In the town, he soon saw the crowd waiting at Godfrey’s gate. Some men were arguing with Tanner, no doubt trying to gain access to the hall to see the body, but Tanner was resolute. No one would enter until the Keeper had told him they could, and it didn’t matter how much money they offered. John averted his eyes so as to avoid being brought into any discussion, but he did wonder whether there could be potential in this latest twist: perhaps he could offer people the chance of getting in over Godfrey’s wall from his yard-for a small fee, of course. This delightful prospect kept him speculating as he carried on up the hill.
At his yard, he hobbled to the gate and opened it, leading the horse inside, but as he turned to close the gate, a figure sidled along and into the yard behind him.
“What do you want?” John grumbled irritably.
“Me, John?” Putthe asked slyly, his eyes roving all over the yard as if seeking the missing plate. “All I want is to give you some help-if you’ll let me, that is.” 8
B aldwin waved to the nearest serving-girl as he walked in, his face smiling as proof of his pleasure. The hall was a large one, with tables scattered haphazardly around the floor, and Baldwin and his servant were forced to take a circuitous route to the one where his friends were sitting.
It was over six months since Baldwin had seen Simon Puttock, the bailiff of Lydford, and longer since he had met Simon’s wife, Margaret, but neither was surprised when the knight offered them only a perfunctory greeting. They both knew he had not spoken to Jeanne de Liddinstone for twelve months, not since the affair of the murders at Tavistock Fair.
Jeanne had not changed over the interval, and to Baldwin she was beautiful. She was tall and strongly built, with long limbs and a slim figure. Her face was regular, with a wide mouth whose upper lip was a little over-full, giving her a slightly stubborn look, but her nose gave the opposite impression, being both short and slightly tip-tilted. Most important to Baldwin, though, were her eyes: bright and clear blue, intelligent, and almost without exception, smiling.
She was wearing a long riding cloak trimmed with gray fur, over a deep blue tunic embroidered with flowers at hem and throat. On her head was a simple coif, which gave the knight a tantalizing glimpse of the red-gold hair plaited and pinned beneath. He took her hand and bowed, and she gave him a mocking curtsey in return.
“Is that enough now, Sir Baldwin? My very bones ache after riding all the way here, and you force me to bend to you?”
“My lady, please…I mean, please be seated,” he said, flustered in case he might have given offense.
To Edgar, the scene carried more than a faint feeling of deja vu. His master had wooed this woman when they had last met, he knew, and had achieved only moderate success. In Edgar’s view it was in large measure due to the knight’s nervousness and anxiety about hurting the lady’s feelings that he had not won her. Now he saw her smile more kindly on Baldwin, and to his relief, his master relaxed slightly and sat with her.
“So, Baldwin, should we leave immediately?” Margaret’s tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of asperity.
“My lady, I am confused and blinded by the beauty of two such perfect women. How could a poor knight like me ever dream of being honored by the presence of both of you at the same time? It is as if the sun itself has fallen into the room, I feel so utterly…”
“All right, Baldwin,” Simon interrupted hastily. “You’ve satisfied the greed of these two for compliments-now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a cup of good strong wine to take away the taste of all the dust I’ve swallowed on the way here!”
“It is ordered, I think,” Baldwin said, peering over his friend’s shoulder toward the buttery. “Edgar, see if you can hurry them along, will you? I think today I will celebrate with wine as well.”
Nothing loath, Edgar went off, for this was the inn where his Cristine served, and he had the hope that he might be able to corner her for his own purposes for a few minutes.
It was Margaret who broke the short silence. “And how are affairs in Crediton?”
Her words brought Baldwin up with a jolt. He had been watching Jeanne and wondering when he would be able to speak to her privately, but Margaret had unthinkingly reminded him of Godfrey’s body. “Not good, I fear. There has been a murder.”
Instantly Simon leaned forward. He was a strong, hardy man in his middle thirties with brown hair, slightly grizzled. Four years ago he had been a young, ambitious bailiff on his way up; then his face had been free of any wrinkles, but since the death of his little son Peterkin the previous year, he had lost much of his aura of youth. Now he wore deep creases at his brow, like the battle scars of life.
The bailiff waited while Cristine doled out cups and wine, quickly hurrying back to the buttery, then jerked his head in a gesture of interest. “Come along, tell us all about it.”
It took little time for Baldwin to describe the scene he had found the night before, or to summarize the evidence he had been given by the bottler and first finder.
When he was finished, Simon took a long gulp of wine and sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “So you haven’t done too much yet. You’ve only spoken to one neighbor and a wounded servant. There’s still this other neighbor…who is it? Anyone I know?”
Baldwin grinned. Simon had lived in Crediton and the surrounding area for many years before moving out to Lydford with his new job. “It was Irelaunde.”
“That little bastard!”
“Simon!”
“What, Meg? Oh-I’m sorry, Jeanne. But Christ’s Blood, Baldwin, if he lives close, he’s the first man you should question. You know what sort of a character he is!”
Baldwin leaned back with a beatific smile. “It is a wonderful relief to have you here, Simon. Up until now I hadn’t realized how much I relied on your judgment and fair-mindedness. I was thrashing around and going through the motions without thinking about the crime itself.”
“So you’ll go and see him immediately?”
“No. I’ll go and speak to the man’s daughter. You’ve just told me how the locals will all think, and I’d better get my hands on the real killer before some fool decides to take the law into his own hands and lynches the wrong man!”
Simon gave a short laugh. He knew that he was often prone to leap to conclusions, and overall he was content with the trait. In the main, while he worked out on the moors, settling disputes between miners and landowners, it was a useful ability, to be able to see who was the most likely culprit, or who was probably at fault. With simple arguments, such as who should be permitted to change the flow of a stream, or whether a tenement-holder had the rights of pasturage over a particular plot, there was little analysis required. It was more a case of applying common sense and maintaining an attitude of fair play. For that, Simon’s brand of quick intuition often saved a lot of time.
“I’m glad you’re here, Simon,” Baldwin continued more seriously, and Simon felt his smile broaden. The knight’s words carried too much sincerity for him to be doubted.
“So when are you to go and speak to this young woman?” Jeanne asked. “Is there time for us to get to your house first?”
“With your permission, lady, I will send you off with my servant. Simon, you have brought Hugh with you?” The bailiff nodded. “Then, Jeanne, you will have two good men to protect you on your way.”
“Jeanne has better protection than you realize, Baldwin,” said Margaret lightly.
The knight threw her a baffled glance, but had no time to ask what she meant, for there was a sudden commotion from the buttery. Muttering under his breath, Baldwin rose to his feet, but before he could discover the cause, the cause discovered him.