The wheel of the cart squeaked, an irritating, insistent little noise that came and went, and drew more attention to them; and yet there was one group which didn’t turn and stare as they came closer. It was the men and women huddled round Godfrey’s gate. They were all staring fixedly at Godfrey’s house, ignoring all about them, and even the banal jeering of the boys, who kept their distance up ahead, went unnoticed.
“What are they all staring at?” Quivil heard Rodde mutter.
“Lepers!”
This came from a young maiden who, about to enter the street, narrowly avoided walking straight into Rodde. She winced and drew her apron over her mouth to protect her from the foul vapors that everyone knew lepers exhaled. Anyone who breathed in their noxious fumes could become infected. She drew away. The call was enough to make the crowd pull back, and one man jerked his head at them. “Off with you, scum! Keep away from good healthy folk.”
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Quivil said. “We meant no harm.”
“Edmund?” asked the man. He was a pompous little fellow who had always reminded Quivil of a gamecock, strutting and preening himself in the vicinity of any women, and invariably lambasting anybody weaker than himself. Now he peered, and blew out his breath in an expression of disgust. “Come on, walk round! You don’t want your sins to infect others, do you? That would be as good as murder, and we don’t need another.”
“Another what?” asked Rodde.
“Murder, leper. Haven’t you heard? A man was killed here last night.”
Quivil felt his friend’s grasp on his arm tighten. Rodde snapped, “Here? You mean Godfrey of London is dead?”
Baldwin couldn’t help staring back down the street once he had dropped from his horse. An ostler scurried forward to take the reins from him and lead the rounsey to the back of the inn, where it could be fed and watered, and he handed them over absentmindedly.
Seeing Quivil again was a shock. It was some weeks now since that dreadful service in the church where the poor man had been outcast from society, and with so many other things to take up his time, Baldwin had not spared many thoughts for the peasant’s son from his estate. The sight of the lad looking so crushed while the people of the town avoided him tore at Baldwin’s breast. Even as he stood, shaking his head, he heard a catcall, and then a group of gutter-urchins dashed past, all shouting abuse at the lepers. Caught with a quick anger, Baldwin bellowed at them to be silent, and they hurried off, some gaping with dismay, but others grinning. It was only fun to them, Baldwin reminded himself. Only those who were fit, healthy, and strong were safe in this country. The thought made him sigh, and he turned into the inn with a heavy heart, which was not eased by the reflection that he had not decided how to progress with his investigation.
But as he entered the hall, and heard the laughter, his mood altered.
“Jeanne!-Er…and Margaret and Simon! Welcome, all of you, I am delighted to see you here!”
John of Irelaunde eased the gate shut and clambered onto his cart, grunting with relief once he was safely seated on his plank. Thrusting his bad leg out before him to rest atop the footboard, he clucked his tongue and snapped the reins.
That at least was one less problem for him to consider, he thought as the wagon rattled and clattered down the track toward the main thoroughfare from Crediton to Tedburn. The sack was safely hidden at the mill’s outhouse. Old Sam the miller had rented it out to John some months before, and now it appeared in the Irishman’s eyes as God-sent, perfect for the purpose of concealing those things that the Keeper of the King’s Peace should not be troubling himself over.
As the horse leaned forward in the traces to drag the cart up the hill toward the town center, John winced with every jolt and thud. There were too many ruts and holes in this road; it was always so busy with traffic from Exeter. Each and every one of them made his ankle bang against the wooden footboard. He was glad it was beginning to mend. Now it felt only as if it was badly bruised.
In the town, he soon saw the crowd waiting at Godfrey’s gate. Some men were arguing with Tanner, no doubt trying to gain access to the hall to see the body, but Tanner was resolute. No one would enter until the Keeper had told him they could, and it didn’t matter how much money they offered. John averted his eyes so as to avoid being brought into any discussion, but he did wonder whether there could be potential in this latest twist: perhaps he could offer people the chance of getting in over Godfrey’s wall from his yard-for a small fee, of course. This delightful prospect kept him speculating as he carried on up the hill.
At his yard, he hobbled to the gate and opened it, leading the horse inside, but as he turned to close the gate, a figure sidled along and into the yard behind him.
“What do you want?” John grumbled irritably.
“Me, John?” Putthe asked slyly, his eyes roving all over the yard as if seeking the missing plate. “All I want is to give you some help-if you’ll let me, that is.” 8
B aldwin waved to the nearest serving-girl as he walked in, his face smiling as proof of his pleasure. The hall was a large one, with tables scattered haphazardly around the floor, and Baldwin and his servant were forced to take a circuitous route to the one where his friends were sitting.
It was over six months since Baldwin had seen Simon Puttock, the bailiff of Lydford, and longer since he had met Simon’s wife, Margaret, but neither was surprised when the knight offered them only a perfunctory greeting. They both knew he had not spoken to Jeanne de Liddinstone for twelve months, not since the affair of the murders at Tavistock Fair.
Jeanne had not changed over the interval, and to Baldwin she was beautiful. She was tall and strongly built, with long limbs and a slim figure. Her face was regular, with a wide mouth whose upper lip was a little over-full, giving her a slightly stubborn look, but her nose gave the opposite impression, being both short and slightly tip-tilted. Most important to Baldwin, though, were her eyes: bright and clear blue, intelligent, and almost without exception, smiling.
She was wearing a long riding cloak trimmed with gray fur, over a deep blue tunic embroidered with flowers at hem and throat. On her head was a simple coif, which gave the knight a tantalizing glimpse of the red-gold hair plaited and pinned beneath. He took her hand and bowed, and she gave him a mocking curtsey in return.
“Is that enough now, Sir Baldwin? My very bones ache after riding all the way here, and you force me to bend to you?”
“My lady, please…I mean, please be seated,” he said, flustered in case he might have given offense.
To Edgar, the scene carried more than a faint feeling of deja vu. His master had wooed this woman when they had last met, he knew, and had achieved only moderate success. In Edgar’s view it was in large measure due to the knight’s nervousness and anxiety about hurting the lady’s feelings that he had not won her. Now he saw her smile more kindly on Baldwin, and to his relief, his master relaxed slightly and sat with her.
“So, Baldwin, should we leave immediately?” Margaret’s tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of asperity.
“My lady, I am confused and blinded by the beauty of two such perfect women. How could a poor knight like me ever dream of being honored by the presence of both of you at the same time? It is as if the sun itself has fallen into the room, I feel so utterly…”
“All right, Baldwin,” Simon interrupted hastily. “You’ve satisfied the greed of these two for compliments-now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a cup of good strong wine to take away the taste of all the dust I’ve swallowed on the way here!”
“It is ordered, I think,” Baldwin said, peering over his friend’s shoulder toward the buttery. “Edgar, see if you can hurry them along, will you? I think today I will celebrate with wine as well.”
Nothing loath, Edgar went off, for this was the inn where his Cristine served, and he had the hope that he might be able to corner her for his own purposes for a few minutes.
It was Margaret who broke the short silence. “And how are affairs in Crediton?”
Her words brought Baldwin up with a jolt. He had been watching Jeanne and wondering when he would be able to speak to her privately, but Margaret had unthinkingly reminded him of Godfrey’s body. “Not good, I fear. There has been a murder.”
Instantly Simon leaned forward. He was a strong, hardy man in his middle thirties with brown hair, slightly grizzled. Four years ago he had been a young, ambitious bailiff on his way up; then his face had been free of any wrinkles, but since the death of his little son Peterkin the previous year, he had lost much of his aura of youth. Now he wore deep creases at his brow, like the battle scars of life.
The bailiff waited while Cristine doled out cups and wine, quickly hurrying back to the buttery, then jerked his head in a gesture of interest. “Come along, tell us all about it.”
It took little time for Baldwin to describe the scene he had found the night before, or to summarize the evidence he had been given by the bottler and first finder.
When he was finished, Simon took a long gulp of wine and sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “So you haven’t done too much yet. You’ve only spoken to one neighbor and a wounded servant. There’s still this other neighbor…who is it? Anyone I know?”
Baldwin grinned. Simon had lived in Crediton and the surrounding area for many years before moving out to Lydford with his new job. “It was Irelaunde.”
“That little bastard!”
“Simon!”
“What, Meg? Oh-I’m sorry, Jeanne. But Christ’s Blood, Baldwin, if he lives close, he’s the first man you should question. You know what sort of a character he is!”
Baldwin leaned back with a beatific smile. “It is a wonderful relief to have you here, Simon. Up until now I hadn’t realized how much I relied on your judgment and fair-mindedness. I was thrashing around and going through the motions without thinking about the crime itself.”
“So you’ll go and see him immediately?”
“No. I’ll go and speak to the man’s daughter. You’ve just told me how the locals will all think, and I’d better get my hands on the real killer before some fool decides to take the law into his own hands and lynches the wrong man!”
Simon gave a short laugh. He knew that he was often prone to leap to conclusions, and overall he was content with the trait. In the main, while he worked out on the moors, settling disputes between miners and landowners, it was a useful ability, to be able to see who was the most likely culprit, or who was probably at fault. With simple arguments, such as who should be permitted to change the flow of a stream, or whether a tenement-holder had the rights of pasturage over a particular plot, there was little analysis required. It was more a case of applying common sense and maintaining an attitude of fair play. For that, Simon’s brand of quick intuition often saved a lot of time.
“I’m glad you’re here, Simon,” Baldwin continued more seriously, and Simon felt his smile broaden. The knight’s words carried too much sincerity for him to be doubted.
“So when are you to go and speak to this young woman?” Jeanne asked. “Is there time for us to get to your house first?”
“With your permission, lady, I will send you off with my servant. Simon, you have brought Hugh with you?” The bailiff nodded. “Then, Jeanne, you will have two good men to protect you on your way.”