King Arthur's Bones (29 page)

It was all too common, Baldwin knew. So often the last person to hear of adultery was the cuckold himself. Simon was thinking the same thing, he saw. ‘The man Hob had a parchment in his purse, just like a pardoner’s indulgence,’ Baldwin said.

‘It would not surprise me,’ Simon said in answer to his look. ‘She was a comely woman.’

‘Hardly what I’d say about the tavern-keeper, though,’ Baldwin said.

The coroner glanced at him, then looked up at the inn. ‘So this good taverner has bought an indulgence for himself because of an amatory matter with the woman from West Sandford, then? I thought he said he had no such parchment.’

‘We shall need to speak to him,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Boy, what else can you tell us?’

‘Hob gave the pardoner as much ale as he could drink in exchange for the parchment, but others there wanted his aid as well.’

‘The priest is clearly against the sale of pardons here. Why would he allow this fellow John to sell them?’

‘I don’t know. But he was with the pardoner before he started to sell them. I saw them.’

‘It is an odd thing,’ the coroner said. ‘Why would the priest allow the sale to go on, if he is as vehement against the whole principle as he says he is?’

‘There are some who will rail against a thing, but when money is given to them, suddenly their antipathy is turned to quiet reflection,’ Baldwin said.

‘He maybe took money and regrets it now,’ Simon said.

‘Perhaps,’ the coroner said. ‘What of this man at West Sandford though?’

‘I don’t know who he is,’ Simon said. ‘Still, it couldn’t have been him if he was in Exeter like his wife said, could it? And I fail to understand why he would want to kill a pardoner.’

‘The man sold a pardon to his wife’s ravisher,’ Sir Richard pointed out.

‘I think most men would seek the death of the adulterer rather than the pardoner,’ Baldwin said gently.

They were outside the tavern now. The boy had been sent on his way, with a half-penny from Baldwin for his information, and now they were staring at the figure of Hob as he toiled up the hill towards them.

‘Masters! Can I fetch you more ale? Some food?’

‘No, Master Taverner, you can explain yourself to us,’ Baldwin said with some harshness. ‘You have lied to us, master, and we wish to know why.’

Instantly the man’s face fell. ‘Lied? My lords, I wouldn’t—’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘It is no good, man. You will have to speak.’

‘I don’t know what you want.’

‘Try telling us the truth,’ Coroner Richard grated, ‘if you wouldn’t test the comfort of the gaol at Crediton! Do you still say you had nothing to do with the murder of the man in your tavern?’ he demanded.

‘No! Why would I seek his death!’ Hob protested.

‘Perhaps he saw you with your woman, just as Huw did,’ Baldwin suggested shrewdly.

‘No – I swear it on the Gospel.’

‘What of others? Last night, did you see anyone who could have had something against the pardoner?’

Hob looked up at all their faces, then down again. ‘One man, yes. When I opened the doors and threw out the others, I did see one – or so I thought.’

‘Where?’

‘Over at the edge of my house. But I never thought it would be him. He had nothing to want to kill this pardoner for . . .’

‘Who?’

‘Agatha’s husband, Henry of Copplestone. I thought I saw him over at the side of my house. That was why I made sure I locked the door carefully before going up to my bed. I thought he could try to enter to kill me. But he would do nothing against the pardoner. Why should he?’

Once outside, Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. ‘Well?’ Simon said.

‘Clearly pointless. There is much we may say of a married woman who behaves like a whore,’ Coroner Richard said uncompromisingly. ‘But what of it? It’s got damn all to do with the murder of the man in the tavern. At least, so far as we can tell, it hasn’t.’

‘No,’ Simon said, but now he remembered the woman’s words on seeing Baldwin and Richard questioning Huw as he rode into the vill. ‘Except she clearly had something against the Welshman when we rode into the town. That itself strikes me as odd.’

‘He saw her with her lover in Crediton,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps she realized that he might speak to us – as he did,’ but as he spoke a vague memory occurred to him.

‘You have a constipated look about you, man,’ the coroner said.

‘When I saw the pardoner and Huw in Crediton, I could have sworn I saw Agatha running away from me,’ Baldwin said, and told of the glimpse he’d had of her and a man flying away up the hill. But even as he spoke he was reminded of the curious comment of Dean Peter – that Arthur was prey to temptations. At the time he had not taken much notice, thinking the dean meant only that a young man’s eye could be taken by a comely woman, but now he wondered whether he had taken the dean’s meaning correctly. Perhaps the dean knew something about the canon.

‘So what do you want to do now?’ Simon asked.

Coroner Richard grunted. ‘Gentles, there is only one way in which we may ease our concerns in this matter. Let us go to her house and ask the woman’s husband whether he was there, as the tavern-keeper thought, or not!’

The journey took little time – it was such a short distance that none of them bothered to mount their horses; instead, the three friends walked along the lane.

‘What do you think?’ Simon asked as they walked.

Baldwin looked over at him. ‘Well, the tavern-keeper was having an affair with Agatha. It’s possible her husband learned of it and went to kill him – and yet any man who entered that tavern must notice that the man’s bedchamber is up in the rafters. I saw it up there the first time I walked inside. So if he went in and killed the pardoner, that would be because he had a reason to, not because he fell over a new body and killed him in mistake. And why cut off his hand?’

‘We can hopefully learn more in a short time,’ Coroner Richard said. ‘Meantime, Baldwin, do you suspect any other?’

‘I would feel sure that Hob himself is likely to be innocent. He does not show any signs of blood about his body.’

‘Why would a man cut the pardoner’s hand off ?’ Simon mused.

The coroner shrugged. ‘Surely because he had taken another man’s hand.’

‘But who would have known that apart from Huw?’

‘He was hardly in the vill long enough to have told anyone,’ Baldwin considered. ‘Unless he allowed it to slip when he was in the tavern that night.’

Just then they rounded a corner, and before them lay the long hall of Henry of Copplestone.

It was a large property. A longhouse, with a separate byre behind, two small barns and a stable-block all spoke of Henry’s wealth. To emphasize his position, the land all about had been splendidly cultivated, with a series of pastures and good strips of fields dropping down towards the stream at the bottom of the lands.

Silently, the three marched to the door and were welcomed by a maidservant who took them over the threshold and into a large hall, well illuminated by the enormous window in the southern wall.

Soon Henry and his wife were with them.

Henry was a short, swarthy man with the eyes of a seaman, permanently squinting as though peering into a strong wind. His hands were muscular, but Baldwin was not sure whether the man had the strength of will for violence.

His wife was very pretty, although now, seeing her more closely, Baldwin was struck by how her looks melded together to produce a less wholesome picture. His own wife was a perfect combination of imperfections that somehow made her extraordinarily attractive to him. This woman was almost perfect in every way, and he found that his initial reaction to her was of stunned admiration. But the vision of beauty was marred. There was a harshness to her eyes, he thought, and few signs of womanly softness. All was angular, crisp and precise, not comforting. She was shrewish, if nothing else.

‘Lordings, you honour my home with your presence. I am only sorry that I don’t think I will be able to help you overmuch. How may I serve you?’

‘Master Henry, we are most grateful for your gracious welcome,’ the coroner began. He wore an unaccustomed look of wariness, as though rather nervous of how to broach a difficult subject.

Baldwin decided to save him any embarrassment. It was a curious word to apply to the coroner, but clearly the man was shamed by the reference he must make to the woman’s infidelity. ‘This is about the matter of the dead man, you will understand,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

‘We do not have a good understanding of the affair as yet,’ Baldwin said. ‘We are trying to understand what people here in the vill may have felt about the dead man – and his friend. We have heard that others saw the pair of them in Crediton. Did you?’

‘Me?’ Henry asked. ‘No. I was in Crediton yesterday, but came back early this morning, and didn’t see any strangers so far as I know. Mind, I was working in my storehouse in the town, not wandering the streets!’

‘That is good,’ Baldwin said. ‘Tell me, what kind of business do you run?’

‘I have a number of little ventures, but I sometimes dabble in purchasing wine in Exeter and send it to different taverns and inns. I have some good Guyennois wines just arrived.’

‘I see.’ Baldwin considered. ‘I have heard that you have experienced troubles with the church. Their sheep?’

‘Aye, yes. The black-hearted devils let their flock ruin my crop – and then refused to repay me for the damage!’

‘And I think your wife was insulted by the canon two days ago,’ Baldwin said.

The scene of that morning blazed with a greater clarity on his mind. He remembered seeing the two men approaching him, the flash of this woman running away from the road, his initial thought that others too would keenly avoid the likes of a pardoner and his companion – and then he realized his error. The surprise made him almost gasp.

Henry appeared not to have noticed. ‘She did? Oh, it was him splashed her, was it? He’s a pleasant enough fellow. Not the brightest. Lousy negotiator, that I know, for if I weren’t so honest I could have gulled him out of a barrel in every ten I sold him.’

‘You still have dealings with the church?’

‘I’d be a fool not to. But the peas are ruined.’

‘Sir, perhaps your wife could show me the crop?’ Baldwin suggested. ‘I have some little influence with Dean Peter. Perhaps I could . . . ?’ ‘Yes, by all means. I can show you myself,’ Henry said.

‘There is no need. You stay here and answer my good friends’ questions, and we shall be away from you all the sooner,’ Baldwin said smoothly, and was through the door in a moment.

‘They’re over here,’ Agatha said, lifting her skirts as she passed over the muddy paths.

‘Have you been carrying on many affairs?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, but now her face was colourless.

‘You saw me that day when the pardoner and his triacleur appeared, didn’t you? You saw me and fled rather than let me see you. You and a man in clerical robes. A canon . . . It was Arthur, wasn’t it?’

‘What of it?’ The colour had returned to her now, in bright scarlet at her cheeks. It made her look as daunting as an empress.

‘You are having an affair with Hob, I know. However, now I am forced to wonder whether you are also having an affair with the canon too.’

Perhaps that was what Peter Clifford had meant when he said that his young canon was tortured by temptations. This woman had decided to ensnare him too. There were women with voracious sexual appetites, Baldwin knew.

‘I . . . I cannot speak without you twisting my words . . .’

‘I care not about your affairs,’ Baldwin hissed. ‘All I wish to know is what happened to the pardoner in that room. Do you know who could have had anything to do with it?’

‘No! Why should I?’

‘Because Hob thought he saw your husband outside his tavern last night when he was pushing the others through his door.’

‘But Henry wouldn’t have hurt that man . . .’

‘He would have wanted to hurt Hob, wouldn’t he? And how better to do that than to leave all assuming that Hob had killed another in his tavern?’

‘Henry wouldn’t do that. He’s too weak to hurt a man anyway, but if he were to try it, he’d stab a man in the chest while looking into his eyes. But I don’t think he ever would. He is the softest-hearted man I’ve known.’

As she spoke, the servant Baldwin had seen at her side in the vill came out and stared around him.

‘He is looking for me,’ she said, and there was a tone of fear in her voice.

‘What of it? He’s a servant.’

‘I must go!’

‘Why should she be so scared of a servant?’ Simon asked as they walked back to the vill.

‘Perhaps he suspects her of adultery – or knows of it?’ Baldwin wondered. ‘He may blackmail her.’

‘Did she admit it, then?’ the coroner said.

‘She did not deny the affair with the tavern-keeper, but she was emphatic about not carrying on with the canon.’ Baldwin frowned as he realized that he had not asked what she was doing with the canon in Crediton that day as they ran away. Clearly there was a secret matter being conducted there, whether or not there was a relationship.

‘Hardly makes her a saint,’ the coroner commented gruffly. His own wife had died some years before, far too young, and he still sorely missed her.

‘What of Henry? Did you gain an inkling as to whether he had been at the vill?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He did not deny it,’ Simon said. ‘But there was no sign of rage, only a quiet introspection. It was just as though he had some other grievance. He didn’t strike me as a raging cuckold – did he you, Sir Richard?’

‘No. Just a businessman with a problem to solve. Who doesn’t have them now?’

Baldwin nodded.

‘All of which gives us little help in this inquest,’ Simon said.

‘Correct. True, it is hard to understand who may have wished to commit this murder,’ Baldwin admitted.

‘Surely this matter of the woman and her lover must have something to do with it,’ the coroner said.

‘I am inclined to the view that the servant is more guilty than she,’ Baldwin said. He mused. It was a strange fear on her face when she saw the servant coming to seek her.