King's Gold

Baldwin grabbed at his sword but it seemed to take a dreadful amount of time to clear it from the scabbard. Too slow: he must be run through by Monteith’s sword, and then his new blade was out and flashing wickedly in the pale daylight. A gleam caught it, and it sparked in blue fire.

He was about to ride on to meet Monteith when Edgar flew past him, and Baldwin saw another man with a bow aiming it at him. He readied himself for the arrow, fully expecting to feel it in his breast at any moment, but before Edgar could reach the archer, Monteith was at his side, and had raised his sword. Baldwin lifted his own and parried, and as he was about to turn his steel to attack, Monteith coughed and groaned, and tumbled from his horse, the arrow planted in the back of his neck at the base of his skull.

Berkeley Castle

Simon and Sir Richard de Welles were pleased to hear the sound of horses approaching. The confinement in the castle was an intense irritation to all concerned. However, it was natural that the people of the household should remain together when a murder was discovered, so that the malefactor was prevented from running away. A killer abroad was a danger to all, because if a man would kill once, clearly he was likely to do so again. It was a basic premise of the law that a murderer should be punished by the loss of his life. Otherwise what was the point of laws? Such a man was a threat to the whole order of society. That was Simon’s belief.

The law itself was, as he knew, more pragmatic. It required that the body remain where it was when it was discovered; this also applied to the people who had been near when the man was killed, so that their names could be registered. Then, when a Justice arrived on his tourn, the correct fines could be imposed on each of them.

‘Sounds like him now,’ Sir Richard said, standing up. The maid, who had been sitting on his lap, squeaked as he unceremoniously dumped her on the ground. ‘Sorry, wench. Coroner’s comin’ and I need to have a word or two with him.’

Simon helped the girl to her feet before hurrying after Sir Richard.

He found the knight at the gateway, speaking with a slender, short man with grizzled hair and a thin, oval face. From his size and fine features, he looked more like a clerk than a coroner and knight, especially in comparison with the man behind him who travelled on a donkey. He was a clerk, from his tonsure and habit, but he had the build of a wrestler, and his black eyes were suspicious.

‘Sir Ranulf, I am well indeed. And you?’

‘My health has not been good of late,’ the coroner said, and sprang lightly from his horse. ‘I am plagued by afflictions that will, I have no doubt, carry me off before long. I must make the most of the time God has seen fit to give to me. It is not easy when you are prey to so many ailments.’

‘It must be a torment,’ Sir Richard said seriously.

‘It is. Where is the body?’

‘Come, take a little wine or ale first. You have had a long, wearisome journey, I make no doubt.’

‘It has been wearisome, yes,’ the coroner said. ‘But a man must accept the trials imposed upon him.’

‘So, food and drink first?’ Sir Richard said hopefully.

‘Sir Ranulf, if you refuse him, there could be another murder in this castle,’ the clerk said.

‘Master Rodney, kindly remember that I am the coroner, you are the clerk. I speak, you record. That is the basis of our collaboration. You recall?’

‘Oh, yes. I recall. But, Sir Knight, if you want me to record for you, you will do very badly unless I have eaten first. My reeds will all break and smudge the pages, unless your amiable, obedient servant is fed.’

‘In God’s name, what a trial this fellow is. I swear,’ Coroner Ranulf said. He eyed the clerk with a stern look. ‘Come, man, have you no sense of duty?’

‘My duties are to Him. And He would see me fed!’

‘Ach! Then yes, Sir Richard, we will break bread with you. You can tell us about the man found dead while we eat, if you would be so kind.’

Near Macclesfield

John watched the body slump and tumble to the ground. When he was a lad and had helped the local warrener net and kill his rabbits, John had seen bodies fall like that. Not a twitch, not a sign of the passing spirit, just one moment alive, the next dead. The arrow must have penetrated his spine to kill him so swiftly, he thought, and he stared down in shock at the sight of David Monteith’s body lying on the grass.

The rest of the Scottish knew as soon as their leader fell that their own position was hopeless. The archer sat in his saddle with his bow still in his hand, incapable of speech. Instead he stared at the body on the ground.

Baldwin rode over and took the bow from his unresisting fingers. ‘You will come with us. Edgar and John, place the dead man on his horse. We shall take his body to Lord Berkeley. You, archer, what is your name?’

‘I’m James, sir.’