Ellis gazed at him levelly. He could have lied, but he saw no point. ‘There was no way he could afford to support my sister. She’s widowed, and I have to support her and the children. Another child means more for me to pay, not him. But if you mean, did I kill him, well, no, I didn’t. But if I’d had an opportunity, I’d have paid someone else to do so.’ He looked at the coins in his hand again, and thrust them into his purse.
Simon left the barber’s room in a thoughtful mood. ‘If I were you, Master Ellis, I would keep my mouth shut,’ he murmured to himself. ‘You are the most vocal suspect I have ever spoken to.’
He would have to see what others thought, but Ellis was certainly a convincing enemy of the dead miner.
Chapter Eight
It was only a short while after dawn and Sir Baldwin de Furnshill was relaxing before his fire when the clattering of hooves outside announced that he had visitors. He listened attentively as he strode across the floor to where his sword hung on the wall.
This was not peace. War had threatened for years now, for with a feeble King and over-powerful and ambitious advisers, the realm was like a keg of dried tinder standing under a brazier. It was only a matter of time before a stray spark must fall and ignite the whole kingdom. That was how Baldwin felt, and although he knew that his little manor near to Cadbury was safer than many parts of the country, it didn’t make him feel any more secure. When armies began to march, there was no safety for anyone, great or small, city-dweller or countryman.
As he threw his sword belt over his shoulder, gripping the hilt, Jeanne, his wife, appeared in the doorway which led up to the solar. He shook his head once, firmly, and jerked it upwards. She was anxious, but she could see his concern. Quietly she pulled the door closed behind her and slipped the bar across.
It wasn’t easy, but she knew that her man needed to be sure that she was safe in her rooms before he could concentrate on fighting, and she had no wish to be a distraction. She was only glad that he had insisted upon installing this sturdy metal bar earlier in the year. It made her feel more secure, knowing that no trailbastons could simply push it open. She walked back upstairs to the bedchamber, where her maid sat rocking her baby.
Petronilla looked up with a smile, but Jeanne didn’t notice. She was listening intently.
Downstairs, Baldwin walked through the screens passage and out to the back door. He was already confident that there was no threat out here. Experience told him that if felons had arrived and intended to plunder his home, he would have heard more shouting by now. Once outside, he saw his servant Edgar holding the reins of a shortish man’s horse. He bellowed a greeting and climbed down as he saw Baldwin.
Coroner Roger de Gidleigh was a shorter man than Baldwin, but he had a barrel chest and shoulders that spoke of immense strength. He also had a large and growing belly from the quantity of ale he drank, which often put people off their guard, making them take him for a happy-go-lucky soul, the sort of man who would always welcome a stranger with a cheerful demand that they might share a jug of ale – but then the stranger might notice the shrewd, glittering eyes and realise that the only reason for the coroner to be so interested and conversational was because he held a suspicion against his flattered babbler.
‘Coroner! Thanks to God!’ Baldwin cried with real delight.
‘Sir Baldwin! Greetings and Godspeed, my friend. How are you? And Lady Jeanne?’
‘Well, I thank you.’
‘So you thought it might be outlaws?’ Coroner Roger de Gidleigh said, nodding towards Baldwin’s sword as the two entered the hall.
‘It is best never to take risks. The rumours of war are as vigorous here as anywhere in the kingdom.’
‘True enough,’ the big man said, walking to a bench at the table on Baldwin’s dais. ‘We live in dangerous times.’ Baldwin rehung his sword, then rapped sharply on the door to his solar, calling to his wife. ‘I hear that anyone who wishes to talk to the King must pay the Despenser whelp.’
‘You should be careful to whom you speak like that, Sir Baldwin. Some could report your words and accuse you of treachery to the Crown.’
Baldwin smiled. The coroner was a friend, and he took the warning in the way it was intended. ‘I know that, Roger. But while Hugh Despenser the Younger is Chamberlain of the Household, no man can speak to the King without his approval, nor without paying. It is not enough that Hugh Despenser the Elder has been made an Earl, nor that his son has acquired the Clare inheritance – they will seek ever more money and lands to enrich their lives.’
Coroner Roger took the jug of wine which Baldwin proffered. ‘I dare say that may be true enough, but there is nothing we can do about it. It is human nature to enrich oneself, and that means depriving someone else.’
‘The priests would argue that case, my friend,’ Baldwin chuckled, but with little humour. ‘They tell us that God’s bounty should be shared, that no man should suffer or starve from want of money when his neighbour has enough to support both.’
‘True. But the Church isn’t exempt from making money. And although they talk about men sharing their wealth, I don’t notice the Bishop in Exeter selling his house in order to give the money to the needy.’
‘Coroner!’ Baldwin exclaimed in mock horror. ‘My friend, you have become infected with my own prejudices!’ At that moment Jeanne re-entered the room, and graciously welcomed their guest. Baldwin smiled and took his seat in his chair as his wife spoke gently and courteously, putting the traveller
