Torches were placed in holders to throw a jagged light and further illumination came from the glowing coals in the brazier. Pokers and tongs were being heated in the fire. Gervase gulped at the realisation that his host would use the most barbaric methods of torture without compunction. When the gaoler saw them coming, he took one of the torches from its holder and used it to conduct them to a heavy oak door with an iron grille in it. Through the bars, Gervase could see a man curled up in the fetid straw.
When the door was unlocked, Baldwin pulled it open, then snatched the torch from the gaoler and went into the cell. Kicking the prisoner awake, he held the flames close to the man’s face and made him recoil with horror. Gervase noted that he was fettered and that his naked torso already bore the hideous marks of whip and fire.
‘Tell the truth!’ ordered the sheriff, kicking the man again.
‘Let him be, my lord sheriff,’ said Gervase.
‘Ask him why they slaughtered Nicholas Picard.’
‘I could do so more easily alone.’
‘I will stay here and watch.’
‘He will speak more freely if you quit the cell,’ said Gervase.
‘He is in abject terror. I will not get a word out of him while you stand over the fellow like that. Wait outside and you will easily overhear us.’
Baldwin was unhappy with the suggestion but he agreed to it.
Thrusting the torch into Gervase’s hand, he lumbered out and stood in the passageway with the gaoler. The cell was small, low and noisome. No natural light penetrated. The straw was clotted with excrement and it took Gervase a moment to accustom himself to the stink. The smell of fear was also overpowering. He knelt down and spoke softly to the man.
‘I need to ask you some questions,’ he said.
The prisoner was surprised to hear his own language. They were the first words addressed to him in the dungeon which were not followed by a blow. He turned a wary eye on his visitor.
‘Who are you?’ he said gruffly.
‘My name is Gervase Bret and I am in the King’s service. Some days ago, a man was ambushed in a wood not far from the city. It is very important for us to find out who murdered him and why.’
He held the torch nearer his own face so that the man could see he posed no threat. ‘Did you and your accomplice kill him?’
‘No!’
‘Is that the truth?’
‘Yes!’ said the other with a note of pleading. ‘We are robbers and not murderers. Masterless men who live by stealing. Or did live,’ he added ruefully. ‘They have already slain my brother Alnoth, and they will soon send me after him.’
‘The lord sheriff tells me that you were found with money and rings upon you. They were taken from the dead man, Nicholas Picard.’
‘I confess it freely.’
‘How did they come into your possession?’
‘By chance.’
‘Go on.’
‘Alnoth and I were heading for the wood that evening. When darkness falls, it is an ideal place for an ambush and we have found more than one fool riding home alone.’ He ran a tongue over parched lips to moisten them. ‘As we approached, a horse came galloping out of the wood. We knew that something amiss had happened.’
‘What did you do?’
‘We rode into the wood with caution. We soon found him.’
‘Where?’
‘Beside the track and beneath an overhanging beech,’ said the other, grimacing at the memory. ‘His face was cut to ribbons and his throat cut. Alnoth and I could not bear to look on him.’
‘Yet you stole his purse.’
‘Yes.’
‘And his rings?’
‘He had no more use for them,’ said the man truculently. ‘They were pure gold. We planned to sell them but they caught us.
Yes,’ he said with a touch of defiance. ‘We are robbers and we stole from a dead man but we did not kill him. I swear it!’
‘Who did?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Did you see anybody else in the wood?’
‘No,’ said the man. ‘All we heard were the hooves of a horse.
When we reached the body, someone was galloping away in the direction of the city.’
‘Only one horse?’ asked Gervase.
‘Only one.’
‘Can you be certain of that?’
‘My brother and I are robbers,’ said the other. ‘Sharp ears are a necessary part of our trade. We are used to keeping out of sight and listening. We saw the dead man’s stallion leaving the wood and we heard only one other horse.’
‘A solitary attacker, then?’ mused Gervase. ‘No accomplices.’
‘All we knew was that there were rich pickings that cost us no effort. We took what we wanted and fled.’
‘To Crediton, I hear?’
‘We stayed at an inn. That was our mistake.’
Gervase moved in closer to study the man’s face. He was still relatively young, not much above Gervase’s own age, but a life on the run had ploughed deep furrows and a night at the mercy of Baldwin of Moeles had sown them with anguish. It was the ugly face of a desperate man who pursued a life of crime with his brother. Whatever he said, he knew that he would die at the hands of the sheriff. The man had nothing to lose and no reason to lie. Gervase believed his story implicitly.
Thank you,’ he said warmly.
They were the only kind words the man heard since he arrived there.
‘Thank you?’ he echoed. ‘For what?’
Gervase left the cell to be accosted by an impatient sheriff.
‘Did you draw a confession out of him?’ he asked.
‘No, my lord sheriff.’
‘Would he say nothing?’
‘Only that they did not kill the lord Nicholas. All that he will admit is that they stole the money and rings. His story rings true. I am sorry,’ said Gervase firmly, ‘but you have merely caught a thief. You have not arrested the murderer.’
They rode home in silence, their horses moving at a dignified trot which suited their mood. When they reached the manor house, Catherine went straight to her chamber. Tetbald dismissed the knights who had escorted them to and from the funeral then adjourned to the kitchen. Ordering refreshment, he took it up to her in person on a wooden tray.
Catherine was seated in a chair when he let himself in. She refused the offer of food, but consented to take the cup of wine he had brought. Tetbald set the tray down. She sipped her drink reflectively.
‘Did you see her?’ she asked in a flat voice.
‘Who, my lady?’
‘Asa.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I knew that she would be there.’
‘She has too much gall not to be. Gall and impertinence.’
‘We could hardly prevent her, my lady.’
‘Her presence did not offend me, Tetbald,’ she said. ‘I ceased to be offended by my husband’s behaviour a long time ago. If I had not done so, I would have led a miserable existence and misery has no appeal for me. No,’ she continued, ‘I was interested to see Asa there. And I do believe that she came to pay her respects rather than to gloat. Besides, she thinks herself a beneficiary of Nicholas’s death.’
‘The commissioners will not take her claim seriously.’
‘She purports to have a letter written by my husband.’
‘But was it witnessed?’ he said.
‘I think it unlikely.’
‘Then what significance will the commissioners attach to it, my lady? A letter of intent is not a legally binding document.
Beside your claim as the widow, Asa’s is quite derisory. She will be humiliated in the shire hall.’
‘I am almost tempted to be there to watch that happen.’
‘That might not be wise,’ he warned.
‘I will not lock myself away for ever, Tetbald.’
‘People will expect you to grieve.’
‘I grieved when he was alive,’ she said bitterly. ‘Now that he is dead, I am free of him. Free of the lies, the deception and the endless …’
Her voice broke off as kinder memories surfaced. She had married Nicholas Picard out of love and there had been true happiness at the start. In the welter of recrimination, it was easy to forget that. The cathedral where he was buried was also the place where they had married. She recalled the fragile joy of her wedding day and felt the first pang of regret at his passing.