And then he heard the other noises. With ears that had been attuned for almost all his adult life to the sound of potential danger, he heard a squeaking of leather, the high-pitched jingling of metalwork, and then, as he turned his head and frowned in concentration, the cries of men and the baying of hounds.
‘Sir Baldwin! Listen!’
Sir Geoffrey was annoyed with the delay. Trying to gather all the villeins together had taken an age, and then the miserable curs had tried to avoid their duty. They wouldn’t get away with that sort of shirking, not while he was master of the manor. No, they’d damned well learn to obey.
Nicholas le Poter was a fool. He might have thought he could evict Sir Geoffrey, but it was the last mistake he’d make. When this posse caught up with him, he’d be pulled apart. Literally.
‘Sir Geoffrey? There are men ahead.’
He swore quietly under his breath. Round the curve in the road, he suddenly saw three men on horseback. They stopped at sight of his little force, and one horse reared as the hounds reached them.
‘Sir Baldwin!’ he bellowed. ‘I am glad to see you, sir. I am chasing the man who killed Lady Lucy. Have you seen him going this way?’
Baldwin and Edgar exchanged a look. Simon was glowering down at a hound that kept darting under his mount, making the rounsey skittish.
It was Baldwin who responded. ‘We’ve seen no one on this road.’
Sir Geoffrey swore under his breath again. This was not turning out as he had planned. Surely the hounds weren’t mistaken …
‘Sir Geoffrey, they’re going down towards the chapel,’ his huntsman suddenly called.
‘After them! He’s trying to reach sanctuary!’ Sir Geoffrey shouted and set spurs to his horse.
He was aware of his posse springing into the chase behind him. Yes, as he passed by the angry-looking bailiff, whose beast was dancing like a tamed bear, he saw the main part of the pack turning off the road and taking the little lane that went down the hill to the chapel. That was where the fool had gone, thinking he’d be safe down there. Well, he was mistaken. Sir Geoffrey felt his lips pull into a snarl of satisfaction as he urged his horse down the incline towards the chapel.
It was quiet. The dogs were at the door, sniffing and protesting, although two or three had trotted off towards the fields nearby. He ignored them, but bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘Nicholas le Poter — come out and surrender or I shall have you pulled out.’
‘You will not!’
Sir Geoffrey turned to see the calm face of the Keeper at his side. ‘Sir Baldwin, this is a matter for my manor. It’s none of your concern.’
Baldwin was quiet for a moment. He glanced about Sir Geoffrey at the men with him. There were some few, he thought, who looked like ordinary peasants from the vill, but others … others were different. He recalled the widow’s words about men who would keep to the hall in daylight and only appear at night, and he told himself that the careers of some of these fellows would bear little scrutiny. He had not seen so many dangerous-looking characters together in many a year.
‘I think you are wrong,’ he said at last. ‘If there is a man in there who has committed murder, it is very much my concern. It is my duty to seek felons and murderers. And it is not your place to command a man to leave a place of sanctuary, either.’
‘It is not sanctuary. It’s a chapel, and it has never been declared sanctuary to my knowledge.’
‘Perhaps not. Nevertheless, it is a holy chapel and you will not desecrate it by entering with armed men and pulling a defenceless man from within.’
‘I can do what I like on my estates,’ Sir Geoffrey declared more quietly, his voice dropping.
‘Not while I am here, Sir Geoffrey,’ Baldwin said calmly.
‘Out of my way!’ Sir Geoffrey grated and reached for his sword’s hilt.
As he did so, he heard a swift rasp of steel from his right. Glancing down, he found himself staring at a naked blade held by Baldwin’s man.
‘You dare draw steel against me?’ he growled.
‘Against any who threaten my master, yes,’ Edgar said happily.
‘You will regret this!’
‘I doubt it,’ Baldwin said coolly. ‘Now, please, do you wait here while I go inside. Edgar, you stay with him.’
Jeanne was still at the inn, although she would have been happier to leave and go for a walk. Richalda had fallen asleep, and Jeanne had set her down on a bench nearby. From experience she knew that Richalda could sleep through a charge of cavalry. The noise in this bar would be nothing to her.
The racket was growing, too. First Emma declared that she needed more wine, then that she needed food, that she was starving, that her head ached; all of which were interspersed with comments on the local population, the quality of the staff, especially Jankin, and the general lack of amenities.
In the end, from sheer embarrassment, Jeanne left her to it. She slipped out of the inn and stood outside just as the sun was fading. As the door closed she distinctly heard her maid demanding a quart of wine, and ‘None of that pissy water you call wine round here. I want a good dark red. Quickly, man!’
Jeanne closed her eyes in shame. If there was ever a time when she could have cheerfully discarded her maid, it was now. Even when she had first been introduced to Baldwin, she had not been quite so appallingly rude. Not that Jeanne could remember, anyway. Admittedly the woman was atrocious in any company, but her behaviour today had been even worse than usual.
At a burst of raucous laughter, Jeanne shuddered, convinced that someone was gaining revenge for some of Emma’s foul comments, and she walked quickly away from the inn. The church was a short walk away, and she felt the need for a little spiritual comfort just now. She was almost at the small gate which barred the entrance to the vill’s pigs and dogs when she heard panting and rapid footfalls. Turning swiftly and frowning into the gloom, she saw a figure lurching up the lane.
Jeanne was a lady of quality, and the thought that a man could be approaching her at this time of night in a distressed state was hardly pleasing, but she was only too aware of the responsibilities laid on a Christian who found a fellow being in a state of need. She was tempted to go to the inn’s door and pull him inside to the warm, but something in his manner told her that it would be pointless. He came past the inn with his gaze fixed and staring, almost lunatic from the look of him. Jeanne shivered to see how his face was so set, like a man who was already wounded to death, but retained just enough energy in his legs to carry on. In fact, she thought he looked like a man who must keep moving, as though he must die as soon as he stopped.
He came closer, and Jeanne hurriedly made her way to the church. She had entered the yard at the eastern point, and she walked round to the southern door and opened it. Behind her she could hear the desperate rasping breath of the man.
The priest was already inside. ‘Lady Jeanne. How pleasant to see you again. I am just preparing for the evening’s …’
He was silenced as the figure lurched in after her. Wide-eyed, fearful, he pushed past Jeanne and fell to his knees in front of the priest. ‘Sanctuary! Sanctuary!’
Jeanne gasped at the sight of his shirt. It was dripping with blood, which in the candlelight looked almost black. The colour had seeped into the thin linen material making it appear bright and clotting! ‘Who did this to you?’
Matthew frowned as Nicholas le Poter bowed his head and began to weep. ‘I am innocent! Sir Geoffrey seeks to accuse me of murder. He says I killed Lady Lucy, but I had nothing to do with her death! I never saw her until they pulled her body out of the mire. It was nothing to do with me. I accuse Sir Geoffrey of killing her. He wanted to take her lands!’