The Oath

God, perhaps my journeying all that way might appease Him. At least I would have Saint Thomas to intercede for me.’

‘I am sure Saint Thomas would be glad of the opportunity,’ Baldwin replied.

He eyed the man thoughtfully. There was little about him that showed he was lying, and equally little to give the impression that he might have money on him and thus warrant an attack.

‘I have no idea why they should attack me.’ Redcliffe shrugged with every appearance of honesty. ‘I am not clad in furs or silks, I don’t have jewels draped about me. In truth, Sir Baldwin, it would be easier to understand that they had made an attempt upon you. You look rich, with all your expensive clothes.’

Baldwin glanced down at his new tunic, wondering if this was a subtle insult. It was only a matter of a few months old, but there were worn and faded patches at his knees and thighs, while the careful embroidery which Jeanne, his wife, had sewn at the hem was already pulled and ruined. Still, Redcliffe was right. It was more likely that felons would try to rob Baldwin, for a knight would be likely to carry something worth stealing: if not money, then pewter plate or good armour to pawn.

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed after a moment. ‘What of enemies? Is there someone who could wish to assault you: a woman’s husband, a jealous competitor in business?’

‘I have no enemies,’ Redcliffe said with a little smile. ‘A poor man cannot afford such luxuries. And my wife is a good woman to me. Beautiful and obedient.’

The innkeeper returned, and the smell of cooked food made Baldwin’s mouth water. For all the years of fighting and serving as a warrior, he was forced to accept the fact that he was no longer young, and the disruption of his night’s sleep after a day’s hard riding had left him feeling less than alert. The wooden trencher with the eggs and thick slices of dark ham were surely going to help him wake, and he broke off a lump of bread and dabbed at the eggs with it.

‘Where are you going now?’ he said after a little while, and drank from the jug of ale which the innkeeper had set at his side.

‘I am heading for my home. My wife will be wondering what has happened to me already, and I would fain leave her wondering whether she is a widow.’

Baldwin nodded, considering. The men who had tried to rob Redcliffe the night before were locked away safely, but this was no time for a man to be wandering the countryside alone. There were many others who would be happy to rob a lone traveller.

There was another point at issue: he had no desire to be stuck here, a witness to the attack on Redcliffe, but if he was to arrange for the arrest of the men in the innkeeper’s shed, he would be held up for at least a day. Better to avoid that. He wanted to get back to his own wife.

‘Do you intend to charge the felons?’

‘I would rather they were kept in a gaol until I was out of the county,’ Redcliffe admitted. ‘I don’t want to be delayed here waiting for a Justice to listen to their tale.’

Baldwin nodded, then beckoned the inkeeper. ‘Master, I wish to speak with the captives.’

Marshfield

When Robert Vyke woke next morning, for the first time his dreams had been untroubled and free of memories of that damned head. The pain from his leg had thankfully abated somewhat, and was now little more than a constant throbbing with an occasional stab of anguish if he knocked it by accident. In truth, his head hurt a great deal more than his leg, and that was when he remembered vaguely that his poor skull had suffered a second blow. Who had attacked him, after he found the body?

Slowly lifting himself from the bed, he pushed the rugs away and gently eased his feet to the ground. It was not a pleasant sensation to have his weight upon the injured leg once more, but he saw a large staff in a corner of the chamber, hopped over to it, and used it as a crutch.

Getting to the door was a lengthy process, but once there, he opened it and peered out. Immediately, his feeling of disorientation was increased.

Where he had expected to find a road, with deep potholes, mud and a hedge or shaw running nearby, instead he found himself gazing out over a flat landscape with one solitary track, and that so under-used that the grass grew thickly all over it.

‘But…’ he gasped, desperate to find anything that could even approximate to the scene he had expected. Hobbling out into the thin sunshine, he stared about him wildly. Behind him was a little church, and there were some trees in the small graveyard, but not enough. He was sure that as he and the vingtaine approached that latest vill, there had been trees lining at least one side of the road. As he had fallen, looking up he had seen their branches against the sky. He couldn’t have dreamed that. There had been branches framing Otho’s head when the Sergeant bent to him. And when he found that head, it was in a little wood. He couldn’t have dreamed it all!

‘You are awake, then? Good. How is your leg? It must be a little improved for you to be out here,’ the priest said. He was walking towards Robert from the open church door. Seeing Robert’s look, Father Paul gestured back to the building and said, ‘There are so many strangers travelling the country, peasants who were arrayed and deserted, felons who will take advantage at any opportunity, as well as warriors who are seeking whatever plunder they may discover, that I have to keep a wary eye on my altar in case one of them steals it to sell. Thieves are no respecters of the House of God, you know.’

But Robert paid little heed. ‘This isn’t where I was,’ he lamented.

The priest looked at him oddly. ‘It isn’t?’

‘No. When I fell and hurt myself, I was in a little wood, on a busy roadway.’

‘I found you about thirty yards down there,’ the priest said, calmly but firmly. ‘Would you like to see?’

‘Yes,’ Robert said eagerly, and carefully followed him. It was hard going, even with the tall staff to cling on to, and Father Paul had to point out holes and puddles as they went so that the injured man didn’t fall again.

‘It was just here. You can see,’ the priest added helpfully, ‘where you have flattened the grass here.’

Robert looked around at the flat lands, the treeless pastures and low hedges. He felt confused, weak and sickly. Like a small child who has lost a toy.

‘No, this wasn’t it,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t here!’

Inn outside Winchester

Baldwin walked into the little shed and eyed the men held inside with disfavour. The innkeeper had argued against it, but Baldwin and Redcliffe had insisted that the prisoners should be bound. It would be too easy for them to escape if they had their hands free, which was one reason why Baldwin suspected the innkeeper was in league with these fellows. At least there was no fight left in them. They were all sitting sullenly, their wrists tied securely, and probably painfully.

‘Who among you wants to hang?’ Baldwin said.

They tensed visibly, and the boy who’d had the long dagger, whom Jack had knocked down with a timber, looked fretfully at the bearded man who appeared to Baldwin to be their leader.

In the grey daylight, Baldwin saw that this man had brown hair, and his beard was brown and ginger, as though he had carelessly painted a wall and splashed ochre over his chin. He had the narrow, deep-set eyes that to Baldwin indicated that he was untrustworthy. The knight was not keen to make snap decisions about any man, but felt that when someone had attempted to test his blade in Baldwin’s breast, he was entitled to take a dim view. At least the fellow was in less of a position to hurt anyone now, from the look of the blood seeping through the linen wrapping his flank.

‘You,’ he said, pointing. ‘Are you the leader of this band?’

‘We don’t have leaders.’

‘You don’t have a lot, do you?’ Baldwin said. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. Wolf came and stood at his side, head lowered aggressively.

The men were all unrested, he could see. Even without the bruises and injuries it was clear that they were strained. There was a smell of sweat and fear. ‘You realise that I can have all of you hanged? Men who rob by night are the lowest criminals. And in your excitement, you chose to attack a Keeper of the King’s Peace. A word from me, and you will all die.’