‘’Tis all right. I just don’t like being stuck in here.’
It was more than that. Simon knew that Hugh had never liked towns. He was a son of the moors. Raised near Drewsteignton, he had watched flocks as a boy, learning how to fight, how to cook and eat on his own out on the rich pastures bounding the moors. For him to be locked in here, in a small room with a lot of other men, was like taking a lion and caging it. He needed to be able to breathe the clean air.
Rob lay in the corner of the wall; his mouth was open, and he was the picture of ease and comfort. His childhood had been spent in the port of Dartmouth, and to him a bed of stone floor and a scrap of rug was plenty. Having had threats of a thrashing from the sailors who were his mother’s lovers all through his life, the risks of his execution did not seem to affect him. It was just one more hazard. He had survived so many already in his short life.
Simon’s further contemplation of his servant was stopped as the door’s bolts slid back noisily. There were two, and as the last shot open, the door was pushed inwards. Three men with cudgels in their hands blocked the way, and the man in front, an ill-favoured watchman with a week’s growth of beard and the eyes of a ferret, slapped his against his open palm as he gazed about the room. ‘Where’s the one called Bailiff Puttock?’
Simon stood. ‘I’m here.’
‘Come out here.’
Simon glanced at Hugh. ‘What of my servant?’
‘I didn’t call him, I called you. Get out here!’
There was little choice. Simon walked out, trying to catch Hugh’s eye, but the servant hardly looked his way.
Bristol Castle
The walk from the cell to the hall was brief, and yet to Simon it was as though he had walked from a scene of Hell into Heaven, and the fact filled him with a strange euphoria.
Inside the castle’s hall, he felt his belly lurch as he saw Margaret and Peterkin sitting on a bench engaged in animated conversation with a man in a bright green tunic. It was only when he turned that Simon recognised Mortimer.
‘Sir Roger,’ he said, bowing.
‘So, Bailiff. We meet again, and this time in our own lands! Please, come, sit with us. We have much to discuss. You would like some food?’
‘I would be very grateful,’ Simon said, and threw a quick look at his wife.
‘I am fine,’ Meg said, and in her face he could see no untruth. Her smile told him that she had slept safely, which was more than he could have hoped.
‘She has been kept safe from the men of the castle, Master Puttock,’ Mortimer said, seeing Simon’s expression. ‘Don’t fear for her.’
‘What do you want from me?’ Simon asked. ‘You have pulled me out of the prison, but you’ve left my men in there.’
‘Perhaps I can release them too before long,’ Mortimer said, and gave a sharp whistle. Soon a steward entered the room carrying a large cauldron of pottage, which he set beside the fire. Another man brought two loaves of bread, which he broke open and left on a trencher, while a bottler supplied a pair of large wine jugs. ‘First, though, eat and listen. I have much to tell you.’
Simon sat on a stool and took a mazer of wine, which he drained. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was, but the lack of a meal the previous night, followed by no breakfast, had left him with a belly that felt like a pig’s bladder with the air let out. There was a rush of warmth as the wine hit his empty stomach, and then a sensation of near-dizziness. It was so intense, so delicious, he held out his mazer to the bottler to be refilled.
‘You were investigating a murder, I believe, when I arrived here?’
The question so surprised Simon that he almost choked. He shot a look at Margaret, but her frank incomprehension was a picture. ‘Yes.’
‘The dead woman was called Cecily, I believe. And she was slain by a man who may still be here in the city?’
‘He’s bound to be, since he killed her after the city’s gates were locked.’
‘That simplifies matters. Very well – the woman was killed by a man called Squire William de B–’
‘I think that is unlikely.’
‘Perhaps you should tell me what you know first.’ Sir Roger smiled thinly.
‘She was found dead,’ Simon said, and went on to tell about the murders of the Capons and their daughter and grandchild by the Squire and his men. ‘I have not managed to get far with the discovery of the killer. I had supposed it could be the Squire himself, but now Sir Laurence has told me that Sir Stephen held an inquest over Squire William’s body before she died, perhaps Cecily was murdered by one of his confederates? But if so, why wait so long to kill her? They could have got rid of her much sooner.’
‘True enough,’ Mortimer acquiesced.
‘It is the case that finding anyone in the city in the last days has not been very easy,’ Simon added heavily.
‘Perhaps so. But I would have the murderer pursued. He is guilty of a reprehensible crime, and I would see him punished for it.’
‘Oh. Aye.’
‘You sound doubtful?’
‘I see little profit in chasing about the countryside trying to find a man who could be almost anywhere.’
‘That is not the point,’ Sir Roger said sternly. ‘If it is felt, or believed, that a man can escape punishment here, the whole city could begin to behave in the same manner and I shall not permit that to happen. All those guilty of crimes will be held up to exemplary punishment so as to deter others. And it is important that this particular man is discovered. After all, Squire William was a friend and ally of the Despenser. That, so I have heard, is the true reason why he was released after the killings of Cecily’s master and family. I will not let it be said that those who kill my enemies can rely upon a more gentle judgement than others. Those murders were a disgraceful act, and we have to show now, more than ever, that all felons will be sought, found, and brought to justice. That is what the law is for. Under any King, the law must be supreme.’
‘Yes,’ Simon said. He wanted to ask about his servants again, but there was something in Sir Roger Mortimer’s face that put him off for the moment.
‘No one can be above the law, don’t you agree?’ Mortimer repeated.
‘Yes, I do,’ Simon said. ‘I have served the law all my life.’
‘Then I would like you to find this murderer and bring him to me for justice,’ Mortimer said.
Simon nodded, but he was doubtful as he eyed the tall knight. ‘Sir Roger, there is clearly more to this than is apparent. If it is not disrespectful, may I know the reason for your interest in the woman’s murder?’
‘All you need know is that this dagger,’ Mortimer said, pulling the bent knife from under his tunic, ‘was thrown into the grave by a man who came to witness the woman’s burial. The fosser himself retrieved it. Speak to him. He may be able to help you.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cardiff
The excitement in the town was palpable as the ship was seen approaching early that morning.
Like the day before, the weather was sunny, and warm when the sun touched a man’s face or hand, but the breeze was chilly, and Baldwin saw Jack pulling his cloak tighter about his body as the wind from the sea picked up.
They had slept the previous night in a stable. Hunt as they might, there seemed to be no beds available for any money. Cardiff was packed with men who had depended upon the King for their livelihoods. With the turmoil in the country, they were hoping for some form of rescue before Mortimer arrived, which they were all convinced would not be long.