The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (19 page)

‘Hear me! I am Sir Jules of Fowey, Coroner for this county, and I call on all who have any knowledge of the deaths of this woman and her children to come forward and answer my inquest.’

His voice was a surprise. When he shouted, the weaselly-looking man had a deep voice with a slight trace of a foreign tongue. Perhaps it was Burgundian. There were several men whom the Lady Anne had met who came to this part of the country from there. It was their interest in trade that first brought them to the ports, usually seeking markets for their strong red wines, and some travelled inland to see whether they could do business with the tin miners.

Sir Jules began in the normal manner, stripping the three bodies and declaring his findings, but once Anne was over the shock of the sight of the two boys’ throats, with the gaping wounds where the knife had slashed, she found the whole matter tedious.

Athelina’s body was more shocking, in some ways. She had throttled herself, the rope bruising her neck, but not breaking her spine. She must, so the Coroner said, have dangled there for days. The marks of nibbling at the feet and hands of the two boys showed that the three had been there long enough for the rats to grow interested. That image, of the dead woman, desolated after her husband’s death and broken by a life of continuous hardship,
hanging from a beam and swinging gently for days because no one knew nor cared enough to seek her out, burned itself into the other woman’s imagination. She could all too easily understand Athelina’s state of mind.

All women needed companionship, and Anne had lost her friends and family at the same time because of the awful starvation which had affected everybody in the kingdom, not merely in Cornwall alone. And then, as if by a miracle, she had come here to Cardinham, where the kindness of Nicholas had given her fresh hope. Now she lived in the present and tried to forget the crushing loneliness she had known when she had lost all those closest to her. She was unable to succeed entirely, of course. Losing them had felt like having her soul ripped from her living flesh.

That was why she had sunk to giving herself to another man.

It was fear that drove her to it. Nicholas had been gone such a long time, and she had convinced herself that he had died of a disease, like her father. Panic set in. If her man was dead, she must find another to protect her. So she sought one who could, for a few moments, make her forget this latest loss and who would, she hoped, take her in when she was declared widowed. She had craved the feeling of a man’s arms about her once more. Once only – but it had been enough, as she knew, feeling her belly kick.

Serlo caught her eye, and to her surprise, slipped away from the jury and strode towards her. He was going to speak to her, she realised, and felt her face redden. Nicholas was frowning, wondering what on earth the miller could want with his wife.

‘Lady Anne, I crave a favour,’ Serlo said humbly. ‘It’s my tolls. I’ve—’

‘You’ve been taking gifts instead of tolls, and that’s a crime!’ she snapped, astonished that he should approach her about it. ‘You’ll have to speak to my husband about that, not me.’

‘Oh, but if I do that, I’ll have to speak
openly
,’ he said insinuatingly. ‘If you get my meaning?’

‘What are you talking about, miller? It’s none of my affair.’

‘Oh, isn’t it though?’ he winked. ‘Athelina was there. She told me. You and him – rutting in the field.’

In that moment Anne thought her heart would stop. She could hear the walls of her secure life crumbling. If her husband should learn that her child was not his, he must grow to loathe her, as any man must detest the woman who hung the cuckold’s horns upon his head.

She looked down at the lifeless, abused body of Athelina. You sold my secret for your security, Athelina? she asked her silently. She should have felt hatred, but she couldn’t.

Only compassion mingled with her own terror at the thought of what this might do to her husband.

Letitia saw Serlo go to Anne, but she was more interested in the whereabouts of her two little nephews. She glanced about behind him for his children, but they weren’t there. Even as Serlo took his place amongst the jury, she searched among the ranks of women to see who was absent, who might be back at the cottage, sitting with the children. Jan was briefly back home with her, leaving Muriel asleep, and Serlo in charge, so she had told her mistress.

Many of the mothers were there, she saw, but for every three or four, there was another who had not come. These were the women who had elected to stay behind to look after their own and perhaps another’s children. Good. Serlo must have left his with one of them, she thought, and turned from him. If she could avoid the sight of him, so much the better.

The Coroner was showing the bodies in a calm, unhurried manner. He held up the bloody knife and displayed the blade to the jury, asking whether anyone recognised it as belonging to Athelina. No one remembered seeing it with her, of course, but then how often did a man take notice of a woman’s little knife? It
was just an accoutrement, like a spoon. A spoon was more noticeable, because few peasants could afford to own one, so any spoon was noteworthy, but a knife like this? No. Nobody recognised it.

There was shouting and some children went running past the scene, two pausing to gape at the bodies, before shrugging and haring off after their companions.

Letitia wished that death could be so easily shrugged off by an adult. She felt so sorry for the two, lying there so slack and sad. The boys’ wounds were hideous; blackened and decayed. They demanded her attention all the time, no matter how she tried to look away.

It was preferable to look at Serlo. And there weren’t many things, she told herself, that fell into
that
category.

Muriel woke with a jerk. She could feel that she was in her bed. She felt warm and cosy and knew that, were she to turn to her left, she’d see the fire. Smoke was rising, and she could hear bubbling, like soup in a pot. Then her nose began to twitch. There was a delicious smell on the air.

Her head hurt as though someone had inserted a bellows into her brain and was pumping it, the pain rising to a peak and then falling again. When at a crest, it was enough to make her weep, it was so intense; yet a moment later it was perfectly bearable.

What had happened? She could remember going to the door and seeing Aumery and Hamelin at their games, but then all grew hazy. She was sure she could remember cuddling the two of them … perhaps there was something else, though. There was a painful scrape and bruising at her inner thigh, and she couldn’t think why until she had turned her head a little and saw the shattered remains of the cart lying just inside the door.

It all came back to her then! The mad rush into the road, snatching up Aumery and covering him with her body, the cart
between her spread thighs as she kneeled, Hamelin keening in surprise, and then the slamming blow. A quick, sharp terror flew into her throat. Her boys! Her children! What had happened to them? Were they safe?
My Christ, please don’t let them be dead. Holy Mother, what …

Her fears were not allayed by the rattling crash. Looking around, head throbbing wildly, she saw Aumery with a long stick in his hand playing at stabbing his shadow on the wall. He was unharmed. Hearing the breath hissing in her throat, he turned, his face panicked, and then his features broke into a broad grin as he saw his mother.

Hurling the stick aside, he ran as quickly as he could on his bare feet towards her, and threw his arms about her neck: ‘Mummy, Mummy!’

Although it was agony at first, she was so happy to feel his arms about her that she could only sob faintly and murmur, ‘There, there. It’s all right. Where’s your brother?’

He looked over his shoulder and pointed with a chubby fist. When she looked, she saw Hamelin sitting near the fire and examining a used bone from the floor. He seemed happy enough. ‘You must look after him,’ she said as she slumped back on her bed, closing her eyes against the waves of pain.

A sudden thought made her ask, ‘What made all that noise? Something woke me.’

‘It was the pig, Mummy.’

She lifted her head, wincing, to stare about her. There, in the corner of the little room, was the family’s sow. She had come in from her sty, and was rootling about the mess on the floor, among plates and bowls knocked from the table.

‘No!’ she cried, and even over the pain, she felt the urgency. Clapping her hands, she tried to scare the pig from the room.

Sensing that this was a new game, Aumery raised his own voice, shouting as loudly as he could and jumping in
excitement. Even Hamelin seemed to want to join in. From the corner of her eye Muriel saw him gazing at her and his brother, then leaning forward to rest on his hands, he began to crawl towards her.

The pig was alarmed, and she retreated at first, until her tail and arse struck the wall. Squealing, in panic, she turned her snout to left and right, seeking an exit. Then she seemed to gather up her courage, and bolted.

Muriel felt some relief as the animal thundered out, but then she saw the movement farther in the room, and an animal shriek of horror emerged from her wide-open mouth.

Letitia suddenly heard something like a whistle piping far away. At first she dismissed it as children playing. Boys who played in the water meadows would sometimes pluck the massive bulrushes and cut them up to make their own whistles. The cleverer ones could cut small holes in the stem and play tunes.

She returned her attention to the Coroner, but there was something about that sound … something that made her flesh crawl. A ridge of goosebumps travelled up her arms, and the compulsion to go and find its source was too strong to ignore. It sounded as though it came from beyond her home, down towards … the mill!

Letty’s face tensed, and then she was pelting away from the crowd, down the lane, past her home and on along the narrow, tree-darkened track, past the gates to the meadows, on towards the chuckling stream, tripping once and nearly falling over, then up on her feet and rushing at full tilt, on, on, the screams and sobbing coming ever more distinctly, until she was at the mill’s house, and she could see Muriel, kneeling in the dirt, howling in anguish, while beside her Aumery bawled, hands to his eyes, not understanding, blaming himself for his mother’s grief. And on Muriel’s lap was the small still figure of her younger son, his
eyes wide in death, his flesh a single huge, open sore where a whole pan of boiling soup had tipped over his tiny body.

Coroner Jules concentrated on the faces before him, but it wasn’t easy. My God, no! What a terrible state of affairs. The woman strangling herself from a beam while her children’s bodies lay beneath her. And the smell in that little cottage! Everyone knew that bad air could kill even the strongest men, and Jules had put himself at risk, going in there to see the bodies
in situ
.

Still, at least the case was almost done.

Why ever had he taken on this revolting job? he asked himself. Roger was a nasty little man who treated him like a dog’s turd on his sandal, and the men here in the vill hardly seemed to notice him. The Keeper, that tall, intense man, he seemed to constantly hang about nearby as though he was watching every error Jules might make. Well, damn him! Jules might not be the best Coroner in the land, but he was conscientious. He was doing his best in very difficult circumstances.

Sir Jules glowered at the jostling men and women before calling for silence again. These noisy brutes! They had no idea about the correct behaviour at a time and gathering of this sort. They were restless and keen to hurry off to the nearest alehouse, he guessed. Well, they could wait. He wasn’t going to rush just because a bunch of yokels might miss their lunchtime cider!

Roger was waiting for him to continue, reed poised over his parchment, and Jules pointed to the next witness, fitting a stern expression to his face.

Sternness he could manage. It involved muscles which might otherwise display his anxiety and horror. Even here in the open
air the smell from the corpses was overpowering. He could feel nausea threatening.

Next time, he would bring some fruit or sweet herbs to conceal the stench, he swore, before taking a deep breath and posing his next question.

Baldwin and Simon remained at the edge of the clearing before the church after their evidence had been given to the Coroner.

For Simon it was unpleasant listening to an inquest on such a sad little incident, but the two had seen worse. In recent months they had witnessed sudden death in all its hideous variety, and Simon himself had almost been killed, first in Spain and then on a ship attacked by pirates. Somehow, though, this was more poignant.

He had left home months ago, and he missed his wife dreadfully – and not only her. A proud father, he longed to see his son and daughter too. There was some fear in him. He had adored his little Edith from the day she was born, so perfect, so blonde and beautiful; and now she was old enough to seek her own husband. Soon she would be readying herself to become a mother and preparing to make all the same mistakes that he and his wife had made with their children.

There was some time left before she departed from his household, and he wanted to make the most of those months, to enjoy her company – but also to learn how to live without her. It would be a hard loss when she went.

Somehow this inquest made him feel maudlin. The sight of the mother with her dead children made him appreciate his own family that much more. Especially when he heard that the woman was a widow. He realised just how grim his wife’s life would be once he had died. If he were to die here, for example, before he reached home, dear Meg could be put under the same sort of pressure as
this poor maid. Perhaps she, too, would be threatened with eviction.