death!’

Simon couldn’t help but agree. Although much of the blood had been washed from the face, the swollen jaw and temple where William had been kicked or punched stood out distinctly compared with the pale almost translucent flesh.

‘Where is he?’ Harlewin bawled from the top of the hill. Baldwin appeared at his side. It took some little time for the two of them to join the others. Baldwin himself almost skidded into the water, which would have lightened Simon’s mood and given him some comfort after his display of horsemanship the day before, but before he could grin, Edgar caught his master’s arm and rescued him.

‘What’s all this, then?’ Harlewin said, squatting at William’s side. ‘Good God above, but he’s been in a war, hasn’t he? It’s amazing what a fall can do.’

‘He has been badly beaten,’ Baldwin said, examining William’s head. ‘The jaw is broken and the head has been clubbed.’

Harlewin peered sceptically, then gazed behind them to the castle’s wall high above them. ‘You think so? I reckon he could have taken a pot of wine too many up on the wall and stumbled.’

‘Quite. Only…’

‘What?’

‘How do you explain this stab-wound?’ Baldwin asked politely.

The Coroner let his attention drop to the one-inch-long wound that Baldwin pointed to. He scowled. This was guaranteed to annoy Lord Hugh, and Harlewin didn’t like to have his Lordship irritable.

It was definitely murder. The wound was in the top of the left side of the torso, a little below the collar-bone. Harlewin poked his finger into the hole, but it was plain enough that the wound went straight down to the heart.

‘An assassin’s stroke,’ he muttered.

Baldwin studied the man’s wrists. ‘He was bound, too.’

‘It could hardly be worse,’ Sir Peregrine grated.

Harlewin agreed that they should remove the body up to the castle where it could be more easily inspected. It would be difficult to get a jury to this site.

Baldwin and Simon waited as the body was carried up the slope, Harlewin and Sir Peregrine scrambling up as best they could. Edgar remained with them – he had been Sir Baldwin’s sergeant in the Templars and took the knight’s security seriously. When Simon pointed towards a serviceable path which led towards the bridge, Edgar made off along it, his hand near his sword’s hilt, to make sure there was no ambush.

‘Not easy terrain this,’ Simon noted.

‘No,’ Baldwin murmured. Looking back, the castle sat squatly at the top of the steep hill. He whistled to Aylmer. ‘It is almost sheer. The castle’s builders made best use of this perilous slope. I can’t envisage men-at-arms rushing up it to take the place. Especially while men lived within and could tumble rocks or trunks from the safety of their walls. Look, there’s nothing but grassed slope. Perhaps he was thrown from the wall.’

Simon pulled a grass stem and sucked at the stalk. ‘But who’d want to do that?’

‘Someone who thought he might have killed Sir Gilbert and wanted revenge? Someone who thought William had seen them kill Sir Gilbert and needed to remove an embarrassing witness? Or someone who simply wanted to rob him? Ah, God! Who knows?’

Simon threw away the stem. ‘If he was thrown from the walls, someone should have seen. There are so many men-at-arms about this place, surely someone will have noticed?’

‘I don’t know. At night there are few men about. Only one man is needed up on the walls to keep an eye open. Most guards would be down in the yard or at the gate. If someone wanted to push a man’s body over, I doubt it would be very difficult to arrange. What if it was one of the guards?’

‘We need to ask Sir Peregrine how many men he posts each night.’

‘Before we ask him, I have to tell you what I’ve discovered,’ Baldwin said and told of his talks with Cecily Sherman, her husband and Hick.

The news made Simon eager to speak to Sir Peregrine. They sought him as soon as they entered the castle. ‘Guards on the wall?’ he echoed. ‘I fear that I only have two men out at night: one at the gatehouse, one at the tower. It hardly seems necessary to have a full guard in peacetime.’

‘Even with the threats of war?’ Simon said.

‘Oh, come, Bailiff! If war was declared tomorrow, how long would it take for the King’s army to get here? Marching at ten to fifteen miles a day? Long before they arrived, we’d know of their approach. There’s no need for guards to protect against that. No, the guards are to prevent enterprising villains from throwing a grapnel over the wall and attempting to steal my Lord’s pewter or silver.’

‘Not to prevent an assassin making an attempt on Lord Hugh’s life?’ Baldwin pressed.

‘No,’ Sir Peregrine answered simply. ‘A killer would have to enter the gatehouse itself, through the only door, and then would have to pass by my own picked men-at-arms before breaking down my own door, which I always bar, and then breaking down Lord Hugh’s. There’s no need to leave a guard outside.’

‘From interest, where were you last night, Sir Peregrine?’ Baldwin asked.

The man’s face hardened. ‘I was in the hall for the meal with Lord Hugh, and then did my rounds of the grounds. No one saw me, so if you wish to assume I killed the man and threw him from the wall I would have had plenty of time, but Sir Baldwin, do not dare to accuse me of such a thing!’

‘We have also been told that you were out towards the south on the night Sir Gilbert died.’

‘By Christ! Do you dare accuse me of murder?’

‘I accuse no one. I only ask where you were and what you did.’

‘I had my reasons for going for a ride. That’s all you need know. I am no murderer.’

‘Not when you think that the kingdom’s future could depend upon one man’s death?’

After Baldwin’s softly spoken words the tension was dangerous. Sir Peregrine stood as though frozen, so furious he daren’t move lest his hand grab his sword. Simon stepped back while the other two stared at each other. Before either could speak and hasten their descent into open battle, Simon cleared his throat and asked if he could go up to the wall to take a look.

Sir Peregrine angrily slammed a fist against his thigh, but nodded. Simon walked between the knights, facing his friend, forcing the two men to break eye-contact. Baldwin nodded curtly and walked to the staircase with him.