Sir Edward set his head to one side a little. ‘So be it,’ he sighed after a short reflection. ‘Which will it be, man? Abjure and live, or submit to the court?’
‘I need time to think about it! I want more time!’
‘You can wait until God’s kingdom comes, as far as I’m concerned,’ the coroner said. He bent down to one knee, his elbow on the other, and peered up into Nicholas’s face. ‘Why, he is crying! Is this guilt?’
It was delicious. This strong, hardy man-at-arms was actually weeping! Well, there was little more to do for now. Especially with the Keeper and the priest refusing to allow a sensible resolution to the problem. No, the Coroner was content to let matters ride for a while. All he need do was wait. It would take only one more failing to demonstrate that Sir Geoffrey had lost his grip of the manor, and then Sir Edward would be able to take control, after a few words in the right ears.
Coroner Edward smiled to himself, stood and walked from the church, dismissively thrusting the local villeins from his path as he went.
Outside he studied the land more closely. Always important to know the lie of the neighbouring lands when you ran a good-sized manor like Sir Geoffrey’s.
Baldwin and Matthew stood before Nicholas as the people gradually left the church. Matthew held up his hand and roared quickly before they could all depart that he was about to begin a Mass, and a few men and women from the vill shrugged and turned back, but all the men-at-arms were gone before Matthew could even go to robe himself for the service.
As he was preparing to leave to fetch what he needed, eyeing the crowd with a certain satisfaction, Baldwin muttered, ‘You will have to have someone guard this place, Father. They may come back.’
‘Yes, of course. Um.’ His mind was more on the prayers and service to come than on the felon sitting miserably at the end of his altar, and Baldwin doubted that he would remember Baldwin’s words for the time it took a leaf to fall to the ground.
‘No matter,’ he murmured to himself as he went to join Simon and Edgar. But just before he had reached them, a thought struck him. He turned away and out into the crisp air. Long plumes of steam rose from the horses and men who remained in the churchyard, but the coroner was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where is Coroner Edward?’ he demanded of a peasant pushing a small two-wheeled cart.
‘Him? Back to the hall, I reckon.’
‘What of the inquest?’
‘Oh, he held that before we came out here.’
Baldwin looked at him, at first appalled, then furious. ‘That prickle held the inquest without us? Without me? When I’d told Sir Geoffrey that I wanted to be present? Who was there?’
Perkin drew the corners of his mouth down. ‘Some of the vill’s freemen, and others from the manor itself.’
‘You were there?’
‘Yes. I was there.’
‘I shall want to speak to you.’ Baldwin glanced at his burden. On the cart was a linen-wrapped body. ‘You are here to bury someone?’
‘Our priest,’ Perkin said. ‘He died yesterday. I was bringing him for burial.’
‘Take him on to the church. I shall await you here.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Humphrey woke with his head a screaming agony. For a long moment he remained with his eyes screwed tightly shut, petrified by the thought of what he might see when he opened them. Visions of Hugh with a sharp knife already smeared with blood — his blood! — sprang into his mind, and he whimpered at the thought of imminent death. ‘Don’t, please don’t …’
‘Don’t what?’ Hugh demanded.
Opening his eyes cautiously, Humphrey saw that Hugh was at the far side of the room. The pain in his head came from his having banged his bruised skull against a rock lying on the ground. He gazed at the rock reproachfully, then pushed himself up and sat with his back to the wall. His head still hurt abominably, and he felt dizzy, but he would recover. ‘What will you do with me?’
Hugh glanced at him. He was like a man who had a single focus to all his thoughts and nothing else could intrude on them for long. ‘What?’
‘Will you kill me?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t have you letting people know where I am, though,’ Hugh said distractedly.
‘Where is the friar?’
‘He’s outside making sure we’re safe and no one’s trying to find us.’
‘Oh.’
‘What would you have done? Were you thinking you could stay here for ever?’
‘Hmm? What, there at the chapel? No, I suppose not. I think I did mean to rob Isaac and the church when I went to him in the first place. But then I grew to like him, and the people down here. It’s a good little vill, Monkleigh. There are some arseholes, but most of the peasants are as good as any. I started to think that if I robbed the church, all I’d be doing would be taking money from them. The Church would demand compensation for any thefts from the place, and those fines would fall on all the poorest people in the vill. Fines always do.’
Hugh grunted agreement.
‘What will you do?’ Humphrey asked at last.
Hugh looked up at him, then out through the door, and lastly up at the sky overhead.
‘I … I don’t know,’ he admitted brokenly. ‘Someone killed my woman, and I want revenge — but how can I learn who killed her?’
‘You were lucky to remain alive,’ Humphrey said without thinking.
‘Lucky?’ Hugh spat. He jumped to his feet and strode to Humphrey. ‘I saw her die, and her son, and they knocked me down and left me for dead.’
‘I didn’t mean to insult you, friend,’ Humphrey said desperately.
The raised voice had alerted John. He stood in the doorway, his gaze going from one to the other. When he spoke, his voice was calm. ‘Hugh, there’s no need to lose your temper with him.’
‘I know!’ Hugh said, spinning on his heel and leaving the cowering priest lying at the foot of the wall. ‘It’s just … why did they leave me alive?’
‘As a symbol? You were a living message to others that they should be fearful. Some men have minds that work in that way.’
Hugh tested his leg. It was all but mended now, and he grunted with satisfaction. ‘They’ll regret it.’
‘Now, Hugh,’ John said, entering the room and sitting near the fire. ‘What do you plan to do?’
‘I want to find the man who had Constance killed.’
‘And I want the man who killed Lucy of Meeth. Perhaps they are the same?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Then we can work together to find him.’
Sir Geoffrey slammed the door and walked out into the open area before the hall when he heard the riders thundering down the lane towards him. At first all he could see was the steam rising as a form of heat-haze in the lane, beyond his old hedge. Then there were the two leather caps of his bodyguards, whom he had sent in order to make sure that none of the men tried to desert, then the horses breasted the entrance, and he could see them all. There in the middle was Sir Edward with his hair moving from side to side as the wind caught the short strands. A vain man, Sir Geoffrey thought, and vain men always had their weaknesses.
‘And?’
‘I almost had him,’ Sir Edward said with a bitter shake of his head. ‘I had him in the palm of my hand, and the priest defended him. The damned knight from Furnshill stood up to me as well and it seemed sensible not to force the issue. Especially with Sir Odo’s men all around.’
‘I understand,’ Sir Geoffrey said, and turned on his heel.
‘Wait! What do you mean by that?’ Coroner Edward demanded. He had dropped from his horse, and now he stepped up to Sir Geoffrey in a hurry. ‘Are you suggesting something?’
‘I dare say many would be scared to think that they could be bested in a church,’ Sir Geoffrey said harshly. ‘All you had to do was bring him back here so that we could judge him here, on our land. And if we found he was guilty, we could have hanged him here.’