Simon looked up sharply at the sad tone in his friend’s voice, and then realised what it meant. Baldwin was sure that Greencliff was innocent, and that left him with only one suspect: his friend’s son, the Bourc de Beaumont.
The next day was overcast and dreary, with a grey-black sky and a bitter wind that blew continually from the south. Gazing out from the front door, Simon and Baldwin exchanged a glance.
“We do need to speak to Greencliff,” the knight reminded his friend, and then barked with laughter at the expression of doubtful misery his words brought to Simon‘ face. “Come on, the sooner we’re moving in this, the better!”
“Simon!”
They turned to see Margaret in the doorway, her face anxious. “Take Edgar or Hugh with you. You may need to send a messenger if the weather gets worse, or if you get stuck somewhere overnight.”
The bailiff glanced back at the sky, then nodded. “All right, tell Hugh to get ready.”
She did better than merely sending the servant. While the two men meandered casually towards the stables and called for their horses and that of Simon’s servant, Margaret went to work. When Hugh appeared, he was sulkily struggling under the weight of three packs carefully bound for protection. As he took one, Simon looked at his servant with an inquiring eye.
“She said you’d need it. There’s bread and meat, and wineskins for you.”
Tying the sack to his saddlebow, Simon said wonderingly, “Doesn’t she know we intend being home by evening? What does she think we’ll be doing today? Riding to the Scottish marches?”
Baldwin grinned, but kept silent. He was thinking how good it would be to have a wife like Margaret. He sighed, half jealous.
Meanwhile Simon was staring at his servant with exasperation. “Where’s your cloak and jacket?”
“Why? Am I coming too?” His face showed his surprise.
“Of course! Come on, you’ll have to do as you are. We can’t wait for you to get changed.”
“But I’ll freeze!”
“Don’t whine. You’ll be fine if we ride fast. Now mount! We want to get to town as early as possible.”
Smiling, Baldwin watched as Simon lifted his hands in a show of despair, only to let them drop with frustration. When Hugh was ready at last, they left the mews and stables, winding round to the front of the house where Margaret stood waiting to wave them off. The brown and black dog was there, and was about to follow, but Margaret pulled him inside, “If you’re going to be travelling all over the shire, I think I’d better keep him here for now!” she said.
They waved farewell as Baldwin led the way down the narrow lane and out to the road, and once there, he spurred his mount to an easy canter.
It was soon clear that Simon’s man had no great desire to be with them. Somehow he had never quite become used to the idea that a creature as tall and muscular as a horse could be trusted as a slave to his whim, and as a result he objected to trying to force it to his will. The inevitable consequence of bringing him was that the speed of the three was slowed to a more leisurely pace. Although Baldwin would occasionally urge them to move faster, he would soon discover that he and the bailiff were far in the lead and Hugh was moving along at his accustomed speed – somewhat quicker than a snail, but not a great deal.
In the end it took them a little over two hours to get to Crediton. The small market town was bustling, with wagons trailing through the slush on the roads, riders on horses trotting happily, and pedestrians groaning and complaining at the chilly mess thrown over them at the passing of each vehicle or animal. As they came closer to the church, a small herd of cattle stopped all the traffic, and the three had to pause and wait for the huge creatures to pass. They got to the church, and walked through the courtyard to the house beyond where the priest had his living quarters. “Simon, old friend, it’s good to see you again!” The thin, older man grasped his hand enthusiastically, then stood back and studied him critically. “You’re working too hard,” he said at last, “and I think you aren’t eating enough, but apart from that I am pleased to see you looking so well, thank God!”
“Peter, it has been a very long journey to get here, old friend. Do you not have any wine?”
Laughing, the priest led them indoors and seated them, Hugh grumpily taking a seat as close as he could to the fire. When all had a drink to hand, the priest leaned forward and peered at the knight with a serious expression on his face. “Sir Baldwin, do you have any suspect other than this miserable creature Greencliff yet?”
“I fear not, Peter, no. But why do you ask?”
Peter sat back in his chair and meditatively sipped at his wine while staring past Hugh at the flames. ”It’s very difficult. Sometimes a man admits to a brutal crime in the confessional, and the confessor is bound to keep his secret. Sometimes it likewise comes to pass that a man is sent to the executioner when his father in God is certain of his innocence.“ His eyes shot up to stare at the knight. ”I am as sure as I can be that this boy is innocent of the woman’s murder.“
“But, Peter,” said Simon, “does that mean he has denied it to you in confessional?”
“No! Of course not!” Peter was shocked. “If he had, I would have to keep my peace. No, he is as yet unshriven, I could not have said anything otherwise.”
“But you are sure?” asked Baldwin, his eyes glittering as he leaned forward.
“Yes. I am as sure as I can be that the boy is innocent of this murder. He just isn’t capable.”
“We think so too,” said Simon.
“Why? Do you have another suspect? I thought you said…”
“No, we were telling you the truth. We have no other idea who could have done it. Do you?”
“Me?” The expression of amazement that spread across his face was so comical that both Baldwin and Simon began to laugh, making the priest gaze at them reproachfully. “How could I know who had done it? I…”
“Sorry, Peter,” Simon managed at last. “No, you’re right. We didn’t expect you to have any better idea than we ourselves.”
Standing, Baldwin yawned and stretched. “Since we all agree that it was not Greencliff, I should get to the gaol!” Sighing, he glanced at the priest and explained about the evidence from Stephen de la Forte. “So you see,” he finished, “we are here to release him. It’s not fair to keep the boy imprisoned for no reason, and now Stephen de la Forte says he was with Greencliff all afternoon and evening, there’s little reason to keep him locked up. No, Simon. You might as well wait. I shan’t be long.”
“Bring him back here. I’ll not see him go without being fed – not in this weather,” said Peter.
The town gaol stood at the entrance to the market beside the toll-booth, a small square block used mainly for those traders found to have given short measures of grain or bread, and only occasionally for holding vagabonds found in the town. Strolling along the street and trying to avoid the slush, it took the knight only a few minutes to cover the short distance, and soon he was at the entrance, wrinkling his nose at the smell from the market, which had not yet been cleaned from the last market day, and consequently was bathed in an all-encompassing stench of animal and human ordure. He glanced at the area, wincing, and then rapped his knuckles on the heavy door.
Tanner had apparently been sleeping, for when he opened the door, his hair was tousled and his eyes bleared. At the sight of the knight, he seemed to wake rapidly, and hauled the stiff door wide on its hinges.
“Good morning, sir.”
Stepping into the murky gloom of the gaol, the knight sniffed with distaste. The men who were usually held here tainted the very atmosphere with the pervasive, metallic scent of fear. Convicts knew what would happen to them once they were judged in court. There were not many sentences available for a judge, and justice usually followed swiftly after pronouncement of sentence, most often involving a brief meeting with the executioner. There was good reason to be fearful of the result of the legal process.
He shrugged. After all, that was the whole idea of justice.
“So, Tanner. How is the prisoner today?”
“Greencliff, sir? He seems well enough in body, but I wish he’d say something.”
“Why? Has he stayed silent?”
