‘And the dagger?’
Sir Stephen glanced at him as if startled. ‘Oh, that. Well, the dagger was the property of Squire William de la Bar of Hanham. The husband of Petronilla, the man who killed her entire family.’
‘Where did you get it?’ Sir Charles asked with frank astonishment.
‘From the man who found his body,’ Sir Stephen said.
Simon put his head to one side as Sir Stephen spoke of the dagger and of Robert Vyke finding it in the hole in the road. ‘So someone waylaid Squire William and killed him… and his knife fell into a hole. None of that explains why you set the knife in Cecily’s grave.’
‘Because I thought it would be better for her soul if the knife that slew her mistress was with her. To show that in the end, right did prevail. Her mistress was avenged.’
‘Tell me,’ Sir Charles said, as they walked away from the knight once more, ‘did that make any sense to you, because it made very little sense to me.’
‘I suppose there are some who believe that the weapon which caused so much death could be a symbol of the maid’s rising up over the earthly horrors – or something,’ Simon replied, ‘but I am fascinated by this. If the Squire was dead some days ago, according to the knight’s words, then he did
‘In that case, we need to find out what happened to the Squire as well, if we are to learn what happened to the woman.’
They were inside the gatehouse to the castle when Simon had an idea. He led the way up to the first level, and along to the Constable’s chamber. Inside he found Sir Laurence Ashby.
‘Yes?’ the knight asked.
Simon bowed a little from respect. ‘Sir Laurence, my apologies for troubling you about this again, but I have been ordered to investigate the murder of the woman Cecily. Sir Roger himself demanded it.’
‘I will help if I may,’ Sir Laurence grunted.
‘There are some interesting circumstances because of Squire William. Sir Stephen was holding inquest over him a little while before Cecily died. Can you tell me where the Coroner’s rolls are kept? I would like to see the one concerning his inquest, and perhaps speak with the clerk involved.’
Sir Laurence ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know myself, but my own clerk is bound to. If a mouse farts, he knows about it.’
He stood and walked with the men along the walls to a small, cell-like chamber set into the next tower. Here, David was sitting upon a stool and carefully ruling lines on a piece of perfect vellum.
Sir Laurence stood in the doorway and indicated the two men with him. ‘David, do you know these men?’
‘I know Sir Charles. You, sir, are a stranger to me.’
Simon nodded and introduced himself, saying that he was seeking the murderer of Cecily and explaining about their meeting with Sir Stephen. ‘And so, if the dagger was there, and the Squire was killed already, I wish to learn who killed the Squire. Then, I can perhaps learn who killed Cecily. I do not see how these two, who must have been enemies, could have been struck down by the same man.’
David frowned. ‘Well, for that, I will leave you to decide, master. I can at least take you to the Coroner’s rolls, for they are stored here in the castle.’
They were taken down to the castle’s courtyard, and then up into the main keep, in which there was an iron-barred door. David used a key on a thong about his neck to open it, and they were inside a small cellar which smelled mainly of rats and piss. Four great chests were inside, and the clerk walked straight to the third, unlocking the lid and lifting it.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘are all the rolls for the last six years, when the Justices last came to hold their eyre.[29] The latest ones are on top. Sir Stephen’s clerk was captured by the Queen’s men on his way here, but they did not molest him, and he was able to bring his rolls here without hindrance.’
‘Good!’ Simon said, looking through the various cylinders of parchment. Soon he found the one he was searching for, and eagerly unwrapped it. Reading through it, while David held a candle aloft to aid him, Simon frowned at the ecclesiastical language. It was many years since he had learned his letters in Crediton, and he had to work hard to make sense of the characters used here. They were more rounded than those to which he was accustomed. ‘Dear Heaven!’ he exclaimed.
‘What is it?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘The man who found the body –
‘So?’
‘Paul was the name of the priest who seduced the maid Petronilla and persuaded her to run away with him,’ Simon reminded him. ‘So this same man, whose love had been slaughtered by Squire William, was also the same one who rescued the man who found Squire William’s body.’
‘You mean, the priest could have killed the Squire?’ Sir Charles said.
‘No!’ David protested. ‘Father Paul is a good and generous-hearted soul – he would not go against the Holy Commandments and kill.’
‘But he broke the sixth and eighth, did he not – and I think you will find any man can kill, given the right provocation,’ Sir Charles said lightly.
‘You do not know him. I do,’ David said stoutly.
‘Did you think he would take a man’s wife and make him a cuckold?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘No, of course not!’
‘Then perhaps I know his kind better than you,’ Sir Charles said suavely.
‘Master Bailiff, I hope I find you well?’
Sir Roger Mortimer strode into the hall like a man in a hurry to be off with his hounds. He reminded Simon of his old friend Bishop Walter II when he was younger – a strong, charismatic man, with an almost feral energy about him. Where Sir Roger went, a small group of others always followed. There was the pair of clerks, a priest, three men-at-arms, two messengers, and behind, Simon saw a familiar face.
He dropped to his knee, bowing his head, urgently motioning to Hugh to do the same.
‘Master Puttock, please rise,’ the Duke of Aquitaine said.
He was only fourteen, Simon reckoned, but from his looks and deportment, he could have been a great deal older.
‘So, Master Puttock, I am very glad to meet with you again. You left France in a hurry.’
‘I had to, my lord. I had a bond of honour to Bishop Walter.’
‘Of course. It was a great shame that he died. You heard of that, of course?’
Simon nodded. It was odd – he could feel that thickening in his throat again at the mere thought of the Bishop’s death. He had been snatched from his horse, along with his squires and servants, and had his head sawn off with a bread-knife in the middle of a London street. Barbaric! ‘He was a good man. I know your mother had cause to–’
Sir Roger cleared his throat irritably. ‘Duke, I think I should continue with my discussion. With your permission, my lord?’
The interruption made the Duke pale. He was unused to being treated like a boy. From the first weeks of his life, he had been the Earl of Chester, and he had maintained his own household for years already, and yet from the look in his eyes, Simon saw recognition of the limitations of his position. In the eyes of the world at large, Edward, Duke of Aquitaine and Earl of Chester, was the King’s son and heir; but here, in this chamber, he knew he was at the mercy of Sir Roger Mortimer. The latter would allow him the feel the power of his position, but not to exercise it. For now, he was still a boy, and Sir Roger had assumed the role of Regent and adviser-in-chief.
The Duke nodded. ‘Bailiff, I look forward to speaking to you soon. You will come and see me.’
