them.
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes wide in his fear, but also, Baldwin felt, in a genuine disbelief. “I had been with Emma, and she told me she didn’t want me any more. I walked around until it was time for me to go home, so that my parents wouldn’t guess – I was hoping to talk her round later. But when I walked past the inn, Stephen almost threw Brewer at me. I couldn’t refuse to help him.
“But he kept going on and on about money and things. He kept telling me that I was useless, as bad as the Carters, not as good as his own son, who’s a merchant. He kept telling me I had hopeless parents – they couldn’t even keep their house up. He told me the best I could do with women was Emma, when anyone else would get someone better. He kept going on and on, even after I’d put him inside the door. I turned to leave when he said that he could buy Emma if he wanted; he could buy houses like my parents”, he said he could buy anything. I just had to shut him up. I… I don’t really know what happened. One minute he was sneering at me, next he was on the floor…”
“What did you do then?” asked Baldwin gently.
“I shut the door and ran home. It was only when I got here I realised I had my knife in my hand.”
They left the house and Roger walked with them to join Hugh and Black.
“Baldwin, if you could take him and the Carters to the gaol, I’ll see you at your house later.”
The knight’s surprise showed in the way that his eyes gazed fixedly at him. “Yes, yes… of course… if that’s what you…”
“Yes. I must go home first. I should be at your house in about three hours.”
Baldwin stared after him with dismay as the bailiff walked to Hugh and led him away, back to the inn where they had left the horses. Then the knight turned, grinned at Black with an embarrassed shrug, and led the way back to the Carters’ house. Black followed, his hand on their prisoner’s arm, ready to take him on to the gaol in Crediton where he must wait for his trial.
“I have no idea what to do. I am sure, but I don’t know whether it’s right to arrest him.”
Margaret stared at her husband with exasperation puckering her forehead. Since he had arrived with Hugh he had been wandering around like a bear ready for baiting, restlessly pacing the room with a thunderous but anxious frown on his face. Now, as she sat watching him, he slapped one fist into the other palm and started circling the room again.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Would you like to explain a little more?” She sat calmly upright with her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes following him. He had never been like this before. He seemed distraught, confused and unsure of what to do for the best. Something had happened, she knew that much, but he appeared too upset to be able to explain.
At last, unwillingly drawn to her like a dog called to heel from the scent, he walked over and plumped down on the trestle near her.
“Good, now try to explain what the problem is.”
His eyes flitted over the room as he tried to find the words he needed before they finally settled on her, and it seemed to her that when they met her firm and steady gaze a little of the restless worry left him, as if her calm posture passed to him a little of her peace.
“We had to arrest Roger Ulton this morning. When we checked it seemed clear that he had killed Brewer. Others saw him take the man from the inn, take him to the door of the house. Then he ran away. The next people at the house found Brewer dead.”
“Good, so that’s all settled, then.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, that’s settled. The trouble is, I’ve been thinking about the abbot, wondering what could have happened to him. Everybody thought that Brewer and the abbot’s deaths could be linked because they both died in flames, or, at least, both had fire involved in their deaths. But if Ulton killed Brewer, there was no reason – and probably no way he could have got there – to kill the abbot.
“Black and Tanner thought that Rodney, the knight with the trail bastons, had killed the abbot on his way through. But if he had, where had his accomplice gone? And why did he do it? I can see no reason why he should have. But what he did say was that he had found the horse and the money on the road. If he had, it means that the killing was done by someone who did not want the money – that it was no robbery.”
“Yes, I can see that. But why kill him, then?”
“Because it was revenge. I don’t know why, but it was in return for some insult or dishonour – or it was a punishment. If you think about it, that would make sense. Rodney finds a horse; he has no companion – his story is true. So who could have killed the abbot? It would have to be someone who had been abroad, because the abbot had never been in England before, according to the monks. It had to be someone who had travelled widely. It had to be someone who had a squire, someone who was close to him, someone who had been with him abroad.”
“Why? Why does it have to be a close squire, someone who had been with him abroad? Couldn’t it have been someone that he had hired since getting back?”
“Yes, it’s possible, but how could a man rely on a recent hireling to keep his mouth shut? It’s possible, but is it credible? On the other hand, if it was a man he had been with for many years, if it was a man he had known and trusted – possibly someone who had suffered from the same insult – wouldn’t that make more sense?”
“And you think you know who, don’t you?” she said, her hands clasped tightly now, her eyes fearful.
“Who else can it be?” he confirmed, his eyes desperate.
Chapter Twenty-three
When they finally clattered up the drive to the manor it seemed as though the house was deserted. There was nobody at the front, and although they went through to the stable yard they could see no one. Even the hostlers were away, so they made their way round to the front and, while Hugh waited with the animals, with a face still black from what he considered to be a wild-goose chase, Simon pounded on the door.
After a few minutes there was the sound of heavy feet stomping down the passageway inside and the door was opened. It was Edgar, Baldwin’s servant.
“Yes? Oh, it’s you, bailiff.”
“Yes, where is your master?”
Edgar’s face had an arrogant and supercilious air, as if he was not concerned by Simon’s interest in his master, but was vaguely amused by his presence. “Sir Baldwin is out riding. He should be back in an hour or so.”
“Fine. I’ll wait for him inside, then,” said Simon, pushing the door a little wider, but then he stopped as a thought struck him. “Er, we’ll just see to our horses first.”
He turned and took the reins of his mount from Hugh, leading it round the house to the stables at the side. The yard was still empty, so he led the horse to the open door and tied it up, before taking the saddle off and rubbing it down. Hugh followed and, still silent in mute reproach, began to see to his own horse.
When he had finished, Simon walked to the stable door and looked out. There was still none in the yard. He crouched down and examined the floor of the stable. It was packed earth, strewn with straw. Then he stood up and started to kick the straw aside, bending every now and again to look carefully underneath it. He covered the whole floor in this way, finally standing with an expression of frowning disgust, his hands on his hips, surveying the stable, before going out into the yard.
To Hugh he seemed to have gone mad. He finished rubbing down his horse and saw that it had hay and water before running out after his master, his face full of concern at this new evidence of his eccentricity.
He found Simon standing and leaning against the wall of the house, a sad smile on his face as he stood staring at the view. Hugh walked over to him cautiously and hesitantly.
“Master?” he enquired softly. “Master? Are you well? Would you like to come inside and rest in front of the fire?” He had heard of similar maladies before, now he thought about it, from his mother. She had said that often shepherds who spent too much time alone up on the hills in the cold and wet could get confused in their thoughts. Usually the next stage would be one of shivering, before a fever took over and ran its course. Maybe this was the aftereffect of their days on the moors? He nervously held out a hand to touch his master’s arm.
