“He may be to you, Sir Ralph,” the boy returned. “You who were always so honest and pure! But not here, not when there are weak serfs to control. You call me a fool, but you deserted your master when he needed you, and…”

The swinging fist caught the boy on the point of his chin, and his head snapped back under the force of the blow, hitting the wall behind him with a loud smack. He was quickly up again, eyes glittering with animal fury and his knife was in his hand. It scythed upward in a silvery arc, flashing wickedly. Simon watched in startled horror, incapable of moving, as it rose straight toward Sir Ralph’s chest.

Not so Edgar. As soon as he’d seen Sir Ralph’s hand forming a fist, he’d grasped his sword, ready to intervene. Now, as the dagger rose, he brought his sword down on the boy’s wrist, using the flat of the blade. He was trying to be gentle, but all in the room heard the bone snap as the two met and John was left staring blankly at his loosely dangling hand while his blade tinkled on the stone floor.

“No more!” Baldwin bellowed, whirling to face the dais. “No more deaths in this accursed Manor! Why did you decide to kill Taverner and Hankyn, Sir William? Was it because they saw you on their way back from the wood that night, and that made you anxious in case they might speak of it?”

Sir William gave another tired nod, his eyes firmly fixed on his youngest son. “Yes,” he admitted heavily. “Samuel saw me, and put two and two together. He told me yesterday. I knew it was only a matter of time before his story got out. They wouldn’t’ve been a problem if it wasn’t for that.”

“So you began a fire to make a diversion,” said Simon incredulously, “then slipped back and stabbed Samuel when he walked into the storeroom, before going over to Taverner’s bed and slaying the sick man while he slept?”

The tired old eyes turned to him, but now there was a degree of contempt in Sir William’s voice. “And what would you have done, master bailiff? Left them to blackmail you? You can be sure that’s what the weasel-faced little devil was planning to do to me. Oh, yes. And, I suppose,” his voice dripped with sarcasm now, “I suppose you would not have raised a finger to protect your name and that of your family?”

To Simon’s surprise, it was Robert who answered. He stared, open-mouthed in his shock. “Of course, Father! Why did they have to die? All you were protecting was yourself, your misdeeds of years ago. There was no need to kill two men who had served you loyally for years. Your honor was false, unreal – so why was it worth three men’s lives? All you managed to do was heap injustice upon dishonor!”

“Shut up, idiot!” Matillida snapped. When she looked at Baldwin, her face was a mask of cold indifference. “Well, Sir Baldwin, this has been very interesting, but not very relevant. It is nearly dark outside, and the gates will be closed already. Tell me, why do you feel we should listen to anymore of this?”

“Because, my lady, Sir William here has committed three murders, and we have to produce evidence of this at the next court at Lydford. I am sorry, but there is nothing we can do about it.”

“But surely,” she said softly, “you do not want to ruin us? Will it profit the men who are dead? There is little proof that my husband has done anything wrong, after all.”

“Lady, he admits it!” said Simon hotly, but she held up her hand.

“No one has yet tried to accuse my husband of anything. We could easily forget this unpleasant affair. We are not so very wealthy, but we can offer land and money to our friends.”

Baldwin stared at her with his brows drawn. “You are suggesting an accommodation?” he said at last, and she nodded. “I see.” He turned to the miner and motioned him forward.

“In that case I should make my opinion plain,” said Thomas heavily. He pointed a shaking finger. “Sir William, I accuse you of the murder of Peter Bruther, of the murder of Samuel Hankyn, and of the murder of Ronald Taverner.”

“I think that says it all,” said Simon calmly. “Sir William, you are under attachment to come with us to Lydford. Lady, I hope that makes our view plain.”

She glared at him with soaring rage, and then opened her mouth to scream for the guards, but before she could speak, Robert put a hand to her shoulder. When she attempted to slap it away, he held her hand. While she stared at him in horror, he said, “Mother, be silent. The knight is right – Father is guilty by his own mouth. I’ll not have more honest men killed to protect the guilty. Sir Baldwin, you have my support.”

His father had a wild fear in his eyes. “Robert? What do you mean? You don’t expect me to go to the castle at Lydford, do you, because I’ll kill anyone who tries to take me there, and I don’t care who it is! The guards in this Manor are…”

“Mine, and when they hear that you are a murderer, who has confessed to killing two of their friends, condemned from your own mouth, they will obey my orders. Do you want me to have you bound to prove it?”

26

Sitting once more in the sun outside Simon’s house at Lydford, watching the villeins working the fields behind the village, Baldwin was relaxed and drowsy. It was a more or less satisfactory end to the enquiry, he felt. Sir William had been held by the court, an event which caused some initial disquiet to the burgesses of the village who would never have expected to keep a knight in the chilly and damp cell under the ground. But they had quickly become used to the idea, and now some relished the depths to which the knight had sunk – metaphorically and physically. Fighting between Beauscyr men and the miners had all but stopped. Now the only recorded fighting was the normal fisticuffs outside the inns and an occasional dispute on the moors about who had bounded a particular parcel of land for mining.

Hearing a shrill scream and the thunder of small feet in the screens behind him, Baldwin smiled and groaned, slowly rising to his feet. In a few moments Simon was with him, his daughter clinging to one arm. “Fetch your poor father some wine, Edith,” he said, carefully depositing her on the grass, and giggling, the eight year old ran back into the house. His eyes followed her slight form until she disappeared, then he slumped into his seat with a contented sigh, casting a baleful eye at his friend. “I trust there is a little wine left?”

Author’s Note

For those readers unfamiliar with my two earlier novels featuring Sir Baldwin Furnshill and Simon Puttock, a quick guide to early fourteenth-century history may be useful.

The late 1200s and early 1300s were years of massive change for Europe’s population. Conflict over the papacy in Rome had led to the Pope moving his court to Avignon in France; thus the French King, Philip IV, became the most powerful man in Christendom, directly influencing God’s vicar on earth.

As proof of the French King’s new authority one need look no further than the “Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon” – the Templar Knights. They had been the leading institution in Europe for almost two hundred years, reporting only to the Pope himself. Considering themselves warriors for God, the monks fought for the defense of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, often recklessly throwing their lives away in battle, so strong was their faith in the Order’s mission to protect Christ’s country from invasion by pagans. These men were knights in their own right, but gave up secular pleasures and personal wealth in order to take the oaths of their monastic order: poverty, chastity and obedience.

The Templars flourished with the Crusades, earning vast sums from their ventures in banking and commerce; indeed they could be described as being the first retail bankers, issuing notes to confirm deposits which could then be redeemed in other countries. Massive estates were given to them by supporters, providing rich sources of income to help maintain their army. By the end of the 1200s the Templars were a force to be reckoned with.