and the bailiff had to stop himself from cursing as he recognized his servant. “Hugh? What is it?”
“Sir Baldwin’s getting ready to go into town, sir. He thought you’d want to join him.”
“He did, did he?”
The disgruntled bailiff dressed himself and went down to the hall. There he found the knight sitting in his chair by the fire, which had only recently been made up and was making more smoke than flame. Wat was on his knees blowing enthusiastically at the feeble embers.
“You’re in a hurry to be off today,” Simon observed suspiciously.
“Sorry, Simon, but I have a murder to solve, and there are many people to speak to.”
The bailiff watched him don a thick coat and cloak. “So it’s got nothing to do with nervousness about seeing Jeanne as soon as she wakes?”
“Nervousness? What have I got to be nervous about?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. How’s your dog today?”
Baldwin glowered at him scornfully. When Edgar appeared and announced that their horses were ready, the knight walked past the bailiff with an air of absolute disdain. Uncrushed, Simon trailed after him, still fastening his cloak, whistling tunelessly and grinning broadly.
The town, when the three men rode in, was just stirring. Dogs barked, cockerels squawked their welcome to the new day, shutters slammed open, men and women cursed or bellowed, and over it all there was a general hubbub of pots and pans banging as meals were prepared. They rode past shopkeepers dropping their shutters onto trestles and setting goods on display. Some recognized Simon from the time when he had lived here-was it really four years since he had left for Lydford?-and gave him a good-natured nod of the head, or a doubtful frown, depending upon their experience of him. It made him feel good to be alive. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the town.
“Where to first, Baldwin?”
“Up to see our old friend John of Irelaunde. He’d be the first man to be suspected by the average townsman, and I’d rather have a chance to speak to him before someone tries to dangle him from a rope.”
They were soon at the road that led up the hill to the Irishman’s. On the corner stood Godfrey’s house. Baldwin carried on toward John’s property, but Simon called to him. “There’s someone trying to attract your attention, Baldwin. Is that Putthe?”
Without answering, Baldwin trotted his horse through the gate and up to the front door. “Putthe? You’ve had second thoughts?”
“Me?” Putthe, his bandage even grimier now, looked up as if surprised at the question. “No, sir. When I saw you the other night I was still half-concussed, and fearfully upset, what with the strain of losing my master. I forgot to tell you something.”
Baldwin and the others dismounted and followed the servant into the buttery. Here he had a small copper pot heating over a brazier. The scent from it made Simon salivate. It was the smell of sugared wine, mulled with sweet, aromatic herbs. After the journey, it was the tonic he needed.
Even Baldwin couldn’t refuse a mug, and he sighed with gratitude as he felt his first gulp sear a glowing path down his gullet. “Come on, Putthe. What stunning news do you have for us?”
It was hard, but now Putthe knew he had been wrong at first, and he had to ensure that John was protected. He didn’t need any more trouble, and his mistress could make his life a misery if he didn’t protect the Irishman.
“Master, my memory was weak after I was hit. Otherwise I’d have told you when you were here before.”
“Never mind the excuses, what wonderful clues do you now remember?”
“On the night my master was murdered, I was out here. I didn’t say before, because I didn’t think it mattered, but I had someone with me…”
“Who?” Simon demanded immediately. “We already know that your lady had allowed all the servants to go to the inn apart from you and her maid. Who was here with you?”
Puuhe lowered his eyes for a moment. “It was Jack, the blacksmith. He was often round here to see to the master’s horses.”
“And you shared your master’s best ale with him?”
“I was asked to, sir. It wasn’t as if there was any problem with it. Jack had been here to see to Mistress Cecily’s mare-it had cast a shoe, and he had to fit it back.”
“What really happened, Putthe?” Baldwin asked, setting his pot on the floor.
“As I told you, sir, I got such a knock on the head that I couldn’t remember everything all at once,” Putthe said reproachfully. “Soon as I recalled it, I wanted to let you know. What happened was this: Jack was here in the late afternoon, and the mare was skittish, didn’t want any part of having the shoe refitted, so Jack got quite hot and thirsty. Mistress Cecily asked me to invite him in here. I wouldn’t normally, he’s a bit rough and ready, if you follow me, but after he’d spent so long here with the mare, I suppose the mistress thought it was only polite to give him an ale when he was done.
“The master came in after a while, and shared a drink. He was in an excellent mood, and went out just as dark was falling. It was his way to go out when Coffyn was away. He didn’t trust Coffyn’s hired men-thought they could rob the house. Master Godfrey was worried they might decide to take some of his tools or steal a pig or something. You never can trust their type!
“What with one thing and another, it had been a hard day for me and for Jack. We had a few quarts together. One man came, asking for the master, but he went when I said he wasn’t here…”
“Who was that?” asked Baldwin sharply.
“Only one of Coffyn’s men. He said he wanted to pass on some news about Coffyn’s business.”
“Was it normal for Coffyn’s men to come round like that?”
“Not really,” shrugged Putthe, “but they came over sometimes. My master had some interest in helping Matthew Coffyn, and had been for several months.”
“And what happened then?”
“After he’d gone, Jack and I had a little more to drink, and then he left. I put my feet up with another pint or two. I suppose I must have dozed. I don’t know what stirred me. All of a sudden I was wide awake. It took me a minute to get my bearings, as it were. I couldn’t hear anything, not even a mouse, so I just put it down to some noise from the street. You get that sometimes, from carts hitting potholes and suchlike. But then I heard this terrible scream!”
Putthe stopped and turned to Baldwin. He knew that the Keeper was the more important of the two men, and it was the knight whom he must convince. That cry was a sound he’d never forget, not if he lived another thousand years. The pain in it was too great. As soon as he heard it, Putthe had recognized it as his master’s.
“I knew it was the master. I couldn’t miss his voice-but, Sir Baldwin, it was as if he’d concentrated his whole soul in that one bellow. It was awful-the agony of it. God’s Blood! I hope I never hear anything like it again!”
Baldwin eyed him with a cool detachment. There was little doubt in his mind that the servant was honest in his horror at remembering his master’s shout, but that begged the question: had he concealed hearing it before? The knight had known head injuries of many kinds-both at first-hand from practicing warfare, and from watching tournaments where others were buffeted and struck down. It was not uncommon for a man to waken from such a blow having forgotten things, but he was convinced Putthe had intentionally kept this hidden. “And?”
Sighing, Putthe topped up his copper and set it to rest upon the brazier once more. “It was impossible for John to have killed him. I was there too quickly. He didn’t have time to get out before I was there.”
“So now you think John wasn’t involved?”
“No, sir. He couldn’t have been.”
“But John hated your master because Godfrey found him in the garden?”
“Well, I don’t know, sir,” said Putthe thoughtfully. “Maybe I was wrong and my master disliked John more than the other way around, if you take my meaning. I think Martha Coffyn reminded the master of his own wife, and perhaps he didn’t want to think of someone like John…well, you know.”
“Godfrey’s wife is dead, isn’t she? How did she die?”
“A cart in the street. The horse bolted, and she was caught by a wheel. Didn’t look as if it had touched her, but she was bedridden almost at once, and just faded away over the next couple of days.”
“How long ago was that?”
