“Peter, it has been a very long journey to get here, old friend. Do you not have any wine?”

Laughing, the priest led them indoors and seated them, Hugh grumpily taking a seat as close as he could to the fire. When all had a drink to hand, the priest leaned forward and peered at the knight with a serious expression on his face. “Sir Baldwin, do you have any suspect other than this miserable creature Greencliff yet?”

“I fear not, Peter, no. But why do you ask?”

Peter sat back in his chair and meditatively sipped at his wine while staring past Hugh at the flames. ”It’s very difficult. Sometimes a man admits to a brutal crime in the confessional, and the confessor is bound to keep his secret. Sometimes it likewise comes to pass that a man is sent to the executioner when his father in God is certain of his innocence.“ His eyes shot up to stare at the knight. ”I am as sure as I can be that this boy is innocent of the woman’s murder.“

“But, Peter,” said Simon, “does that mean he has denied it to you in confessional?”

“No! Of course not!” Peter was shocked. “If he had, I would have to keep my peace. No, he is as yet unshriven, I could not have said anything otherwise.”

“But you are sure?” asked Baldwin, his eyes glittering as he leaned forward.

“Yes. I am as sure as I can be that the boy is innocent of this murder. He just isn’t capable.”

“We think so too,” said Simon.

“Why? Do you have another suspect? I thought you said…”

“No, we were telling you the truth. We have no other idea who could have done it. Do you?”

“Me?” The expression of amazement that spread across his face was so comical that both Baldwin and Simon began to laugh, making the priest gaze at them reproachfully. “How could I know who had done it? I…”

“Sorry, Peter,” Simon managed at last. “No, you’re right. We didn’t expect you to have any better idea than we ourselves.”

Standing, Baldwin yawned and stretched. “Since we all agree that it was not Greencliff, I should get to the gaol!” Sighing, he glanced at the priest and explained about the evidence from Stephen de la Forte. “So you see,” he finished, “we are here to release him. It’s not fair to keep the boy imprisoned for no reason, and now Stephen de la Forte says he was with Greencliff all afternoon and evening, there’s little reason to keep him locked up. No, Simon. You might as well wait. I shan’t be long.”

“Bring him back here. I’ll not see him go without being fed – not in this weather,” said Peter.

The town gaol stood at the entrance to the market beside the toll-booth, a small square block used mainly for those traders found to have given short measures of grain or bread, and only occasionally for holding vagabonds found in the town. Strolling along the street and trying to avoid the slush, it took the knight only a few minutes to cover the short distance, and soon he was at the entrance, wrinkling his nose at the smell from the market, which had not yet been cleaned from the last market day, and consequently was bathed in an all-encompassing stench of animal and human ordure. He glanced at the area, wincing, and then rapped his knuckles on the heavy door.

Tanner had apparently been sleeping, for when he opened the door, his hair was tousled and his eyes bleared. At the sight of the knight, he seemed to wake rapidly, and hauled the stiff door wide on its hinges.

“Good morning, sir.”

Stepping into the murky gloom of the gaol, the knight sniffed with distaste. The men who were usually held here tainted the very atmosphere with the pervasive, metallic scent of fear. Convicts knew what would happen to them once they were judged in court. There were not many sentences available for a judge, and justice usually followed swiftly after pronouncement of sentence, most often involving a brief meeting with the executioner. There was good reason to be fearful of the result of the legal process.

He shrugged. After all, that was the whole idea of justice.

“So, Tanner. How is the prisoner today?”

“Greencliff, sir? He seems well enough in body, but I wish he’d say something.”

“Why? Has he stayed silent?”

“Yes, sir. Since the hour we brought him here.”

Baldwin sighed. “Take me to him.”

The cell was an unpleasant, square chamber dug under the floor of the main room. To get to it, Tanner had to lead the knight through the curtain at the back. Here, in the wooden floor, was a trap door with a simple latch secured by a thick wooden peg. Lifting this, the knight could peer into the dank and murky interior. “Greencliff?” he called doubtfully.

There was a sudden stir in the far corner, then a small splash as the boy stepped into a puddle, before his face suddenly appeared under the trap, and Baldwin could not help shaking his head and sighing. The boy who so recently had been a strong, tall and proud youth was a pale shadow of himself. His features were gaunt and strained, the skin appearing yellow in the half-light, his eyes vivid and unhealthy, his cheeks sunken and wan. His whole appearance was that of a man close to death, of someone who had fallen victim to an unwholesome disease.

“Tanner, get him out of there.”

Fetching a ladder, the constable wandered back to the hole in the ground and slipped it down. “Come on, lad. The knight wants you up here,” he called, offering his hand.

Leading the way to the front room, Baldwin stood with his arms akimbo and looked at the boy, shaking his head. Greencliff held his gaze. There was fear there. The knight could see it deep in the boy’s eyes, but he still appeared defiant. “Do you have anything else you want to say to me about the old woman’s death?”

“The witch, you mean.”

The knight peered at him. The boy’s voice sounded as though he was caught between emotions. It was as if anger and impatience were struggling for dominance, but Baldwin was sure he could see contempt, and self-disgust as well. “Did you think she was a witch?”

“Me?” The question seemed to surprise him.

“Yes. What did you think of her?”

“I didn’t think anything of her. I know what she was. Evil! She deserved to die!”

“Why?”

The boy held his gaze firmly and squared his shoulders with resolution, but kept silent. After a few moments Baldwin sighed.

“Very well. If you do not wish to answer, I cannot force you.” Greencliff glanced across at the imperturbable Tanner, and looked as though he was sneering. Turning, he was about to return to his cell when Baldwin stopped him. “No. Your friend has told us the truth.”

“What?” Greencliff spun round and stared at the knight. Strangely, Baldwin thought he was now scared. “Who?”

“Yes, we know you were with Stephen de la Forte all afternoon. He’s told us.”

Later, he knew that what worried him most was the fleeting glimpse of absolute surprise as the boy said, “Stephen?”

Chapter Eleven

They left the youth with Peter, consuming a large bowl of stew with minced meat, the priest happily organising more bread and ale as his guest ate.

Simon rode quietly with his chin on his chest. The three were silent, as though they were all contemplating the murder. At last, he said, “Baldwin, we must go back to Wefford and ask other people what they saw.”

“Yes, you’re right. We’ve spent two days thinking that Greencliff had to have been involved. Now we must get back to trying to find out who really was,” said Baldwin and sighed.

“Calm yourself, Baldwin.”

The knight threw him a puzzled glance. “Eh?”

“Just because it wasn’t Greencliff, that doesn’t mean it was your friend’s son.”

“No, but it’s suspicious, isn’t it? That he was here, trying to find out about her just the day before she…”