The Leper's Return (20 page)

Baldwin chuckled. “So you escaped out through the back of the house before Coffyn arrived?”

“As he ran in, I hopped out. There was a window open, and I went through it. It was tight, but I managed it.”

“If this is all true,” Simon asked slowly, “didn’t you hear the scream Godfrey gave as he died? We’ve been told it was very loud. It was what caused Coffyn to rush round.”

“He told you he came immediately? I think he must have been exaggerating,” John replied primly, as if offended that another might try to mislead the Keeper. “I could hear him and his men going through his house as if they were looking for someone as I arrived in Godfrey’s garden. I did hear something, and it might have been Godfrey, for all I know, but at the time Coffyn and his lads were shouting, and I wasn’t concentrating on who was saying what, or where they were. I was mindful of my own affairs.”

“These two men,” Baldwin said, “the two who drove you back to Godfrey’s house. Who were they? Did you get a clear look?”

“Well, now. I did—and I didn’t. I saw them, but I couldn’t swear to their faces.”

“Why not?”

“Sir, it was dark. And I wasn’t going to wait to ask them who they were. Like I say, there was plenty of noise from Coffyn’s place, and it seemed to be getting closer. I wasn’t of a mind to hang around.”

“Did the two you saw in Godfrey’s garden shout?”

“No, sir. From the way they behaved, I thought they were trying to ambush me.”

“Whereabouts were they?” Simon asked.

“Up at this end of the garden, near the wall here,” John said, jerking his head toward it. “There are some bushes, and these chaps were taking cover near them. It looked like they were waiting for someone, and what with the noise behind me, and these two waiting for me, I considered the other direction safer.”

“They weren’t there when you passed by on your way out?” Baldwin mused.

“Not that I saw. I don’t think so. And I was looking pretty carefully.”

“Why did you go through Godfrey’s garden? Surely you had no need to trespass?”

“There are some things I don’t like to do—and one is advertise my business, especially when I am protecting another’s honor. Anyway, I thought it should be safe enough. I knew Coffyn was supposed to be away, and what the devil he meant by coming home so early, God only knows!”

“What was your mission?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

Baldwin eyed him dubiously. The man had an easy air, as if he was truly apologetic about being able to say no more, but there was also resolution in the set of his chin. “Very well,” he conceded. “But tell us what you know about Godfrey. What sort of a man was he?”

“He was the sort of man who’d steal your wallet to see how you’d survive with nothing, and then laugh when he saw you begging.”

Simon raised his brows. “He was well considered in the town.”

“So? What does that mean to me? You asked me for my opinion of him. The people of Crediton liked him because he had money, not for his character. Oh, Godfrey had a lot of money, and he was useful to some. Coffyn himself borrowed money from him, so I’ve been told, but…”

Baldwin peered at him. “Why should Coffyn ask Godfrey for money? Coffyn surely has enough and to spare.”

“He’s had troubles for the last three years, so I understand. Well, four months ago he had sunk to the level whereby he couldn’t afford any new stock. He had to borrow, and the first man who offered to help him was his kindly neighbor, Master Godfrey of London.”

“How can you know this?” Simon demanded. “You’re inventing it.”

“I have no need to invent, Bailiff. My information comes from an unimpeachable source.”

Baldwin was aware of a fleeting sympathy for Matthew Coffyn. John was surely hinting that he knew of Coffyn’s business affairs—and Baldwin suspected that he might have learned it from his adulterous affair with the man’s wife. Others in the town would laugh at the expense of the husband if they were to hear.

“John, we have already heard rumors that you were having an affair with Martha Coffyn. You have also been accused of trying to rape Cecily. What have you to say about that?”

John stared a moment, then roared with laughter. “Me? With one of them? Dear Jesus! Well, Sir Baldwin, perhaps you should ask them what they think about such allegations!”

13

T
he two men left him shortly after. Making their way to the inn to collect Edgar, Baldwin paused outside the gate to Godfrey’s house. Simon glanced at his frowning expression.

“There is enough to suggest that John of Irelaunde could be the killer,” he suggested.

“It is suspicious that he was there at the time, that he didn’t deny being seen by Putthe. He was in the garden, certainly, and admits going into the house.”

“And he could have killed Godfrey, punched Cecily, nipped out through the window, realized he’d been seen by Putthe and gone back inside to knock him out as well.”

“True enough, but I find it hard to accept that Cecily wouldn’t have recognized him.”

“Come now, Baldwin, it was dark! She said herself that she couldn’t see anything of the man.”

“Except the rich scarlet of his tunic,” Baldwin mused, turning from the place and strolling on pensively. “But if you caught a glimpse of someone you knew very well, wouldn’t you recognize him?”

“She’s a well brought-up girl,” Simon reminded him. “She probably doesn’t give any thoughts to her servants, let alone an impoverished neighbor. Why should she? She is as far above them as a lioness is above a vixen. If it was Irelaunde in the room that night, she would have been so transfixed with terror at finding someone there that she wouldn’t have been able to swear it was even a man!”

“A good point.” Baldwin nodded. “When one catches sight of something strange, it is all too easy to let the imagination run riot.”

“Yes, so if she did say she recognized someone, her evidence couldn’t be trusted.”

They were at the Coffyn house now, and Baldwin looked in. At the main door, lounging comfortably, was William, who gave the knight an affable nod.

“Now look at him,” Baldwin mused, “he’s about the right size and build. If he was smothered in a cloak, with something to conceal his face, he could look like John, couldn’t he?”

“Only because he’s short. Apart from that, there’s not much to make him look like John,” said Simon dismissively.

“Yes, even after a short acquaintance you’d find it hard to get confused between them, wouldn’t you? And yet you’re seriously suggesting that Cecily, who probably sees John almost every day, could fail to recognize him.”

“In the heat of the moment—in her fear of finding someone in her house she wasn’t expecting, she might have missed any clues as to who it was. And anyway, you know what women are like. They aren’t like men. You or I would merely have hit the man as an intruder—but women are flighty. They work on feelings, not facts.”

Baldwin winced. “Simon, you have yourself a good wife—do you honestly mean to tell me that you wouldn’t trust Margaret’s word compared to a man’s just because she is female?”

“Oh no, that’s different! She’s my wife.”

“Yes, but she is still a woman. No, Simon, your argument is illogical. If something happened to Cecily, you may be assured she would note it as well as you or I. Especially if she was raped.”

“You are thinking of what Putthe and Coffyn said?”

“Yes. Both tried to imply that John was so lascivious in his desires that he could have tried to rape her. I cannot believe that.”

“No. After talking to him, he does appear too ordinary to try to rape a wealthy girl in her father’s hall.”

“I didn’t mean that—I was thinking about her. She wasn’t raped! If she had been, she would have demanded that the culprit be captured. She had enough evidence, after all, with that blow to her face. No, she wasn’t sexually attacked.” The knight recalled the look he had caught a glimpse of in her eye. “But if she wanted to conceal something, she would be perfectly capable.”

“What do you mean?” Simon asked, but his friend remained silent and thoughtful. To draw him out a little, Simon considered a new topic. “Did you know what John was talking about when he said he was taken to be a soldier?”

“The invasion, of course.”

“Which invasion?”

Baldwin gave a faint smile. “I sometimes forget that your interests lie so firmly rooted in Devon. Let me give you a short lesson in recent history:

“The Scottish have always been quick to exploit any weakness on our part. Bannockburn gave their leaders cause to hope that they might be able to drive us from the north of our country, but it also gave them pause for thought. If they could defeat our King in open battle, why should they not take some of his other possessions for themselves? It would be costly to try to steal over to France to invade the English territories, but King Edward has other lands under him. And the Bruces were well acquainted with one.

“Edward Bruce landed in Ireland on Lady Day in 1315, at a place called Larne. He had thousands of battle-hardened men with him, veterans of Bannockburn and other fights, and the poor Irish were no match for them. Our people there had no experience of serious fighting, and had to depend on feudal levies; everywhere they met the Scots, they were rolled up. By May of 1316, Edward Bruce had conquered most of the place, and had himself crowned King.”

“But John was here before that!”

“Yes, it appears he was one of the levies, and saw the destruction of his farm and family early on. After that, it’s no surprise he left the country.”

“What happened to Edward Bruce? Isn’t he dead?” Simon frowned. He recalled hearing something of the affair in church, but it was just as he was taking over his new post as bailiff, and his interest in affairs so far away was not as important as sorting out the tinners on the moors.

“Yes, he is dead. Like so many who aspire to great things, he sought to take what he wanted ever more quickly. At the end of 1316 his brother Robert joined him. Just think, two brothers, and both pretending to different thrones! Robert brought with him a new army, and they rode out over Ireland, devastating the land. And this at the time when Ireland and England were both already laid waste by the famine.”

“How did Edward Bruce die?”

“He told the Irish that he wanted to throw out the English and return the land to the ancient Kings of Ireland. Fine words, but he insisted that he would be the new High King. Many weren’t convinced he would be a good monarch—and though the Irish are poor, and often complain about losing their language and laws, for all that, they are a proud race, and have a true determination to keep their freedoms. After months of seeing how a Scottish army could trample all underfoot—you heard what John said about his farm—many chose to support the English in ridding their country of the invaders. Dublin fought and beat the Scots back when they laid siege to the city; loyal subjects in Connaught defeated them too, and soon a new army arrived—an English one, determined to throw the brothers out of Ireland forever. Robert Bruce withdrew to Scotland, and his brother was left alone. In 1318 he was beaten, and he died in the battle.”

“I see,” said Simon quietly. “It makes it easier to understand how John could have got to be as he is today, learning about his past. God knows how I would react to finding my home destroyed, my family dead. The poor devil!”

“Yes,” Baldwin agreed. “It does make sense, once you realize how the shock must have affected him. His devil-may-care cheeriness and relaxed attitude is more understandable.”

The bailiff walked on a short distance, and then stopped dead.

“What is it, Simon?”

“Baldwin, I was just thinking, if a man like John lost his wife, surely the first thing he’d want to do would be to take revenge.”

“Ah, but when it’s a matter of warfare, Simon, things…”

“No, you miss my point. If that’s so, then in the same way, a man who finds his wife has been committing adultery would also want vengeance.” Simon gazed back along the road toward the two houses. “And it seems everyone knows John was seeing Coffyn’s wife. Surely Coffyn himself must have heard—so why the hell didn’t he take a dagger to John himself?”

They meandered along the street, and hitched their horses to the rail outside the inn. Inside they found Edgar seated on his own at a table near the door. Baldwin sat at his side. “Well?”

Before his servant could speak, Cristine appeared and strode to them. “Do you want wine, Sir Baldwin?”

He smiled up at her, and she returned it brightly. As she would, he reminded himself wrily. She was no fool, and seeing how Edgar had become ensnared by her attractions, it was only sensible for her to try to similarly win over Edgar’s master.

But for all his cynicism, it was hard to view her harshly. Cristine was a buxom, cheerful girl of thirty. She was remarkably unscarred by her life as a servant to travellers through Crediton, and her features carried no signs of starvation or cruelty at her broad forehead. A little over average height, she had dimples at either cheek that gave her a happy, if slightly vacuous look.

But that look was a carefully fabricated mask to conceal a sharp mind, Baldwin knew, and he motioned toward a bench, waiting until she was seated before he spoke.

“Cristine, I know that Edgar will have mentioned that I want to ask you some questions. Tell me first what you know about Godfrey.”

She glanced at Edgar, but then held the knight’s eyes as she spoke. “I didn’t know him well, Sir Baldwin. He only rarely came in here, and then he was with someone else. It was not common for him to be here alone, so all I do know is what I have picked up from others talking about him in here.”

When he nodded, she continued. “He came to Crediton some years ago, before I began to work here myself. His household was himself, his daughter, and a few servants. Putthe is the only one left; the others have all gone now. Putthe comes here sometimes, usually with the head groom from Godfrey’s house, but they rarely talk about their master. I get the impression Putthe is a close, cautious sort of man.

“What I have heard is, Godfrey was free enough with his money when it came to his horses, but other people could whistle—although he was known to lend money for interest.”