At the end of the last alley he came into bright sunlight and stood a moment sniffing the air. Over the way he saw the tavern, Simon and Baldwin in the doorway.
Toker pushed himself away from the wall as Sir Baldwin stepped out into the street. Resting a hand on his dagger, Toker tested it in its sheath – it moved easily enough, as it should after the amount of grease he had rubbed over it from the kitchen’s pots. There was no need for a sword for a quick assassination like this, he knew. One swift stab upwards into the knight’s heart and lungs and he would be gone. No more trouble.
Sir Baldwin and Simon were walking away, their backs to him. He made to walk over the cobbles but a horse passed, slowing him. Once it had gone he moved forward and gave a significant look at his men in front. They walked into the street lazily, and paused as if to chatter. When Toker glanced left he saw Perkin coming level with him. Soon the men in front would pull out their knives and the sight would make the knight and his friend pause in surprise, then in anger, and before they could pull their blades free, they would be dead, stabbed in the back. Toker and his men had done it all before.
But as he placed his hand on his dagger’s hilt, there was a shout from behind him.
Harlewin was dubious about joining the knight. Sir Baldwin could be an unsettling companion, and the Coroner was of a mind to leave him. He was about to turn away and walk up a sidestreet when he noticed the two men just in front pushing their way through the crowds and gaining on Sir Baldwin. Every nerve in his body screamed caution at the sight.
‘Sir Baldwin and Bailiff Puttock! How good to see you again!’ he bellowed, and stepped forward, nudging Perkin heavily and shoving him from his path as he went, then faced Toker, his hand already on his sword, shaking his head.
Toker took his hand away from his dagger slowly registering his confusion, but then he smiled and marched back the way he had come.
Simon had turned at the first call, and was just in time to see a man go flying. Nearby was the Coroner, a massive figure, and before him was a scruffy, nondescript figure with his back to Simon. ‘What the…’
Baldwin reacted faster. He took in the scene, but then whirled around to face forwards again, and now his sword was free of its sheath, and the bright blue blade glistened and shone wickedly in the sun. Its colour was a dismal threat to any man who wished to threaten him.
A woman screamed, another took up the cry, and in a moment the street was almost empty.
Now he knew there was danger, Baldwin could see that two men were acting oddly. Both were tattily clothed, both large men, with faces that betrayed their dismay at the loss of surprise. One had his hand on a dagger, but under Baldwin’s intent stare, his hand fell from it. The two ambushers exchanged a glance before backing away carefully. Both had knives, but a knife was no defence against a man trained from his youth in sword-play. They retreated, then darted up an alley, and Baldwin heard their footsteps hurrying away.
When those two had disappeared, Baldwin turned just in time to see the last of the other men scampering away while a roaring, furious Simon aimed a weighty kick at his arse, making him scream with pain. Simon walked with a faint limp as he returned to his friend, although his beaming face showed that he did not regret the mild pain.
‘We owe you a great debt of thanks,’ Baldwin said to Harlewin.
‘They shouldn’t be allowed to escape,’ Harlewin muttered grimly. ‘The bastards could attack someone else.’
‘I think they have likely lost their taste for waylaying men in town,’ Baldwin noted. ‘And they didn’t actually do anything.’
‘They were going to rob you,’ Harlewin growled.
‘And thanks to your vigilance they failed.’
‘It was my pleasure. Well, and my duty, I suppose. I am the Coroner, so my job is to see to it that felons fail and are arrested.’
‘Did you recognise them?’ Simon enquired.
‘I have seen them before,’ Harlewin admitted. ‘Didn’t you know them? They are from Sir Peregrine’s entourage.’
‘Good Lord!’ Baldwin breathed.
‘God’s Bollocks!’ Simon declared. ‘The shit set his men on us? Why, for Christ’s sake?’
Baldwin scowled thoughtfully. ‘We should ask him that. Perhaps he didn’t? They could be freebooters.’
‘Well, there’s little point in hurrying to him,’ Simon considered. ‘Those buggers of his will get there before us and explain their failure, so he’ll be briefed with an alibi before we get to the castle.’
‘They are staying in the castle, Simon,’ Baldwin said urgently. ‘They could have grabbed William and executed him.’
‘Why should they do that?’
‘Maybe it was a brawl – or perhaps there was another reason. I find it hard to believe that William’s death was not somehow related to his master’s.’
Harlewin smiled thinly. ‘I have declared the good Sir Gilbert’s death to have been caused by the felon.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘I am sure you are correct.’
‘But you’re treating it as a suspicious death?’
Baldwin smiled innocently. ‘Would you care to join us in a celebratory drink, Coroner? You may have saved our lives, after all.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
John Sherman broke off a profitable conversation as the priest came closer, chewing on a pie with an expression that would have soured milk.
‘It was good of you to bring my wife back, Father. The streets can be dangerous during the Fair.’
‘It was a pleasure.’
His voice hardly expressed enthusiasm, Sherman noted. ‘She was with you early, she said.’
‘Yes. A little after dawn,’ the priest said with conviction.
‘And you listened to her confession?’
Father Abraham looked at Sherman unblinkingly. ‘I can’t discuss that, of course.’
‘Of course, Father. I wouldn’t dream… No, I was just worried about her. When she wasn’t in her room this morning.’
‘Then you shouldn’t be. A woman needs to attend church as often as possible.’ The priest’s gaze flitted over to where Cecily Sherman stood talking and laughing with a group of three men about her. In a lull, she looked over the room and her eyes met Father Abraham’s. She smiled and lifted her cup in a toast, and he turned away guiltily.
‘Do you mean my wife in particular?’ Sherman asked.
‘No.’
Sherman shook his head.
Taking pity on him, Father Abraham gave him a smile. ‘Sherman, God has given you health and wealth. You must concentrate on how to improve the lot of those poorer than yourself rather than worrying about things which do not matter. Give alms to the poor, help the Church to look after peasants who have a vocation for the religious life, and share your money with schools to help men to spread God’s goodness with the rest of mankind.’ Sherman smiled, but as he walked away to talk to another man, Father Abraham saw his expression, and it was grim and forbidding.
‘No more than the whoring bitch deserves,’ the priest muttered to himself.
‘We have been talking to Nicholas,’ Baldwin said, leaning back as the serving maid set jugs and pots before them.
‘He told you about Sir Gilbert meeting him in town?’ Harlewin asked shrewdly.
‘Yes. It seems to have been innocent from Nicholas’s point of view.’
‘That was what I thought when he mentioned it. And of course the knight got back to his camp. If Nicholas wanted him dead, he’d have stabbed him here in the town. Why let him escape and have to go through the charade of executing Dyne nearby?’
‘He was able to tell us a bit more about how Dyne was caught as well,’ Simon said pointedly.