“Oh yes?” The landlord’s eyes were large moons, bewitched by the confidence.

“Yes.” Baldwin peered over his shoulder, then beckoned again, settling farther forward on his elbows. “But… You will understand I’m a little suspicious, eh? I hardly know the man. What can you tell me of him?”

“Ah well.” He settled, convinced of his audience by the knight’s firm and steady gaze, and Simon could not help a small smile at the similarity between the innkeeper and a bird preening itself. He suddenly realized that this man spent the whole of his life having to listen to other people, and he was rarely asked to give his own opinion or express his feelings. He was enjoying the experience.

“I think he’s a steady sort of businessman, in truth. He’s been a merchant now for many years, and knows all the ways of the sea, and of Bordeaux in Gascony. Yes, if you want someone who knows his trade, he is good. He learned it while aboard ship as a boy, and soon managed to make enough to start to hire his own.”

Frowning, Baldwin said, “But surely he would have had to make a fortune to be able to charter his own ships? How could a man who began as a crewman make that much?”

“Well, sir, I’ve heard tell…” His eyes darted nervously towards Simon and back, then his voice dropped. “I’ve heard tell that he was in Acre. I think he helped bring people out of the city when the Saracens took it, and he could charge as much as he wanted for that.”

“Ah!”

In the dark, Simon found it difficult to read the knight’s expression, but he was sure that he caught an angry glint. He recalled the knight’s stories of how Acre had fallen, of how the seamen of all nations had appeared, like carrion crows to a corpse, demanding gold and jewels for taking people away to safety. After centuries of life in the Holy Land, families were ruined over a few short days, while the mariners became fabulously wealthy in hours.

“I think it was after that he managed to earn enough to hire his first ships. And build his house. But recently it seems he has suffered from the French pirates. I think he has lost several boats, and cargoes. That’s probably why he wants a new partner.”

“Yes, because he already does business with… Er… He told us his partner’s name. Who was it?” The knight snapped his fingers as if frustratedly trying to remember.

“Alan Trevellyn, over towards Crediton. Yes, they have both been badly hurt by the troubles. You know, there have even been rumours that Trevellyn has somehow been responsible for the failures. I’ve heard that he was in debt to the French and told them when his ships were leaving, so he could pay back his debts with his partner’s half of the shipment as well as his own.” He sat back, his head nodding knowingly.

“Where would you have heard that from?”

Winking confidentially, the innkeeper said, “Walter de la Forte’s son, sir. Stephen.”

“So you think I should be careful, then?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Yes, very careful.” His eyes flickered to the hilt of the sword at the knight’s waist. “It’s said he was quite a warrior in his youth, you know. That he was in many sea battles, not just at Acre, and that’s how he got all those scars. Yes, I hear he’s a bad enemy to have.”

“Thank you, my friend, I am very grateful to you. You have given me a great deal to consider.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’s an honour to help,” said the innkeeper, recognising the dismissal and rising slowly to clear the table. When he had finished and left them, Simon glanced over at the knight. “If he was in so many battles, that explains his scars.”

Baldwin nodded. “Yes,” he mused. “But there seems to be little to connect him to Agatha Kyteler apart from both of them being in Acre when the city fell – and that was over twenty years ago.”

“Well surely that itself is enough of a coincidence.”

“By the same token you might as well suspect me, Simon,” said the knight drily. “No, I don’t see it. But who did kill the old woman?”

“I don’t know. If Stephen de la Forte is telling the truth, it wasn’t Harold Greencliff, though.“

“No. No, his evidence shows that, doesn’t it?”

Simon nodded. “Yes, we will have to let him go. Although I would like to know why he tried to run away.”

“But if he refuses to tell us, we shouldn’t keep him imprisoned,” said Baldwin, “I will try to talk to him again tomorrow. Perhaps I can get him to tell us why he ran off.“

Simon looked up sharply at the sad tone in his friend’s voice, and then realised what it meant. Baldwin was sure that Greencliff was innocent, and that left him with only one suspect: his friend’s son, the Bourc de Beaumont.

The next day was overcast and dreary, with a grey-black sky and a bitter wind that blew continually from the south. Gazing out from the front door, Simon and Baldwin exchanged a glance.

“We do need to speak to Greencliff,” the knight reminded his friend, and then barked with laughter at the expression of doubtful misery his words brought to Simon‘ face. “Come on, the sooner we’re moving in this, the better!”

“Simon!”

They turned to see Margaret in the doorway, her face anxious. “Take Edgar or Hugh with you. You may need to send a messenger if the weather gets worse, or if you get stuck somewhere overnight.”

The bailiff glanced back at the sky, then nodded. “All right, tell Hugh to get ready.”

She did better than merely sending the servant. While the two men meandered casually towards the stables and called for their horses and that of Simon’s servant, Margaret went to work. When Hugh appeared, he was sulkily struggling under the weight of three packs carefully bound for protection. As he took one, Simon looked at his servant with an inquiring eye.

“She said you’d need it. There’s bread and meat, and wineskins for you.”

Tying the sack to his saddlebow, Simon said wonderingly, “Doesn’t she know we intend being home by evening? What does she think we’ll be doing today? Riding to the Scottish marches?”

Baldwin grinned, but kept silent. He was thinking how good it would be to have a wife like Margaret. He sighed, half jealous.

Meanwhile Simon was staring at his servant with exasperation. “Where’s your cloak and jacket?”

“Why? Am I coming too?” His face showed his surprise.

“Of course! Come on, you’ll have to do as you are. We can’t wait for you to get changed.”

“But I’ll freeze!”

“Don’t whine. You’ll be fine if we ride fast. Now mount! We want to get to town as early as possible.”

Smiling, Baldwin watched as Simon lifted his hands in a show of despair, only to let them drop with frustration. When Hugh was ready at last, they left the mews and stables, winding round to the front of the house where Margaret stood waiting to wave them off. The brown and black dog was there, and was about to follow, but Margaret pulled him inside, “If you’re going to be travelling all over the shire, I think I’d better keep him here for now!” she said.

They waved farewell as Baldwin led the way down the narrow lane and out to the road, and once there, he spurred his mount to an easy canter.

It was soon clear that Simon’s man had no great desire to be with them. Somehow he had never quite become used to the idea that a creature as tall and muscular as a horse could be trusted as a slave to his whim, and as a result he objected to trying to force it to his will. The inevitable consequence of bringing him was that the speed of the three was slowed to a more leisurely pace. Although Baldwin would occasionally urge them to move faster, he would soon discover that he and the bailiff were far in the lead and Hugh was moving along at his accustomed speed – somewhat quicker than a snail, but not a great deal.

In the end it took them a little over two hours to get to Crediton. The small market town was bustling, with wagons trailing through the slush on the roads, riders on horses trotting happily, and pedestrians groaning and complaining at the chilly mess thrown over them at the passing of each vehicle or animal. As they came closer to the church, a small herd of cattle stopped all the traffic, and the three had to pause and wait for the huge creatures to pass. They got to the church, and walked through the courtyard to the house beyond where the priest had his living quarters. “Simon, old friend, it’s good to see you again!” The thin, older man grasped his hand enthusiastically, then stood back and studied him critically. “You’re working too hard,” he said at last, “and I think you aren’t eating enough, but apart from that I am pleased to see you looking so well, thank God!”