As Jennie stood and let her skirts fall, her hands automatically smoothing her tunic over the top, her eyes remained fixed on them.

Simon and Baldwin arrived at the de la Forte house in the middle of the morning. Both felt the cold today, as if Hugh’s misery of the previous afternoon had reminded them both how chill the weather was. It had not snowed again overnight, but this morning the clouds were thick above, looking as soft as goose-down in the heavens, and promised more snow to come.

Today they were prepared. Edgar rode with them, and each carried a sack of provisions and a wineskin. The bailiff had felt the bitterness in the air early when they left, and glancing at Baldwin, he could see that the knight was feeling the cold as well. His chest was rigid, his shoulders hunched and his mouth pursed, looking as resolutely slammed shut as an iron door. Gentle though the breeze was, it made up for its lack of speed by shearing through any protection, seeming to aim straight for the vitals.

Arriving at the house, he thought it looked very peaceful and quiet, with the smoke rising and gently swaying before dispersing in a straggling feather that trailed languidly northwards. Here, between Wefford and Crediton, even the noises from the strip fields would be hidden by the thick woods all around on a clear summer’s day. Now there was nothing. Not even the lowing of the oxen in their byres could be heard. The only sounds were of their hooves crunching and the occasional tinkling of their horse’s harnesses, like soft bells in the pale sunlight.

With the glory of the view, with the gently rolling hills looking smothered by the tree-tops that stretched off, over to the horizon, and with the air chill and fresh in his lungs, Simon felt good: strong and healthy, alert and sharp. The ride had honed his senses, and he waited for the door to open, with a keen excitement. He wanted answers from young Stephen de la Forte.

The thin, pinched face of the manservant at the door was an anticlimax, as if his temper needed immediate expression and any delay was merely frustrating. The feeling made him curt with the man, and when the old figure retreated, cowed, into the screens, he was ashamed of himself. There was no need to vent his spleen on this man.

Baldwin noticed his sharpness and smiled to himself as he followed the bailiff into the main hall. Here they were left alone for a moment while the servant disappeared through to the solar. The knight walked to the table, pulled out the bench, and sat, his eyes on his friend.

The bailiff was strolling round the room casually, his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of suave relaxation. But Baldwin could see the suppressed excitement in the way that his head kept snapping towards the door at the faintest sound. He was clearly on edge.

They had been waiting for several minutes when they heard the clumping of feet in the solar, and shortly afterwards the door opened to show Walter de la Forte. He paused, glaring from one to the other, then gave what looked like a sneer and walked to the table where Baldwin sat watching him with calm and detached interest.

To the knight it looked as if the merchant was taunting them, as though he felt they were both so insignificant as to hardly merit any respect, and Baldwin was intrigued. It was strange that a man of lowly birth should feel superior to a bailiff and a keeper of the king’s peace.

It seemed to Baldwin that Simon was as interested in the man’s attitude as he was, and began to question him with a soft, almost gentle voice.

“After our last meeting, we have released Harold Greencliff.”

Watching closely, Baldwin saw the man’s sudden doubt. Walter de la Forte glanced across at the knight before staring back at Simon. “Released him?”

“Yes. Your son made it clear that they were together all day, so of course Harold could not have been involved, could he?”

“Oh. No, I suppose not.”

“Yes, but if Harold Greencliff didn’t kill Agatha Kyteler, who did? We can find no one who can suggest any good reason so we wondered if it could be someone from her past. We’ve heard that you were involved in the escape from Acre with your partner.”

“So what? Anyway, who told you?”

“Did you know that Agatha Kyteler came from Acre? That she came over with a boy and saved his life?”

At first Walter de la Forte looked merely astonished, but when he spoke, his voice was as forceful as before. He asked truculently, “What’s that supposed to mean? What is this? Are you accusing me of something? Is that it? You feel you have the right to come to my house and accuse me of murdering some old woman just because we were in the same place ages ago?”

“We have the right to go anywhere and ask anyone about the matter. I work for the de Courtenay family, and my friend works for the king. We have the right to question even you!”

Something snapped in him. The merchant half rose from his chair, his feet sliding back under him as if he was about to leap up and attack Simon, but even as he moved, Baldwin coughed and twitched his sword hilt with studied carelessness, making the steel stub at the end of the scabbard scrape over the floor with a harsh, metallic ringing. When Walter de la Forte shot him a glance, there was an expression of faint inquiry on the knight’s face, as if he was merely waiting for the man’s response. But Walter de la Forte saw that Baldwin’s hand remained on the grip of his sword, and the meaning was clear.

Clearing his throat, he glanced from the knight to the bailiff with a slight nervousness. Then, slowly, he appeared to accept his position, stretching his legs out once more with what looked to Baldwin to be a physical effort, as if it was hard for him to surrender in this way. When he spoke, although he had made an effort to compose himself, Baldwin could hear the anger thickening his voice.

“What do you want to know?”

Simon walked to a chair by the fire and sat, leaning forward on his elbows. Staring at the ground at first, he said, “It’s a coincidence, that’s all. You are an important man in this area, do you know of anyone who could have had a motive to kill her?”

Shrugging, the merchant shook his head and folded his arms. “No.”

“In that case, are you aware of anyone who had a particular grudge against her from Acre? We have heard that you made a lot of money from taking people out during the siege.”

The eyes were suddenly narrow and shrewd. “If that’s what you’ve heard, it’s not true!”

“Really?” said Baldwin dubiously, and saw the merchant’s eyes flit to him. “You must understand, though, that all we have to go on is what other people tell us. All we know is what they have said about you. If you want to put your own side to us, you should do so now. Otherwise we’ll have to assume…”

“Yes, yes, yes, you’ve made your point!” He reflected a moment, then gave a quick shrug, as if mocking himself for unwarranted fears. “I don’t see why not. I have nothing to hide.” Pausing, he stared into the fire, and looked as though he was collecting his thoughts into a coherent story. When he started, his voice was low and thoughtful, almost as if he had forgotten their presence.

“Alan Trevellyn and I were in that hell-hole, Acre, during the last days of the siege – before it fell. We were shipmates on a French galley, both young and fit. We were ideal for the life. God! When we were young, a man had to stand on his own! Not like nowadays.” His brows pulled into a short glower of fury, but then they cleared again and his voice became reflective once more, while his eyes moved from Simon to Baldwin. The bailiff was sure that there was a shiftiness in them, and watched him carefully as he spoke.

“When we left, it was without the ship’s master. He had taken some of our men to help with the fighting near one of the city gates, and while he was gone a group of English knights with Otto de Grandison came up. They were all that were left of the English soldiers sent by the king. De Grandison took a ship, and some of his men took over ours. If we hadn’t agreed to go with them, they said they would kill us. We had to agree. De Grandison slipped his lines almost immediately, but the men on our ship insisted that we must wait, and while we did they brought on men and their wives, taking all their money in exchange for organising their escape. Gold, diamonds, rich jewels, spices: the knights took it all. But only those with a lot of money could come aboard. Others had to stay behind. If they had nothing, they had no escape. It was that easy.”