Baldwin nodded. Peas and beans were plentiful at this time of year, and the chickens scratching in the dirt at his feet were all young, most looking only a few months old. They were fresh this year, so she and her husband were surviving well as free people. “Tell me, Ellen, how long has Mary been living in Crediton? Someone told me she was there some five or six years ago, before she married.”

“Yes, sir. She used to work in the cloth trade, weaving and doing some needlework. She stopped all that when she married, of course.”

“Of course. So she was living in town for more than six years?”

“Nearer eight, I should say. Since she was eighteen or nineteen.”

“How did she come to meet Adam?” Baldwin was watching her face intently, Simon noticed, and he wondered what the knight was driving at.

Ellen clearly felt she had no secrets. She gave a loud guffaw. “She didn’t; he came to meet her! The way she tells it, she was walking along the road one day, when he threw out some offal from his shop and spattered her all over. Well, she went mad, and stormed inside, and gave him a piece of her mind, threatening him with all sorts, saying she’d get the Constable on him, and the Keeper of the Peace, and just about threatening him with the posse of the county. She can be hard when roused, can young Mary, but glorious in her rage. Poor old Adam was smitten: never stood a chance. He was infatuated from the first.”

Smiling, Baldwin said, “He is more madly in love with her than she with him, you mean?”

“Oh yes,” she said absently, her mind still on the whirlwind romance and wedding, and then her eyes sharpened, and she gave him a quick look that he could not read.

“Does she love him, do you think?”

She gave this consideration, the smile still playing round her lips, but it had faded, and there was a touch of sadness as she nodded. “A little. But not enough. No, it would have been better if he didn’t love her so much. Then at least there would be some equality in their house. The trouble is, she’s not the sort to be excited by living with a man like him. He adores her, but she was always the sort to bore easily, and that leads to nagging.”

“Is she a nag, then?”

“With poor Adam, yes, though I daresay he’d deny it. He always was a poor fool. I expect he thinks she’s just being precise, and he isn’t. She tells him where to put his things – even his tools in his shop – and he won’t argue. He doesn’t want to upset her.”

“Not a solid foundation for a marriage,” Baldwin observed.

“No, sir. Not at all. But, to be fair, they both seem happy enough.”

“Yes, of course. Tell me, are you good friends with your sister?”

“There is none better. Whenever we have troubles, it is to each other that we turn.”

“Rather than your husbands,” Baldwin guessed conspiratorially.

“Certainly rather than them!” she laughed gaily. “There are some things which only a woman can understand.”

“And some secrets which can only be shared with another woman.”

“Oh, yes!”

“Such as men.”

She was suddenly quite still. Though her hands carried on, carefully turning and kneading the dough, the whole of the rest of her body was unmoving.

Baldwin stared at the ground pensively. “Ellen, have you heard about the company of mercenaries in Crediton?”

She looked up. Her smile did not alter one jot, Simon saw, but there was a fixity in her face now as she looked at his friend. Some of the friendliness had gone. “Mercenaries?”

“Yes. The same troop which your sister noticed so many years ago. The same captain, Sir Hector de Gorsone, the same men in the band. She knew them, didn’t she? She knew him, Sir Hector, better than any, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. It was because of her that Sir Hector threw out another wench, Judith. She’s dead now, you should know that. So is your sister’s latest replacement, another poor girl called Sarra. Both dead, and neither for any good reason.” Baldwin sighed heavily. “If your sister comes here over the next few days, send a message to us, Ellen. We have to speak to her. Otherwise, I think she might be in danger.”

“Danger!” she scoffed. “What sort of danger?”

Baldwin looked at her long and hard. “Did you not hear what I have been saying? This knight has had three lovers in Crediton: the first is dead, the third is dead; the second is your sister. Tell me when you hear from her.”

On the ride back to Crediton, Baldwin was deep in thought. When they reached the top of the hill leading down to the town itself, Simon turned to face him.

“You said her sister could be in danger, Baldwin – but why? Why on earth should this bloody man want to kill all the women he has known in this town?”

“That’s not necessarily the way to look at it, Simon,” Baldwin said. He patted his horse, then irritably waved away the small swarm of flies he had disturbed before continuing, “This knight may not have harmed any of them. It is startling how clear the links are to Sir Hector, isn’t it? Two women die, and both were short-term lovers of this knight. Both times there happen to have been arguments or rows with him. Sarra at the inn had a shouting match with him, and was shortly after found in a chest in his very room; Judith bumped into him in the street, and got herself stabbed.”

“Yes, so there’s a clear link to him.”

“True, but then, if you reverse the perspective, who would benefit from these women being found and their attachment to Hector being discovered?”

“Nobody, surely?”

“I can think of several. The mercenaries themselves. Take Wat: he wants to get rid of his master; I think that is plain enough. Otherwise he would not have been so forthcoming about Sir Hector’s relationship with Judith.”

“Maybe he wanted to see justice done.”

Baldwin gave him a long, intense stare. “Justice done – Wat? I think you mistake him for a pleasant man, for a gentleman, Simon. He is not; he is a mercenary – a ruthless, dedicated killer and despoiler. A knight should fight for Christianity, for the greater glory of his name and reputation in this world and the next. He should defend the weak and unfortunate, showing courtesy and largesse. Have you noticed any of these attributes in Hector or his men – Wat, for example?”

“I’m sure they…”

With an uncharacteristic burst of anger, Baldwin reined in his horse. “Simon, don’t try to be their apologist. They are evil, nothing more. Men like them ride where they will, offering allegiance only to those who pay them, and no one else, but even that is only for as long as it suits them. They have no conception of honor or largesse; all they want is the next sum of money, and they are casual about how they receive it.”

“Calm yourself, Baldwin,” Simon said soothingly. “I accept that you understand more about such men than me; I’ve never come across them before.”

“My apologies, Simon. This whole affair is starting to make me smart, and like a bear baited at the pole, I turn on whoever I can reach.”

“When we came out today, you were thinking that the matter could be resolved by looking at the local situation. Surely that has worked, in the main? Now we have learned that the butcher’s wife was also known to Sir Hector. It seems fairly clear that he threw over Judith for her, and quite probably the same thing happened to Sarra when he met Mary Butcher again in town.”

“Yes. And now she too has disappeared,” Baldwin said grimly.

“She may not be dead, Baldwin. Think on this; if she was intelligent, as soon as she had heard about Sarra and Judith dying, she might have put two and two together. Maybe she’s run off to protect herself?”

“It is possible, certainly.”

“In terms of this whole affair, though, let’s just hope that Stapledon’s men catch the two thieves. At least they might be able to shed some light on the thing.”