Baldwin smiled faintly. “When we saw you on Thursday, you said that Harold Greencliff had taken a lover. You said she was a married woman.” There was a slight movement of his head, but other than that Baldwin saw no sign that he had heard. “It is difficult for you, I know, but it is possible that she might know something about the death of Agatha Kyteler. We must find out who she is.”
Slowly Stephen’s eyes rose to meet the knight’s. “Like I said, you’d better ask Harry. I cannot betray a confidence. I swore…”
“Very well. I cannot force you. There is something else, though.” He paused, head tilted as he considered the youth. “Why did you lie about being with him all that day, the day that Kyteler died?”
“I… I didn’t lie! How can you suggest that? I…”
“We know that you lied. What I now want to know is the truth. When did you meet him and what did you do together?”
His mouth opened, but then snapped shut as if he thought the better of further blustering. He glanced away for a moment, and when he looked back, Baldwin could see some of his previous pride rising again. “We were together almost all of the time. I met him at the ”Sign of the Moon“ in the afternoon, and we spent most of the rest of the day together. If you want to check, ask the innkeeper, he’ll…”
“We have asked him,” Baldwin said flatly. “He said you met him there at around five, late in the afternoon, and left shortly after, getting back at eight or so. Is that right?”
“I suppose so. I don’t know…”
“Because we have someone who saw him in the road with a horse at about four, maybe just after. That means he could have gone to the house, killed the old woman, and still met you at the inn.”
“But… He’s not a murderer!” The words came softly, almost hesitantly, and Baldwin was sure he was thinking hard about his friend, wondering whether he could have been wrong about him. How hard, the knight thought, to have to doubt an old friend.
“Have you seen him since he was released?”
The question, shot out so fast, took the youth by surprise, and his head nodded before he could stop himself.
“Did he say why he decided to leave the area?”
Stephen hesitated. His eyes held a sudden fear, a hunted look that made Baldwin realise how young he still was. The knight was about to prompt him gently when his father slammed his fist on the bench beside him in rage. “Answer!”
The boy’s eyes shot to his father, and his mouth framed the word “Yes.“ It was so soft that Baldwin could hardly hear it, but at the sound he breathed easier.
“Tell us why, Stephen.”
“It was his woman. She rejected him. He felt that there was nothing here for him anymore. He just decided to go. He was trying to get to a ship, so that he could sail for Normandy or Gascony, but he hardly got anywhere when he was caught. That was all – he swore to me that he had nothing to do with her death! You don’t really think he killed her, do you?”
Baldwin gazed at him with sympathy. There was little doubt now. Whatever else was unknown, they would be able to find out by questioning the youth again. He had little doubt of that. But in the meantime, this friend, who had been so loyal, was bound to be hurt. At the least Greencliff had lied to him, to his best friend, who had kept his secrets even when questioned by the Justice.
Sighing, he stood and motioned to Simon.
“Let’s go and see Greencliff,” he said.
They had only just crossed the threshold when the messenger arrived, a young lad, flushed and panting from an enthusiastic chase that had taken him all the way to Furnshill and back.
“Sir! Sir!” Riding up to them, he was close to falling from his saddle as he reined in his horse before them.
It took little time for him to tell them, gasping out the message from Peter Clifford, his eyes darting from one to another of the silent men before him. When the boy had finished, Simon and Baldwin stared at him, then at each other. Snatching their reins from the waiting hostlers, they leapt up and, setting spurs to their mounts, set off to Crediton.
Chapter Thirteen
At the yard before Peter Clifford’s house, they turned in and dismounted quickly, their messenger taking their reins and leading the mounts to the stable area. The door was opened by Peter himself, who gave them a short nod and stood back to let them all enter. His face was serious. He did not smile at the sight of his friends, but silently led the way through to his hall.
Inside, sitting like a queen on her throne, Simon saw Jennie Miller near the fire. She looked up quickly as they came in, but although she registered a brief pleasure – or was it relief – at the sight of them, she was reserved. Looking at Peter, Simon felt sure that his reaction to her news was the cause of her seriousness.
“I understand you’ve already had a conversation with Jennie,” the priest said. “She arrived here just over two hours ago and… Well I shall let her tell her own story.” He walked to a seat in the shadows near the screens and sat. Glancing quickly at her, Simon saw her eyes studying the knight with a kind of suppressed excitement now that Peter was out of sight. As Baldwin sat in front of her she leaned forward to stare at him, as if he and she were alone in the room; friends meeting to gossip about old acquaintances.
“I’ve seen her!”
“Yes? Where? Tell us exactly what happened.”
“I was on my way into town, but I had to stop for a piss just outside. Well, I just finished when I heard these horses coming. There was this pair. She was the one, though. She was wearing the same things I saw on her out in front of Agatha’s place: long grey riding cloak with fur round the edge, with a blue tunic and skirts underneath, and it was the same horse. A nice little mare. Pretty little thing she was.”
“Are you quite sure? You couldn’t have made a mistake? It wasn’t just a similar horse?” interrupted Simon dubiously. She threw him a withering look.
“It’s not only knights can see the difference between a tired old hackney and a good young mare,” she said, then added tartly, “and my eyes are perfectly good enough to tell colours from a couple of yards away.”
Baldwin coughed discreetly, bringing her attention back to him. “That’s good. Can you describe the man?”
“Oh, yes. He’s short in build, not your height, sir. Very dark face, with scars and wrinkles all over. His mount was a palfrey, a grey with dappled sides. Both horses had good leather fittings with brass.”
“Good!” Baldwin stood. “We should be able to find a couple like them easily enough.”
“Yes, sir. I can take you there if you’re worried you’ll lose them.”
He spun around to stare at her. “You know where they are?”
“Of course I do!” she said, seeming amused at his surprise. “I know everyone round here. I’m the miller’s wife.”
Simon grinned at Baldwin’s dumbfounded expression, and asked: “Could you just tell us who these two people are, please, Jennie?“
“Oh, sorry, I forgot. Mr. and Mrs. Trevellyn. They’re from over to the west, at South Helions.”
“Trevellyn?” Baldwin glanced at Simon, who shrugged. “Now that is interesting!”
“Do you need anything else from this woman?” Peter’s voice sounded strained, Simon thought, and as the priest stepped forward into the pool of light from a large candle-holder, the bailiff saw that his friend’s face was taut and pale, and his face registered distaste when his glance fell on her.
Stirring, Baldwin shook his head quickly. “No. Thank you, Jennie. You’ve been very helpful.”
She stood. “Suppose I’d better get on with buying what we need, then, and get on home.” She smoothed her tunic and grinned at the knight before walking out enthusiastically. This was an important day for her. There was the excitement that her story would have for the people in the ‘Moon’ later, as the only person who saw the woman
