The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) Read Free Page B

all down to Sir Simon. At each argument the knight conferred with his clerk, a greasy little toe-rag called Roger who stared at Serlo like a man studying a dog’s turd on his boot.
    And now Serlo had a thundering debt on his hands. He had been forced to borrow heavily just to be able to pay the
deodand
. Eighteen whole pennies, for one wheel alone! Christ’s cods, that was a huge amount for one cretinous apprentice who couldn’t even walk straight. Then there were the extra charges – the one for the grave, the cost of the services held in the brat’s memory, the fee for the mourners … as the apprentice’s master, Serlo had to foot the whole sodding bill.
    Danny had cost Serlo dearly, and yet the miller couldn’t help but miss the little devil. His cheery smile, his prattling … Not that he’d let people realise that. He didn’t want them thinking he was some weak, sentimental fool. No, if he did that, they’d all assume that they could get away with fleecing him. He knew that many of the locals considered him a fool, a few sticks short of a bundle. They respected his brother, but only because Alexander was ruthless, so Serlo copied him as best he could. At the Coroner’s inquest he’d pretended to be unaffected by Danny’s death. Maybe he ought to have shown his sorrow, but then people would have sniggered at him.
    Life, he sighed to himself, was a shit.
    Hearing a shout, he glanced up. Someone was trying to cross the bridge. Serlo grunted and made his way up the stairs to the bridge, where he had erected a gate. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded suspiciously, his hand straying to his cudgel.
    ‘Travellers, miller. What’s this thing here?’
    ‘Can’t you see the board?’ Serlo asked sarcastically. ‘It’s a toll. You want to cross the bridge, you have to pay. It’s two pennies.’
    ‘Why should we pay?’
    ‘It’s no business of mine, master. If you won’t, you won’t, but then you’ll have to ride back to the other road, a good two miles west, and approach the vill again. That’ll take you a good couple of hours.’
    ‘There never used to be a toll here.’
    This voice was lower, more malevolent. Peering at them shortsightedly, Serlo felt a sudden twinge of fear. Both men were on horseback; their mounts were large beasts – good, expensive-looking horseflesh. One of them was so dark it was almost black, the other was deep chestnut, but it wasn’t the horses that caught his attention so much as the riders. Both, now he studied them, had the aura of wealth, like servants in a rich man’s household. The bigger of the two was wearing a green tunic and hosen, while his companion was clad in a red tunic; there was a richness to its colour where the sun caught it, like a fine silk. Here, some distance west of Cardinham, Serlo was more than a little exposed. If these two were of a mind, they could vault the gate and chase after him on their mounts. He’d not be able to escape them.
    ‘Lordings,’ he said with more respect, ‘it’s not my choice to charge honest men to cross the river, but my lord’s. We built this bridge with our own strength, and still owe money for the work. What else can we do? My lord said that we must ask travellers to pay for our efforts, because the thing’s not here for our benefit. It’s for yours.’
    ‘Scant benefit to me,’ shrugged the rider wearing the green tunic. He was the larger of the two, and as he ambled his mount forward, Serlo saw that he had a massive frame, with a right shoulder that held muscles like knots in an oaken board. The tendons of his neck were as thick as ropes.
    ‘Miller, open that gate!’ the man commanded.
    ‘Look, give me a penny if you like and I won’t tell my master that I—’
    ‘Silence! We could push the thing over if we wished,’ the first man said. ‘If you have any complaints about us not paying, let me know later when I’m in a mood to listen.’
    ‘It sounded as though this miller was asking us to pay him