you’re seriously suggesting that Cecily, who probably sees John almost every day, could fail to recognize him.”
“In the heat of the moment-in her fear of finding someone in her house she wasn’t expecting, she might have missed any clues as to who it was. And anyway, you know what women are like. They aren’t like men. You or I would merely have hit the man as an intruder-but women are flighty. They work on feelings, not facts.”
Baldwin winced. “Simon, you have yourself a good wife-do you honestly mean to tell me that you wouldn’t trust Margaret’s word compared to a man’s just because she is female?”
“Oh no, that’s different! She’s my wife.”
“Yes, but she is still a woman. No, Simon, your argument is illogical. If something happened to Cecily, you may be assured she would note it as well as you or I. Especially if she was raped.”
“You are thinking of what Putthe and Coffyn said?”
“Yes. Both tried to imply that John was so lascivious in his desires that he could have tried to rape her. I cannot believe that.”
“No. After talking to him, he does appear too ordinary to try to rape a wealthy girl in her father’s hall.”
“I didn’t mean that-I was thinking about her. She wasn’t raped! If she had been, she would have demanded that the culprit be captured. She had enough evidence, after all, with that blow to her face. No, she wasn’t sexually attacked.” The knight recalled the look he had caught a glimpse of in her eye. “But if she wanted to conceal something, she would be perfectly capable.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked, but his friend remained silent and thoughtful. To draw him out a little, Simon considered a new topic. “Did you know what John was talking about when he said he was taken to be a soldier?”
“The invasion, of course.”
“Which invasion?”
Baldwin gave a faint smile. “I sometimes forget that your interests lie so firmly rooted in Devon. Let me give you a short lesson in recent history:
“The Scottish have always been quick to exploit any weakness on our part. Bannockburn gave their leaders cause to hope that they might be able to drive us from the north of our country, but it also gave them pause for thought. If they could defeat our King in open battle, why should they not take some of his other possessions for themselves? It would be costly to try to steal over to France to invade the English territories, but King Edward has other lands under him. And the Bruces were well acquainted with one.
“Edward Bruce landed in Ireland on Lady Day in 1315, at a place called Larne. He had thousands of battle- hardened men with him, veterans of Bannockburn and other fights, and the poor Irish were no match for them. Our people there had no experience of serious fighting, and had to depend on feudal levies; everywhere they met the Scots, they were rolled up. By May of 1316, Edward Bruce had conquered most of the place, and had himself crowned King.”
“But John was here before that!”
“Yes, it appears he was one of the levies, and saw the destruction of his farm and family early on. After that, it’s no surprise he left the country.”
“What happened to Edward Bruce? Isn’t he dead?” Simon frowned. He recalled hearing something of the affair in church, but it was just as he was taking over his new post as bailiff, and his interest in affairs so far away was not as important as sorting out the tinners on the moors.
“Yes, he is dead. Like so many who aspire to great things, he sought to take what he wanted ever more quickly. At the end of 1316 his brother Robert joined him. Just think, two brothers, and both pretending to different thrones! Robert brought with him a new army, and they rode out over Ireland, devastating the land. And this at the time when Ireland and England were both already laid waste by the famine.”
“How did Edward Bruce die?”
“He told the Irish that he wanted to throw out the English and return the land to the ancient Kings of Ireland. Fine words, but he insisted that he would be the new High King. Many weren’t convinced he would be a good monarch-and though the Irish are poor, and often complain about losing their language and laws, for all that, they are a proud race, and have a true determination to keep their freedoms. After months of seeing how a Scottish army could trample all underfoot-you heard what John said about his farm-many chose to support the English in ridding their country of the invaders. Dublin fought and beat the Scots back when they laid siege to the city; loyal subjects in Connaught defeated them too, and soon a new army arrived-an English one, determined to throw the brothers out of Ireland forever. Robert Bruce withdrew to Scotland, and his brother was left alone. In 1318 he was beaten, and he died in the battle.”
“I see,” said Simon quietly. “It makes it easier to understand how John could have got to be as he is today, learning about his past. God knows how I would react to finding my home destroyed, my family dead. The poor devil!”
“Yes,” Baldwin agreed. “It does make sense, once you realize how the shock must have affected him. His devil-may-care cheeriness and relaxed attitude is more understandable.”
The bailiff walked on a short distance, and then stopped dead.
“What is it, Simon?”
“Baldwin, I was just thinking, if a man like John lost his wife, surely the first thing he’d want to do would be to take revenge.”
“Ah, but when it’s a matter of warfare, Simon, things…”
“No, you miss my point. If that’s so, then in the same way, a man who finds his wife has been committing adultery would also want vengeance.” Simon gazed back along the road toward the two houses. “And it seems everyone knows John was seeing Coffyn’s wife. Surely Coffyn himself must have heard-so why the hell didn’t he take a dagger to John himself?”
They meandered along the street, and hitched their horses to the rail outside the inn. Inside they found Edgar seated on his own at a table near the door. Baldwin sat at his side. “Well?”
Before his servant could speak, Cristine appeared and strode to them. “Do you want wine, Sir Baldwin?”
He smiled up at her, and she returned it brightly. As she would, he reminded himself wrily. She was no fool, and seeing how Edgar had become ensnared by her attractions, it was only sensible for her to try to similarly win over Edgar’s master.
But for all his cynicism, it was hard to view her harshly. Cristine was a buxom, cheerful girl of thirty. She was remarkably unscarred by her life as a servant to travellers through Crediton, and her features carried no signs of starvation or cruelty at her broad forehead. A little over average height, she had dimples at either cheek that gave her a happy, if slightly vacuous look.
But that look was a carefully fabricated mask to conceal a sharp mind, Baldwin knew, and he motioned toward a bench, waiting until she was seated before he spoke.
“Cristine, I know that Edgar will have mentioned that I want to ask you some questions. Tell me first what you know about Godfrey.”
She glanced at Edgar, but then held the knight’s eyes as she spoke. “I didn’t know him well, Sir Baldwin. He only rarely came in here, and then he was with someone else. It was not common for him to be here alone, so all I do know is what I have picked up from others talking about him in here.”
When he nodded, she continued. “He came to Crediton some years ago, before I began to work here myself. His household was himself, his daughter, and a few servants. Putthe is the only one left; the others have all gone now. Putthe comes here sometimes, usually with the head groom from Godfrey’s house, but they rarely talk about their master. I get the impression Putthe is a close, cautious sort of man.
“What I have heard is, Godfrey was free enough with his money when it came to his horses, but other people could whistle-although he was known to lend money for interest.”
“What was his temper like?” Simon asked. “Was he the sort to get involved in fights?”
“Not that I’d ever heard, sir. I had the impression he was a bitter, angry sort of a man. He snapped at us in here when we were held up and he wanted his drink, and used vicious language sometimes. I’ve heard he used to beat his daughter, too, but none of that means he’d pick a fight with other men.”
“You mean he was a bully,” Simon summed up for her.
“Yet he was apparently getting into a fight with thieves or others when he was killed,” Baldwin pointed out. Then, “Tell us what you know about his daughter.”
“Mistress Cecily is even more rarely seen in here than her father was, sir,” Cristine protested. “She’s too
