“Why did he leave, Mrs. Black?” said Baldwin, a scowl of incomprehension darkening his features.
“Why? Oh to get away, I think. He managed to save some money and went to Exeter. He got his lord’s agreement – that was your brother, Sir Baldwin. It’s not surprising. Brewer was a hard man. I can remember seeing Morgan bruised and hurt on mornings when his father had been in his cups the night before.”
“Did he often get drunk, then?”
She gave a chuckle. “Oh yes, sir. Very often indeed! It was rare for him to get home sober. Many was the night he had to be helped home from the inn or from a friend’s house after too much ale or cider.”
Baldwin nodded slowly. “And he became violent when he had too much to drink?”
Her eyes seemed to film over as she looked at him. “Yes,” she said at last. “He would often abuse others. If he had drunk too much he tried to fight – and he was strong, sir, very strong. My father used to try to avoid him, but others would be hit by him. He even used to hit the very men that were helping him home. Oh, yes, he could be very violent.”
“This son, Morgan. You think he’s still in Exeter?”
“No, I doubt it. If he had any choice, I think Morgan would have gone as far away as he could. He had no need of his father’s money, I think. He earned enough himself in the city and could easily afford to travel farther.”
“Do you know where he can be found?”
“Oh no. No, I’ve no idea. And I doubt whether anyone else in Blackway will, either.”
Preparing to leave, Simon and Baldwin stood and waited on the doorstep while Black took his wife back indoors to give her his farewell.
“Are you really sure that this man Brewer was murdered?” said Simon at last.
Baldwin shot a glance at him, then smiled sardonically as if mocking himself. “Oh, I don’t know. Not really know. But I am sure he was dead before the fire started. And I’m equally sure that the blaze was not caused by his cooking fire.”
“Why? How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because of what I said. The fire was too low. It couldn’t have thrown up enough sparks to light the roof.”
Simon scratched his neck and squinted at the tall, dark figure beside him with a sceptical grimace. “Baldwin, you may be right, but just what the bugger do you think we can do even if you are? We can’t show that the body was injured – it was too badly burned for that. We can’t prove that anyone went there to kill him – what do you want?”
“Of course we can prove it,” said his friend, looking at him with an expression of patience mixed with frustration. “All we need to do is find the man who did it and get him to confess.”
“Ah,” said Simon sarcastically. “So that’s all, is it? I may as well go home now then, if you have it all tied up so neatly already!”
Chapter Five
When Black came back out again, he was amused to see that the two had obviously quarrelled. It was plain from their silence, from the fixity of their stares – which were aimed anywhere but at each other – and from the grin on Edgar’s face as he stood a little behind the two of them, out of their sight.
When Black looked at the servant enquiringly, Edgar merely shrugged, the indication of disinterest being totally refuted by his simultaneously expanding smile. The hunter was not aware, but Edgar was, only too painfully, of how close Baldwin had been to death in the previous year. Since then, since his suffering from the brain fever, he had been regularly morose and taciturn, rarely allowing a smile to crack his features, almost never showing petulance or selfishness of any sort, but continuing quietly and with a gentle calm, eternally grateful for the kindly ministrations of his servant. It was a delight as well as a relief for Edgar to see his master in an argumentative mood once more.
The four men slowly made their way back up the street, Black pointing out the houses and indicating the people who lived in each. They were all very much the same, built of the same materials and to the same size. Some had the small front door for the human occupants, each had a larger door, or pair of doors, at the side for the larger inhabitants – the oxen, pigs and goats that represented that family’s wealth. The small, unglazed windows peered at them with apparently bovine calm, as though intrigued by these curious creatures, but not in any way scared or threatened. From the thatch, the smoke drifted aimlessly in the still air, small wisps and tendrils breaking free to climb up the pitch of the roofs before dispersing at the top, like morning mist under the sunshine.
They had almost passed the inn when Baldwin halted, spun round and rushed in through the door. Simon and the others stood and waited, and soon he came out again, the landlord drifting along behind him.
He was a huge man, the innkeeper. He was only a couple of years older than Simon, or so the bailiff thought, but he gave the impression of vast knowledge. The appearance of accumulated learning was helped by his head, which was bald. But that was due to his shaving his pate every morning. His eyes were cheerful and twinkling, deep-set under a heavy, sloping brow, and, looking oddly out of place, his jaw and upper lip were covered in a thick and bushy growth of dark hair, making him appear inside out somehow, as if there had been an accident at his birth leaving his whole body inverted. His tunic was filthy, but then that hardly mattered in the darkness of his hall, and its pale, stained front seemed to have served as a cleaning implement, apron, carrying sack for wood and meat, and towel as well as clothing. In fairness, its size made it an ideal means of transport. The man’s girth was vast, and any cloth that could encompass his belly, Simon thought, would be able to carry a significant load of goods.
“Black, your wife said that Brewer was a heavy drinker, yes? Good, now, innkeeper, tell these men what you just told me,” said Baldwin, motioning towards the little group.
The innkeeper leaned back against his wall, rubbing his hands on his noisome tunic, and gave a quick belch. “About old Harold Brewer, sirs. He was here last night. He came in, like normal, just after dusk and stayed until too late. I suppose it must’ve been gone eleven by the time he went. It must’ve been getting close to the middle watches.”
“So he decided to go home then?” Simon asked.
“Well.” The man’s eyes were sly, and almost seemed about to wink. “Well, no, he didn’t decide to go. I decided for him. He was getting loud again, and when he started his roaring I let him know he might be better off in his bed.”
Baldwin leaned forward. “You got him outside, you put him into the lane. What then? Please tell my friends.”
“Well, I got him out, and there was this other man walking up it, going his way. I called out to him, said, ”Take this one with you, we’ve had enough for one night,“ and he seemed to be happy enough to help. He came over and took Brewer by the arm. Well, that was enough for me, I went back inside to clear up.”
“But, as far as you could see, this man was taking Brewer home with him?”
“Oh, yes. Even after I shut the door, I could hear Harold shouting and cursing him. He wanted more ale, he wanted to stay here, he wasn’t ready to go home yet. ”Course, he wasn’t getting any more to drink from me. He was ready to start a fight again – and I’ve had enough of him fighting in my inn over the years. I felt sorry for the man, though. It sounded like he was getting the rough end of Harold’s tongue alright.“
“Didn’t you see who it was, this helpful stranger?” said Simon, and the twinkling, merry eyes were fixed on him. For an instant he saw through the friendly exterior, to the selfishness, the disinterest that lay behind, before the facade dropped down again like a portcullis.
“No. It was dark and I had just come out of the inn. I could only make out a figure, and I shut the door as soon as I called out to him. No, I never saw who it was, and I wasn’t very interested. All I wanted by then was to get Harold out and get up to my bed.”
The men left him at the door to his inn and made their way farther up the street, Black seeming deep in thought, and Simon staring at Baldwin with an expression of puzzlement. “So how can we find out who this man was?”
The knight turned and faced him with a smile. “We ask people, Simon. We ask people.”
