The Oath

Otho looked at him. ‘Really? We have more need to catch him and prove we’re not felons than you, Master Bailiff. We’re coming.’

Simon was not prepared to argue. As he stood irritably tapping his foot on the ground, waiting for his horse, Otho and the others grabbed their own horses from the stable, saddled and bridled them in little time, and were ready to mount almost before Simon and Baldwin.

Shoving his foot in the stirrup, Simon sprang up, calling, ‘Which way did he go, did you see?’

‘Towards the river, I think. Down to the south,’ Otho shouted back, and was already moving off before Simon had his other, sore foot firmly located.

Baldwin was away, and Simon after him, wincing, with Robert and Herv in their wake.

The town was full, and it was terrifying to rush headlong down the narrow alleys and streets towards the bridge, with men and women scattering and shouting, one hurling imprecations, another a stone, which fortunately missed. Then they were into the darkness between some hugely tall houses, and Simon heard the dread call of ‘Gardez l’eau!’ but a concerted roar from him, and from Otho, who appeared to have heard as well, prevented the chamber-pot from being emptied over them. Instead a shocked maid stared out at them as the five men pounded down the cobbles, and out into a broader thoroughfare, where they all turned left towards the bridge. Simon felt his mount slip a little, a rear hoof sliding on a smooth cobble, and then there was a shout behind him. He daren’t throw a look over his shoulder yet, but when he did, he saw Robert and Herv still on horseback, and thanked his stars that no one had fallen. Behind them, Wolf pelted along on his great paws, tongue hanging out.

Over the bridge, and he felt the thrill of the open country fill his heart and belly with fire. Here there was no need to ride so cautiously. They could all go at full speed. And with luck, since they had no heavy packs, and Sir Stephen was carrying all his belongings, they should be able to overtake him.

They did not pause until they came to a small bridge, where the hoofprints of a single horse stood out clearly. Simon reined in briefly to glance down. The prints were very distinct: one of the shoes, he saw, was cracked and should be replaced. He only hoped it would break and make the horse slow, but then he was riding on again, bending low as he let the horse have its head. The knight would surely not be able to keep on forcing the pace like this. He would have to slow before too long, or risk killing his beast.

Rushing past a little village, Simon saw that the land rose from here. And suddenly he saw Sir Stephen! Up ahead, on the brow of the next hill, perhaps a third of a league away, was a man on a large horse, who stopped and stared back.

‘It’s him!’ Simon roared, and lashed his mount again, all thoughts of care for his own beast suddenly flown.

‘I see him,’ Baldwin shouted back, urging on his horse.

Trees whipped past, and the wind snatched and tugged at Simon’s shredded cloak. The hood billowed out like a sack, and every so often he pulled at it ineffectually. It was freezing, too; the wind reached in through the gaps, chilling his spine all the way down to his buttocks. Every part of him throbbed and ached, burned or froze, and he hoped that the knight would soon be forced to slow his mad onward rush.

And then they were down a hill, fording a rushing torrent, splashing their legs and gasping with the icy water, and then up the other side into a small wood and thence past another hamlet, where the road split. Baldwin and Otho pointed where the hoof-prints had gone – and there was Sir Stephen, up ahead, lashing and spurring his poor mount with abandon, a scant 150 yards away, and riding over the crest of a ridge.

It was enough to make them forget the cold, forget their tortured muscles, and think only of their prey. As soon as they reached the top, they hurtled down the other side like hounds seeing a hare.

Sir Stephen could not escape them – that was clear. He had forced his horse to go too far, too fast, and now the brute was winded.

They reached him as the horse gave up the ghost, and Simon rode around to block his path, his sword out and ready. ‘Sir, stop. If you flog your horse any further, you will have to walk back with us.’

‘Damn your soul, Bailiff!’ Sir Stephen spat.

‘Others have suggested that,’ Simon said easily.

It was late that afternoon when they all returned to the city. Sir Stephen had been silent for almost the whole journey, but as they reached Hereford and rode over the bridge, he gestured at a tavern. ‘You will question me anyway: is there any reason why we could not do so over a pot of wine?’

‘There is no reason to avoid wine,’ Baldwin agreed.

Soon they were all inside the tavern, in a small chamber which had a charcoal brazier to warm them, and jugs of wine set out on a tray with a mazer each.

‘Killed? What is that supposed to mean?’ Sir Stephen said as Baldwin questioned him.

‘You asked those three men to kill us, we know,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘Your attempt failed, although you owe Simon a new cloak for his trouble. Why did you want us dead?’

‘Because you had decided I was guilty,’ Sir Stephen said. ‘I wanted to remove you, Puttock, ever since you mentioned my guilt.’

Simon drew a face. ‘What?’

‘On the way back with the King’s men, you said something about bad debts, and gambling. I knew what you were getting at.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ Simon said. ‘Do you mean when I spoke of the Capons?’

‘Yes. You clearly knew about my debts. That was why I tried to kill you – at the hedge. I saw you were at the back of the column, so I rode across to make your horse shy. I’d hoped you’d break your neck, but oh no, you managed to live, and told this knight.’

‘Of the murder of the Capons,’ Baldwin interjected. ‘I believe Cecily was lying when she declared that Squire William had been there and killed the Capons. I think it was you, with your accomplices, who carried out the murderous deed, because Capon was a moneylender,’ Baldwin said, ‘and you owed him money. Lots of it. So you lured the maid Cecily into helping you. You swore no one would be hurt, and she was shocked when your men went into the house and slaughtered all inside. Perhaps she said then that she wanted nothing more to do with it? I see by your expression that I am right.’

‘She told me that she’d sworn to protect the babe, and as the child couldn’t bear witness against me or my men, so he should live. But I didn’t want some bratchet growing into a vengeful youth and hunting me, so I had him killed, just in case.’

‘I see. And then, of course, you persuaded her that she was as guilty as any, and if she wanted to live, she must point her finger at the ones whom all would believe were guilty: Squire William and his men. Which was why you allowed her to live, of course.’

‘Oh, good. Very good. What else?’

‘This knife which you threw into Cecily’s grave. A good, golden hilt, with some jewels…’

‘That was mine! I found it!’ Robert declared. He drank deeply from his mazer. ‘I found it in the road near the body of the Squire. And then he killed the maid with it.’

‘That’s a lie! I didn’t kill her. You’d take a peasant’s word instead of a knight’s?’

Baldwin motioned to Robert Vyke. ‘Continue. How did you find the knife?’

‘I fell, you see,’ Robert Vyke said, and explained about the pothole and the dagger in the bottom. ‘When Sir Stephen here saw it, he bought it from me.’

‘You bought it,’ Baldwin said, ‘and then threw it into the grave with her? Why?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, Sir Knight, but I fear I have no desire to make your task easier.’

‘Really?’ Baldwin said. ‘Then you will answer to the court. I will have you held for the next Court of Gaol Delivery. And then you will, in all probability, hang.’

‘Damn you. Damn your offspring, your hounds and your home! You have nothing, and you will not keep me here. I am a knight, damn you!’

‘You are being held here under my authority as Keeper of the King’s Peace,’ Baldwin said. ‘And I will convey you to the castle, where you can be questioned by the local Justices.’

‘You will find no one who will stand against me,’ Sir Stephen said. ‘I will be free as quickly as – nay, quicker than – Squire William.’