divided them into two groups of six and one of two, mounted up, and were off.
Black took the lead again as soon as they took the road back to the town, his eyes constantly roving from the verge at one side of the road to the other and checking the surface in between in his search for signs of the murderers. Simon rode behind, mulling over the motive for what seemed to be such a senseless killing.
It was the manner of the murder that was such a surprise, and he carried a perplexed frown as he rode. Murder was not so rare that a killing after a robbery was unknown, even if it was rare down here. But to kill in such a vicious way, in such a strange way, seemed very odd. If they had not wanted the abbot as a hostage, they could have killed him quickly, much nearer the road, and gone on to make their escape. Why kill him in such a cruel manner? It meant having to travel farther with the hostage, so that the smoke from the fire would be hidden from the road and the man’s screams deadened by the trees. Why go to all that bother, when all they had to do was leave the abbot, take the money and get away?
Simon sighed deeply and concentrated on his tracker, putting the thoughts about the murder to the back of his mind. If they caught them, they would soon have the answers. For now the main thing was simply that: catching them.
They arrived back in Crediton in the late afternoon, tired and hungry. Simon thanked all of the men, especially Black, and sent them home to get some food, but told Black to organise them to return the following day and begin asking at all of the houses to see if anyone was missing or had been out at the time of the murder. Then he turned his horse’s head to home and quickly made his way back.
The house was silent when he arrived, so he unsaddled his horse himself and tended to it before going in and sitting in front of the fire. Deep in thought, he was not aware of his wife and daughter until they burst into the room, his wife standing back as she always did, with a small smile at the sight of her daughter’s excitement at seeing her father again. At last, when Edith had calmed enough, she walked forward to greet him herself.
“What is it?” she asked as she pulled away from their quick hug and looked up into his eyes. “You’re very tense.”
“Don’t worry,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s the robbery over at Copplestone.”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
Sending Edith to play outside, he took his wife’s hand and sat with her in front of the flames. “Well, it wasn’t just a robbery. The thieves took a monk – an abbot – hostage and killed him, and I’ve no idea why.” He broke off and gazed unseeing at the fire. When he spoke again his voice was soft and almost wondering as he considered the incident once more. “They took the abbot – two men in armour with their faces hidden. The abbot seemed to know that something was going to happen – even I guessed that when I met him on the road. The men came up with swords drawn, took the abbot away and killed him. Why? Why would they do that if all they wanted was money?”
She drew her breath in softly as she absorbed this. At no time in her life had she felt threatened in this, her shire. She was fortunate in that the raids and killings of the last centuries seemed to have reduced, and those that continued only really affected the coastal towns. But if Simon was right and there was a man, maybe two men, who were capable of this, then what would they not be capable of? It was not just fear for herself, it was for her family – for Simon and for Edith. If these killers were to attack here, what could they do to protect themselves? Or, worse, what if they found Simon on the road and captured him? What if he was killed as well, as her father had been so many years before when he had been robbed on the highway? She felt her chest constrict in her sudden fear, but tried to keep her voice calm as she said, “Maybe they thought they could get more money for the abbot’s life? Perhaps that’s why they took him.”
“But why kill him, then? There seems to be no reason for it. Why kill a monk?”
“Well, maybe the abbot tried to get away.”
“No, I don’t think so. The tracks seemed to mean that the monk was killed as soon as they were far enough from the road. It seemed as though he was killed immediately they had an opportunity.”
“Maybe the abbot recognised them?”
“Yes. That’s possible. But no, why should he? The killers could have kept their helms on if there was a risk of being recognised.”
“So? What if someone came upon them and the men killed him quickly to stop him getting away?”
Simon looked at her. “No. Whoever killed the abbot didn’t do it in a hurry. He was burned – burned like a heretic at the stake. Only instead of a stake they used a tree in the forest.”
“What?” Her eyes were round in her horror. “He was burned alive? Why would anyone do that to a monk?”
“I wish I knew,” said Simon, staring back at the fire. “I just wish I knew. God! There must have been a reason, but what?”
“Are the men looking for them now?”
“Yes. They came out of the woods on the Barnstaple road. We couldn’t track them on that, so Tanner’s taken some of the men west to see if they can see any traces along the way. We sent two men to search among the locals as well, and we came back to Crediton in case they came this way. No one seems to have seen them, though.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Still, maybe Tanner’ll have more luck.”
As he lowered his arms again, Margaret said, “So, what now?”
He caught a yawn, stifled it, and then had to blink to clear away the tears of tiredness. “It depends. It depends on what the men find. If we…”
“No, Simon,” she said gently. “I meant, what about Brewer, what about our move to Lydford? Do we forget his death for now, and postpone the move?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, there’s no way we can worry about them for now. The abbot’s murder is going to be of more interest to everyone than Brewer’s. What is the death of an old farmer compared to the murder of an abbot? And there’s no way I can move to the castle until we have some idea about what happened to the abbot.”
She nodded, saddened. She knew he was right, of course, but it hurt to hear her husband, the man she knew to be a thoughtful and caring person, say that the death of the farmer was irrelevant. All she said was, “And tomorrow?”
“Ah, tomorrow, my love, I think I’ll go back to Clanton Barton and talk to the monks again. I don’t think they’ve been as helpful as they could have been.”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, both absorbed in their thoughts of the killing as they stared at the flames dancing and dying on the packed clay of the hearth. Suddenly Margaret drew in her breath in a shocked gasp.
“What is it?” said Simon, startled.
“Oh, Simon,” she said, turning a face filled with terror to him. “What if the two men who died were killed by the same men?”
“What?”
“Brewer and the abbot were both robbed, both killed and both killed in the same way. By being burned. Simon, I’m afraid!”
Chapter Thirteen
Next morning, Simon was up early and had soon set off with Hugh trailing along behind. Margaret had agreed to let Black know that he would not be at home, and had sent one of the farm helpers to ride over to his house. She had also arranged for a man to go to Furnshill Manor to explain that the bailiff would be absent for a while and could not help with the investigation of the farmer’s death. But then she had overcome all his objections and forced him to take his servant with him.
Her concerns annoyed her. Margaret knew full well how unlikely it was that he would be attacked, but she could not forget how her father’s body had looked when the men brought it back. The sight had almost destroyed her and she did not want ever to suffer that sort of devastation again. To see his corpse, hacked and violated like that… If she saw Simon’s in a similar state, she thought, it would make her lose her mind. So now she was softly persuasive, insisting gently, “I know he’ll slow you down, but I don’t care. I need to know that you are travelling
