‘There was no risk of that, my Lord. Now it is safely installed with the Coroner.’
‘Harlewin le Poter? Good. In that case there is little more to be said about it. Such a shame about the knight himself. I understand Sir Gilbert was an experienced man. He could have been invaluable as a member of my household, don’t you think?’
‘I scarcely knew the man, I fear.’
‘Anyone who could come all the way here carrying a treasure trove would be an interesting man to meet, wouldn’t you say, Sir Baldwin?’ Lord Hugh said mildly.
‘Interesting to meet and talk to, I suspect,’ replied Baldwin.
A few moments later the lord excused himself and went to make conversation with someone else farther along the room. Sir Peregrine hesitated, then stepped after him.
‘I think the bannaret wanted to speak to you,’ Simon said pensively.
‘Probably. But there’s nothing much for us to say to each other, is there – not now he knows that the Despensers’ cache is lost. He realises – I hope – that his ambitions to see the Marcher Lords win ascendency in Lord Hugh’s court will probably succeed. He has no need to worry about Despenser money going to bribe anyone. I hope, too, that he realises there is no longer any point in ambushing us. We can’t give him the money either!’
Jeanne frowned from one to the other. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘We had a little trouble in town today,’ Simon began.
‘Not trouble exactly,’ Baldwin hurriedly interrupted. ‘Just a near…’
‘Husband, please leave our friend and me to talk unhindered,’ Jeanne said with poisonous sweetness. ‘So, Simon. I had heard a little of this, but I should appreciate a few facts. You were saying?’
‘It was nothing. Some men tried to ambush us, but they failed. The Coroner saved us.’
‘That in itself must make you both unique,’ she observed caustically.
‘The interesting thing is what we heard from the Coroner,’ Baldwin said and told her of the arrest and murder of Andrew Carter.
‘All very fascinating, but it hardly helps to show us who killed the knight,’ she pointed out.
Baldwin pondered. ‘No, it doesn’t. But I think we are getting close to discovering who it might have been.’
Simon held up his pot and inspected the wine within. ‘The trouble is there seem to have been so many people who could have wanted him never to get here.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘From Sir Peregrine there, trying to keep his master from accepting Despenser’s bribe, to Cecily Sherman and Harlewin le Poter, wishing to conceal their liaison. The priest, if he knew Sir Gilbert was a Templar, and Nicholas himself, to prevent anyone hearing about his past.’
‘What past?’ Jeanne asked.
‘I forgot to mention it,’ Simon said, missing Baldwin’s swift look. ‘Lovecok used to be a Knight Templar.’
Baldwin was sure he felt his heart stop. He dared not meet his wife’s gaze for a minute in case he saw her face transfigured with disgust at the thought that a man she had met might have been a part of that hated Order. When he heard her response, he could have grabbed her and kissed her before all the assembly.
‘So what?’
Owen held a cloth to his cheek. It had stopped stinging now, and instead the slash felt like a burn across his cheekbone. ‘That’s what I saw,’ he stated stolidly. ‘All the stuff was gone.’
‘Damn!’ Toker said. He and his men were in the undercroft below the great hall. It was one of the few places where they could talk in peace. Perkin was upright again, glowering sullenly in the corner and holding his bruised and battered head. The others were ranged about the floor or on barrels.
He knew that they were looking to him for a lead as usual, but for once he felt lost. All depended on where they had put the money: if it was hidden somewhere nearby so the Bailiff and Keeper could collect it later, Toker might be able to get it. He couldn’t afford to lose face among his men. Chewing his lip, he turned away from the little Welshman and strolled to the doorway. A short distance away was a girl throwing pebbles at a stick in the ground, while a man sat nearby watching her. Toker didn’t know Petronilla or Edgar except as vaguely familiar faces about the castle ground, so he only gave them a cursory look.
The question was, had they hidden it? If they had, they could be ‘persuaded’ to say where it was.
Toker’s mind turned to Perkin. People told Perkin all they knew when he started punching them. He knew where to hit for maximum pain. Perkin could persuade the knight to tell them where the contents of the box were stored, all right. All they had to do was catch Sir Baldwin.
And if it proved difficult, Toker thought, drawing his knife and kissing the blade as he made his oath, the knight and his friend would die.
Baldwin took another pot of wine with a feeling of satisfaction. He had done all he could to ensure that he and Simon would be safe from any form of attack. Now Sir Peregrine knew the hoard was safe in the Coroner’s hands, Baldwin felt secure.
Harlewin arrived a while after most other people, nodding to many and smiling at Simon and Baldwin like an accomplice. However, he moved off swiftly as Baldwin became aware of a man behind him. When he turned he saw it was Cecily’s husband, John Sherman.
‘Master Sherman?’ Jeanne said. ‘We were very impressed with your stock. I couldn’t recognise some of it. It all looked very impressive.’
The spicer glanced at them as if he hadn’t heard. ‘Eh?’ Then, recollecting himself, he gave a broken smile. ‘Oh, thank you. Yes, I try to stock as much as possible. It’s not always easy, but…’ He ran on, speaking of his trade with France, with other countries, his fine collection of cardamoms, the quality of his peppercorns, his exotic nutmegs and how they could flavour a wine fit for a king.
Baldwin could see that his attention was equally split between Jeanne as a prospective customer, and his wife Cecily, who had gathered a circle of admiring men about her like a candle attracting moths. Some of them, Baldwin thought to himself, could soon end up scorched. If looks could burn, many of Cecily Sherman’s entourage would be singed already.
While his wife listened attentively, Baldwin’s mind wandered. If there was any fairness in the world, Philip Dyne would have been left alone to leave the country. Perhaps he would have been able to rebuild his life abroad, found a new woman, married and produced children. Except he was unlucky enough to have Andrew Carter on his trail, a man who sought to kill him to conceal his own crime.
If life were straightforward, Sir Gilbert would have been overcome by the lad, his knife stolen and used to stab him. Except Baldwin knew that a trained knight would not easily submit, far less permit an unarmed thief to steal his dagger. And as for his dog sitting by and waiting until his master was dead, before leaping forward to be spitted on a dagger – well that beggared belief.
Baldwin racked his brains, thinking again of the people who could have wished Sir Gilbert dead. Nicholas Lovecok, to keep his secret; the Templar-hating Father Abraham, who had also been there. Harlewin and his lover had passed by the road to the west of the scene of the murders, although Harlewin had remained on the road to stop Dyne’s escape. John Sherman had been there too, and Matilda, and today she had proved that she could kill by slaughtering her husband.
Harlewin and Cecily Sherman had ridden past, she first, Harlewin following, until he met Sir Gilbert. Sir Gilbert had turned back and ridden into the woods, and presumably had never seen Cecily.
There was always Nicholas. It was possible that he or Andrew Carter could have come across the knight in the dark and slayed him by accident, thinking he was the felon. Matilda would have tried to back them up, if she had seen them kill the wrong man, perjuring herself to protect the men who she thought were trying to avenge her daughter.