recruited by the army. John Smithson comes from near St. Albans, while Henry the Hurdle is from Surrey, near London. The mercenaries passed nearby both places, once while they were going northward, to offer their services to the King. If they were going to steal all this stuff, surely they’d have done it near one of their homes? Then they’d know people to sell it to, people who could hide them until the fuss died down and their captain had gone. No, the robbery was perpetrated here because of something about this place. I just wish I knew what it was.”
“Roger – could you fetch me Stephen, please. And tell the groom to prepare his mare. He will be leaving as soon as possible.” The Bishop turned to Baldwin. “Now, would you like a little wine?”
“No, thank you, my lord. I must see that child and make sure he is all right, and I want to see Simon too.”
“I suppose I should return to my work as well,” the Bishop muttered, throwing the papers a look of repugnance so virulent that Baldwin laughed.
“It is our duty to work, my lord.”
“Yes. Strangely, though, I sometimes wonder what made the Good Lord decide to inflict papers on us. We must have done something appalling to have deserved such a punishment.”
Simon was not in his bed. Leaving his chamber, it was only when he reached the garden that Baldwin could find him.
Immediately outside the house, on a terrace, Peter had created a pleasing display of medicinal and culinary herbs. Below it, beyond a group of massive oaks and elms, was a large meadow, and in here Baldwin saw Margaret playing with Edith. Judith’s son was nearby, sitting on a bench with Simon, while Hugh hovered, scowling distrustfully at the world at large.
To Baldwin’s relief, apart from a certain pallor, Simon looked fine. While the knight had been at the inn, Peter Clifford had asked one of the canons who was well practiced with medicines to come and see Simon, and he had impressed the priest with a professional display, holding up a number of fingers before Simon and asking him to confirm how many, inspecting the wound itself and smearing egg-white over it to cleanse it, and making sure Simon’s tongue had not gone black. Peter had no idea what this last could possibly show, but he was prepared to take the word of a trained man when he was told that Simon was fit, though he might be prone to headaches for a while to come.
Baldwin took a seat next to his friend. “How are you?”
“Grim.” Simon winced. “And this weather doesn’t help.”
Baldwin nodded. The damp heat smothered everything like a blanket, and he was already sweating profusely after the cool of the hall. “How is your head?”
“I feel as if I’ve spent the whole of last night drinking with Sir Hector’s men, matching each of them pint for pint individually, before being used as a football. And every time I speak, someone hits me again, from the feel of it.”
“It will improve.” Baldwin smiled. He had little sympathy with small knocks. Now he was sure Simon was to recover fully, he saw no need for excessive compassion. Men had suffered from worse, and would continue to do so.
“I am grateful for your sympathy,” Simon said ironically. “Margaret told me about last night. Thanks for coming and fetching me. So! What happened this morning?”
Baldwin told him, beginning with Hugh finding the boy and then recounting his interview with the captain. “And Roger saw them riding off, so we know where to search.”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Simon said speculatively. “There aren’t all that many silversmiths in Exeter.”
“No. We should have an answer – or a pair of prisoners – tomorrow evening.”
“With any luck, we can put them straight behind bars.”
“But what are we to make of the other instance? The boy clearly identified the captain, albeit unintentionally.”
“The two in Exeter must have stolen the silver.”
“Probably stole – not must have stolen. After all, it could still have been Cole who took the plate, and they saw where he hid it.”
“True, in which case either Cole or those two also murdered Sarra.”
“Yes…”
“Baldwin, you’ve gone into one of your ruminations. You’re staring out over the meadow and frowning, and that means something doesn’t strike true to you.”
“I was merely thinking: it seems unlikely that there should be two murderers stalking the town, and yet the boy showed terror when he saw Sir Hector. If Sarra was killed by whoever took the plate, it was not Sir Hector – he would hardly take his own silver. So, if he killed Judith, the two murders must be unconnected, but what possible motive could Sir Hector have to kill this woman Judith? The most obvious suspects for the murder of Sarra were Henry and John, as their rapid departure showed. And yet…”
“Could they have killed Judith and knocked me out?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. We cannot tell how long you were unconscious there. It is feasible that they struck you down, saw who they’d hit, and left quickly to ride from town.”
“But why would the boy have reacted as he did when he saw Sir Hector, unless he saw his mother’s murderer?”
Baldwin sighed with vexation. “Perhaps the murders were nothing to do with the robbery. Maybe there’s something we’ve missed. In any case, we should have the captain watched. The boy certainly shrieked at the sight of him, and that seems to imply he must have had something to do with Judith’s death.”
“That’s easy to arrange. Tell Paul, on the quiet, that we’d like to know if the bugger decides to leave in a hurry.”
“That should be easy enough. Paul has several lads there to help serve customers and do odd jobs. One of them was packing for Sir Hector this morning.”
“I wonder why? He has all those men with him. Didn’t Hugh say Wat was his servant? I seem to remember Hugh saying it was Wat who went into the room when they were looking after Sarra’s body.”
“Perhaps Sir Hector has lost faith in Wat – maybe he thought the inn’s lad would be better trained at such things than a soldier. And I very much doubt whether one of the other girls would want to be alone with him. I get the impression they all distrust him after Sarra’s death.”
“That’d be no surprise.”
“After young Rollo’s reaction to seeing the bastard, I rather tend to agree with the girls. Rollo’s shock was terrible. And the captain’s response was just as marked. He went straight back inside, and I saw him leaning against the wall as if he was about to die.”
“I hope not,” Simon said darkly and touched the lump over his ear. “If he did this and killed those girls, I want to see him hang.”
“Well, we shall know either way when the two are brought back from Exeter.”
“Yes – if they are.”
18
That night was a long one for Sir Hector. He had no wish to remain in the hall with his troop after learning that the two men he had trusted most, though mainly from reasons of their own self-interest, had left him. Especially since he was quite certain in his own mind that they had stolen his silver. Henry and John had robbed him. It was impossible to believe, but futile to try to deny. Their disappearance was their confession.
At his board, while he was being served, he caught a knowing look from Wat. When the knight stared, his man-at-arms smiled and looked away; Sir Hector knew what that meant. Wat had been in the band for almost all the time Sir Hector had controlled it, slightly longer than Henry or John. They had proved to be disloyal, and now Wat was as well. Sir Hector had hoarded any rumors or unwary comments like a miser cosseting his money, and he was sure that Wat was plotting against him. That fool thought he could lead the company as well as his master. Sir
