The boy’s eyes shot to his father, and his mouth framed the word “Yes.“ It was so soft that Baldwin could hardly hear it, but at the sound he breathed easier.

“Tell us why, Stephen.”

“It was his woman. She rejected him. He felt that there was nothing here for him anymore. He just decided to go. He was trying to get to a ship, so that he could sail for Normandy or Gascony, but he hardly got anywhere when he was caught. That was all – he swore to me that he had nothing to do with her death! You don’t really think he killed her, do you?”

Baldwin gazed at him with sympathy. There was little doubt now. Whatever else was unknown, they would be able to find out by questioning the youth again. He had little doubt of that. But in the meantime, this friend, who had been so loyal, was bound to be hurt. At the least Greencliff had lied to him, to his best friend, who had kept his secrets even when questioned by the Justice.

Sighing, he stood and motioned to Simon.

“Let’s go and see Greencliff,” he said.

They had only just crossed the threshold when the messenger arrived, a young lad, flushed and panting from an enthusiastic chase that had taken him all the way to Furnshill and back.

“Sir! Sir!” Riding up to them, he was close to falling from his saddle as he reined in his horse before them.

It took little time for him to tell them, gasping out the message from Peter Clifford, his eyes darting from one to another of the silent men before him. When the boy had finished, Simon and Baldwin stared at him, then at each other. Snatching their reins from the waiting hostlers, they leapt up and, setting spurs to their mounts, set off to Crediton.

Chapter Thirteen

At the yard before Peter Clifford’s house, they turned in and dismounted quickly, their messenger taking their reins and leading the mounts to the stable area. The door was opened by Peter himself, who gave them a short nod and stood back to let them all enter. His face was serious. He did not smile at the sight of his friends, but silently led the way through to his hall.

Inside, sitting like a queen on her throne, Simon saw Jennie Miller near the fire. She looked up quickly as they came in, but although she registered a brief pleasure – or was it relief – at the sight of them, she was reserved. Looking at Peter, Simon felt sure that his reaction to her news was the cause of her seriousness.

“I understand you’ve already had a conversation with Jennie,” the priest said. “She arrived here just over two hours ago and… Well I shall let her tell her own story.” He walked to a seat in the shadows near the screens and sat. Glancing quickly at her, Simon saw her eyes studying the knight with a kind of suppressed excitement now that Peter was out of sight. As Baldwin sat in front of her she leaned forward to stare at him, as if he and she were alone in the room; friends meeting to gossip about old acquaintances.

“I’ve seen her!”

“Yes? Where? Tell us exactly what happened.”

“I was on my way into town, but I had to stop for a piss just outside. Well, I just finished when I heard these horses coming. There was this pair. She was the one, though. She was wearing the same things I saw on her out in front of Agatha’s place: long grey riding cloak with fur round the edge, with a blue tunic and skirts underneath, and it was the same horse. A nice little mare. Pretty little thing she was.”

“Are you quite sure? You couldn’t have made a mistake? It wasn’t just a similar horse?” interrupted Simon dubiously. She threw him a withering look.

“It’s not only knights can see the difference between a tired old hackney and a good young mare,” she said, then added tartly, “and my eyes are perfectly good enough to tell colours from a couple of yards away.”

Baldwin coughed discreetly, bringing her attention back to him. “That’s good. Can you describe the man?”

“Oh, yes. He’s short in build, not your height, sir. Very dark face, with scars and wrinkles all over. His mount was a palfrey, a grey with dappled sides. Both horses had good leather fittings with brass.”

“Good!” Baldwin stood. “We should be able to find a couple like them easily enough.”

“Yes, sir. I can take you there if you’re worried you’ll lose them.”

He spun around to stare at her. “You know where they are?”

“Of course I do!” she said, seeming amused at his surprise. “I know everyone round here. I’m the miller’s wife.”

Simon grinned at Baldwin’s dumbfounded expression, and asked: “Could you just tell us who these two people are, please, Jennie?“

“Oh, sorry, I forgot. Mr. and Mrs. Trevellyn. They’re from over to the west, at South Helions.”

“Trevellyn?” Baldwin glanced at Simon, who shrugged. “Now that is interesting!”

“Do you need anything else from this woman?” Peter’s voice sounded strained, Simon thought, and as the priest stepped forward into the pool of light from a large candle-holder, the bailiff saw that his friend’s face was taut and pale, and his face registered distaste when his glance fell on her.

Stirring, Baldwin shook his head quickly. “No. Thank you, Jennie. You’ve been very helpful.”

She stood. “Suppose I’d better get on with buying what we need, then, and get on home.” She smoothed her tunic and grinned at the knight before walking out enthusiastically. This was an important day for her. There was the excitement that her story would have for the people in the ‘Moon’ later, as the only person who saw the woman in the trees and who also saw Greencliff with her horse. That should start some heads shaking, she thought with satisfaction. And then there was the interest there had been over the apparent break up between Greencliff and Sarah Cottey. Was that because of Mrs. Trevellyn? She paused at the door, caught by the idea as she pensively straightened her shawl. Now that was a thought!

Inside, Baldwin and Simon stood and prepared to take their own leave when the priest caught them both by the arms. “Wait, I want a word with you two.”

Baldwin was surprised by the urgency in his voice. “What is it, Peter?”

“What on earth have you two been saying about Greencliff? Or Mrs. Trevellyn?”

“What?” Simon was confused, but he ran through the sequence of events that so far made up their search for the killer of the witch, leading to the discovery of the identity of the woman who was involved. “What is troubling you? All we’re trying to do is find Agatha Kyteler’s murderer. What’s wrong?”

“It was what she said. That woman will make sure that this is all over the parish within hours. And what will happen then? Everyone will assume that Mrs. Trevellyn was responsible, whether or not she was. Just as they will all think Agatha Kyteler was a witch.”

“You don’t think she was?”

“God! No, why on earth should I? She was a very pleasant woman, always ready to assist the people of the parish who hurt themselves. No, I’m sure she was no witch.”

Baldwin grinned sidelong at the bailiff. “You see, Simon thinks there may be something in it because of all her roots and herbs.”

“Simon?“

“I’m sorry, and I’ll pray for her if that will help, but so many others think she was, I…”

“Agatha Kyteler was a good and kindly woman. Ignore the rumours. But you see how gossip can spread? What if news of this gets back to Alan Trevellyn?”

“Ah!” Baldwin seemed to understand this, although Simon was left looking from one to the other with growing exasperation.

“Why? Who is this man? Why should this be a problem?”

“Don’t you know Alan Trevellyn?” Peter asked. “I thought you would be sure to… well, he is a powerful man, a merchant…”

“Partner to Walter de la Forte,” murmured Baldwin softly.

“Precisely. They bring wine from Gascony. Anyway, he is known for his boldness.”