Chapter Six
It was getting late now, the air was more chill and the shadows were beginning to grow as the little band trooped after the knight. As they went he shot questions at Black, pointing at houses and asking about the occupants – how many people lived there, how long for, had their parents been there before them? Black seemed to know a fair deal about all of the villeins in the hamlet, he was often asked to fetch food for them on his travels, even though he had only been living there for some four years, since he married and agreed that he would move into the area so that his wife did not have to leave the village she had grown up in.
Baldwin cleared his throat. “This man walking back in this direction, whoever he might have been… I suppose it would make sense if he lived in one of the houses in this direction. Of course, he might have been out to do some chore and was going to return home later, if he came from farther down the lane, but it would make sense to me to ask whether anyone at this side of the village, this side of the inn, was out late last night. What do you think, Simon?”
The bailiff nodded, his animosity towards his companion forgotten now in his interest. “Yes, I would think that should make sense. Black, who do you know who could have been out that late at night?”
He considered, scowling at the road ahead and scratching at his belly, his mouth drawn down into a crescent of near-humorous misery in his deep contemplation. “Well there’s four that would be up at that time that I can think of. Cenred, the warrener, is often out late. He has to be, to try to get the badgers and foxes and keep his rabbits safe. Then there’s Alfred, the young Carter boy. He has to look after the sheep over by the tor, so he’s sometimes late back. Edward, his brother, often joins him. And there’s Roger. He’s often out late.”
“Why?” said Simon, his eyes narrowing at the lack of explanation and peering at the hunter.
He was rewarded with a rich laugh. “Because he’s wooing a woman over at Hollowbrook. Emma Boundstone. He gets back as late as he can most nights!”
They were almost back at the ruined house now. The crowd that had come to see the fire was thinner, the people, losing interest, having dispersed after the body was removed. The remaining spectators were the locals themselves, standing around in small huddles and talking in low voices, their eyes flitting suspiciously over the men with Black as they came close.
“Black,” said Baldwin, “I want you to point out the four men you just mentioned. Then bring them over to us. Now, which are they?”
“That there’s Alfred, his brother’s beside him,” the hunter said, indicating two young men. The first was slim but fit-looking, a lithe man with tallow-coloured hair, a dark, ruddy complexion and quick, shifty movements, reminding Simon somehow of a rat. His brother was a little taller, but his hair was mousey, thin and wispy. His figure was more expansive, fuller, as though he liked his beer too much, and even from fifty yards away his bright, rosy cheeks seemed to hint at excessive consumption. His eyes, though, seemed as quick and sharp as his brother’s, almost eagerly tripping over the bailiff and his friends with quick, snapping glances.
The hunter’s finger jabbed out again. “He’s Roger Ulton, him over there.” He seemed to be indicating a quiet, bookish-looking man with a thin, pale face and sunken eyes. For all that he, by the look of him, was only some nineteen years old, he looked squashed and nervous. Simon looked at him with interest. The man’s air was of a fearful dejection, as if he was waiting to be accused, knowing that he was bound to be assumed guilty.
“What about the other one – the warrener?” asked Baldwin quietly.
“Cenred? Can’t see him here. I suppose he’s out at work.”
“Good. Right, go and get the two brothers first, would you, Black. We should be able to get this matter over with fairly quickly now, I think, with only five men to see.”
“Five? But there’s only four, surely,” said Black, looking surprised.
“No, there’s you as well, Black.”
His face as dark as his name suggested, the hunter soon brought the two young men over. It seemed that Alfred was the younger of the two, and his sly, cunning eyes seemed to be everywhere as he stood in front of the others, whereas his older brother stood as if nervous, his eyes on the ground in a display of humility. Alfred looked as if he was only just out of his teens; he still had the boldness of youth, as if he did not understand that he was being questioned about a possible murder. He seemed fearless, unabashed in front of the bailiff and the knight as they sat on a fallen tree trunk with Black and Edgar standing behind. Simon looked at the man with interest. His tallow hair seemed too bright, somehow, for the dull, monotonous life of a cottar, and his lively and cunning manner did not fit in with the bailiff’s opinion of how a villein should appear. He wore a faded blue tunic beneath a leather jerkin. His worn and stained leggings were patched and mended, showing their great age, and around his waist was a thin leather belt, with a wooden-handled knife in a leather sheath hanging in front. He gazed back at the men with arrogance and defiance in his eyes.
Edward kept his eyes downcast. He had more the appearance of the servile country labourer that Simon expected. The bailiff was by no means a harsh or cruel man, but he did understand the differences between men, and he knew how they were expected to react. The son of a castle seneschal, Simon knew that it was impossible to constantly keep servants quiet and humble. The nature of his fellows was such that they could only take so much, but then they would snap. After all, any man needs self-respect, and that can only be achieved if respect is given by others. Simon knew this, and he gave his men an according amount of regard. But, even so, most of his own men would be humble in front of a new lord when presented for the first time – no matter what they might say afterwards!
This older man was dressed simply, with thick stockings, tightly bound with the thongs from his sandals under a light tunic and short cloak. He looked warm in his clothes, and Simon was surprised to see that all his garments seemed fairly new – there were no stains or patches as yet, unlike those of his brother.
Baldwin appeared to have noticed the same disparity, shooting little glances from one to the other as he sat. Then, “I understand that you were out late last night, both of you. Where were you?”
He waited to see which would answer, his eyes small glinting sparks under his lowered brows. At last Alfred, quickly snooting a confirmatory look at his brother from the corner of his eye, said, “I’m a shepherd for my father’s flocks. We were up with the sheep.”
“Aren’t you a little old for that type of work?”
His face was blank. “No, I’m only twenty, and I’m the youngest in the family, so I normally go out to see to them and make sure they’re alright. Edward often comes with me.”
“Ah yes, Edward. What do you do for a living?”
“Me? I sell goods at markets. I collect them from the town and take them with me on my cart. Why?”
“Why do you help your brother with the sheep?”
“Just so that we can get out of the village and talk alone. And it means he’s finished sooner. Why?”
The knight ignored the question for the second time. “What time did you return last night?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alfred, seeming keen to speak again, as if nervous that his brother would say too much. “I suppose we left the hill at about half past ten o’clock. I doubt whether it would have been much later.”
“How long did it take you to get back?”
“What, to get home? Oh, I suppose about a half hour, I don’t know.”
“Did you see anyone else on your way home?”
The young man glanced at his brother as he answered for him. “No, no one.” Simon was sure that he saw something – anger, or fear maybe in his dark eyes. Why was that?
“When was that, when you got into the village?” asked Baldwin, frowning in the manner that Simon was beginning to recognise as demonstrating intense concentration.
“Yes, just as we came into the village.”
“And you saw no fire as you passed Brewer’s house?”
“No, there was nothing – I could stake my life on that!”
Baldwin believed him. Alfred seemed absolutely convinced that there was no sign whatever of the fire then, but that still left the question: when did it start? He glanced at the younger man again, who was staring at him with
