The same slow smile appeared now, and the thin layer of tension was banished from his face. She had deserved it, and so had he. And soon, surely, he would pay the price in full for his deeds. Unless – a frown twisted his face – unless that cretin of a Keeper of the King’s Peace should realize. He was known to be clever – what if he guessed at the truth? With a shrug, he put the idea from his mind. There was plenty of proof for the knight of Furnshill. The Keeper of the King’s Peace must realize soon what had happened.
Baldwin strode back through the town with no regard for the two men and child following. His stern expression matched his somber mood as he thought it all through again. Sarra had been killed after an argument with the captain. Judith had been stabbed to death after trying to beg from him, and he had refused her in no uncertain terms. The man had lost his silver, but that appeared now to have been the work of a couple of his own men, who had run away with their profit before their unstable leader could exact his own punishment. He made a mental note to free Cole: if the two had stolen the plate, surely they must also have killed Sarra… But although he slowed his step, he did not turn and march back to the jail. It might be better to keep Philip locked up for now, until the mercenaries had left the town. There might still be some who would be prepared to execute him in misguided loyalty to Sir Hector. Baldwin recalled how Wat had suggested that Cole had been friendly with Henry and John too; so it was just possible that Cole had been involved, that he had been a willing accomplice to the theft. He resolved to leave the man in jail a little longer.
Why the man had knocked Simon out was anyone’s guess, but Baldwin was now of a mind to think that Judith’s killer either had not wanted to kill the bailiff but had been disturbed by his blundering nearby, or had intended to kill him as well, but had been interrupted by someone else. Whichever proved to be the truth, Baldwin was certain that Sir Hector would not have balked at killing either Simon or himself.
“Hugh, could you take the boy away for a minute?”
Baldwin watched as Hugh led Rollo some feet away, then faced Edgar, standing still in the road. A rider passed, swearing at them for blocking the road, but Baldwin ignored him. “Edgar, whoever the murderer is, he has killed two women, and would probably have done for the lad as well.” Baldwin gravely studied the small figure with Hugh. “He has been very brave, our Rollo. Let’s hope he can be braver still and tell us what he saw last night. Simon escaped by a miracle. Next time, the killer might be more lucky – if he wants to see Simon dead.”
“But surely if he wanted to kill Simon he would have stabbed him rather than knocking him cold,” Edgar suggested.
“That’s possible. But he knocked out Simon after he’d killed the woman, I assume. She felt quite cool to the touch, so she’d been dead some time. It’s quite likely he only struck Simon because he wanted to silence him. Perhaps he would have stabbed him as well but he was stopped by other people approaching.”
“So you think he might still try to kill Simon? That’d be a little irrational, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s hardly the behavior of a rational man to kill two women, is it? There’s nothing I’m aware of which links them: a girl from an inn and a beggar. And if he is not rational, he might come to the conclusion that Simon could have seen him. He might decide that it is better to make absolutely sure of Simon’s silence – that’s why I want you to look to our friend’s protection. Don’t let anyone near him while he’s unwell.”
Edgar nodded. Hugh returned when Baldwin beckoned.
“Hugh, I want you to stay with your master all the time he’s ill from this blow to his head. I think he might be in danger. Edgar will help you.”
Simon’s servant glowered truculently. Jerking a thumb at Rollo, he was about to speak out when Baldwin hastily cut him off.
“Right, let’s get back before anything else can happen.”
The last thing he needed was for the boy to be even more scared than he already was. Baldwin did not want Hugh to point out that, of all of them, Rollo himself must be in the most danger.
Walter Stapledon pulled the spectacles from his nose with a wry smile and sighed. There was no doubt that the two discs of glass helped enormously, and with them he could see as well as he ever had, but they were tiring for his eyes. Roger was reading at another table, and he looked up on hearing his Bishop’s despairing exhalation. Stapledon was staring up at one of the windows as if for inspiration, his brow furrowed with affairs that Roger could only guess at.
The matters which were causing so much distress to the Bishop were not simple issues about the cathedral, or the founding of Stapledon College at Oxford; nor were they to do with the grammar school the Bishop was bent on creating. They were affairs of state.
This letter was from his friend John Sandale, the Bishop of Winchester and, more recently, the King’s Treasurer as well. John had written to tell him of the appalling state of the Exchequer’s records. There was no classification of records – most were not even dated. The staff were being smothered by their work, and had little, if any, guidance as to what they were expected to achieve.
Standing, Stapledon stretched and went to the screens. He stopped a passing servant and asked for wine, then returned to his desk. Soon the jug and a large goblet arrived, and he sipped sparingly.
The trouble was, the King was weak and ineffectual. He could be too easily swayed by any man with a persuasive turn of phrase – or a man who was too pretty, he admitted, sourly staring into his drink. That was one piece of information the country would be happier not to know. In general his friendships were passed off as being the natural desire of a young man to meet with others of his own age, but there was no way to hide his more flagrant affairs from closer members of his household, and, reading between the lines of Sandale’s letter, Stapledon knew that the King had set his hopes on yet another man. How the Queen could tolerate such behavior, he had no idea.
If the King was not careful, he might lose his crown – and his head. It would not be easy to force some of his more strident critics, especially those who also enjoyed positions of power, to restrain their public condemnation of him. No, it was beyond the Bishop how the poor Queen could bear to be near him, and if she were to lose her reserve, the King’s fate would soon be sealed.
Hearing the stamp of approaching feet, he looked up. Soon the door was thrown open and Baldwin and the others walked in. Smiling his welcome, Stapledon put his letters aside, folded, to be free from prying eyes, then froze at the sight of the expression on Baldwin’s face.
“Hugh,” the knight said, and gestured curtly. “I’m sure the lad would like to see the garden. And might enjoy playing with Edith – uhn, after he’s had a wash, perhaps. Oh, and give him some food. See to it that he’s comfortable.”
Stapledon watched as the servant took the boy out, then turned enquiringly to the knight. Baldwin sat on a bench at his table, and explained who the boy was, then told of his fears for the lad’s safety since the screaming fit in the town.
“And there is more,” Baldwin went on. “Two of the mercenaries have run away.”
Roger sat open-mouthed while Baldwin told of his discussion with the captain until he could not help bursting out, “They must have been the men I saw last night!”
“What? Where?” Baldwin frowned.
“Two men on horses, with a pack animal on a long line. I saw them just before I heard the commotion in the alley, and it put them from my mind.”
“Where were they heading?” Baldwin asked keenly, suppressing his excitement, and when Roger told him, he gave a groan of delight. “Then I was right! They are going toward Exeter. Bishop, could you send a messenger to alert your men at the cathedral? Have them check on all the silversmiths and find out if they’ve had a large amount of plate offered to them? Much, if not all, will be foreign, I would imagine. It must be easy to tell.”
“I can try,” the Bishop said, “but are you sure? They might simply have gone that way as far as the first village, then turned north. There’s nothing to suggest that they would definitely have gone to Exeter.”
“No, but I’m sure they will have done, nonetheless. They have no local knowledge, and would expect their captain to be after them at the earliest opportunity. Where else could they go, other than to the nearest city where at least they could try to hide themselves in the crowd, and where there would be many ships and other roads to take? These men, from what I saw of them, have a certain cunning, but I doubt whether they’d be able to think up a more detailed plan.”
“But they might have been planning this for months.”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. Sir Hector and his men have been up north. They were trying to get themselves
