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

heavens. She swore that she and the children were always hungry, that they had nothing to live on since the failed harvest last year, as though it was Serlo’s fault. Stupid cow! Why couldn’t she comprehend that he was doing his best for her? Like any other man, he relied on his skills and cunning to wrest as much as he could from the mill, but there was little enough he could do when things were as bad as they were at present. All must be patient. Perhaps now the harvest was in, provided there was no rain for a little while, there would be more money. A harvest meant grain to be milled, and he would take his tenth from each sack – occasionally more, if the owner wasn’t watching too carefully as Serlo weighed his portion.
    He could do with the cash himself, since apart from all his debts, he badly needed a new surcoat. This old thing was too threadbare to keep him warm. It had been fine the winter before last when he bought it, but now it wouldn’t keep out the chill of an autumnal morning. And the evenings were already creeping in. Soon it would be winter. The years flew past so quickly. His father had once told him that: as a man grew older, the days passed by more swiftly – and he was definitely not getting any younger, he acknowledged sourly.
    He had to get hold of some coin! That was why he was trying to do deals with travellers instead of taking the tolls to which the manor was entitled.
    Athelina hadn’t paid him any rent for months now, not since Easter-time. He’d been patient because her man had sometimes been a little slow to cough up for her, but now she said that his generosity had dried up and she had nothing. Well, Serlo’s patience had run out along with her money. Jesus’s heart, he had hated that confrontation. Athelina had looked at him silently, the tears springing into those magnificent eyes as he told her to go and whore at the tavern. That was what a woman did when she was desperate and her family needed money. Mind, a woman as skinny and ravaged as her, Serlo thought morosely, would scarcely bring in enough to buy him a kerchief, let alone a new surcoat.
    One of her whelps had rushed to her, snivelling brat, as though to defend her honour against Serlo. Shame the cur hadn’t protected her from her last lover. Maybe she’d still have some self-respect and honour if he had!
    Deep in his thoughts, he was aware of nothing but the path itself. Serlo cursed as his thin boots slithered over stones, almost making him fall.
    ‘Ho, now! So it’s our favourite miller, Master Serlo!’
    ‘I’m not in the mood, Richer,’ Serlo growled on hearing the familiar, taunting voice. ‘Leave me to go to church.’
    ‘Why, don’t you wish to chat?’
    Peering ahead shortsightedly, Serlo could just make out two shadowy figures. In the swirls of freezing grey fog they appeared larger than men, much taller than Serlo himself, and for an instant he felt crushed. Then a breeze cleared the mist, and in that instant Serlo saw the church standing tall and serene behind his enemies. ‘May God forgive you both,’ he grated. ‘You’re holding me from the church.’
    ‘We aren’t stopping you, Serlo. Feel free to continue on your way.’
    Serlo steeled himself and strode on, chin high, but when he was level, he hissed, ‘You’ll push a man too hard one day, Richer.Not everyone’s scared of you just because you carry a sword for the castle.’
    ‘Perhaps it will be you who is pushed too far, eh, Serlo? Go on, you corrupt bladder of wind! Go to church. You need the solace of God’s forgiveness more than most, I expect.’
    Serlo walked on as though he hadn’t heard those words, but when he was gone a short way further up the track, he heard Richer’s voice again.
    ‘By the way, miller, I recall you asked me and my friend for a penny to pay no toll at the bridge. That was only a short while after you’d asked the steward for a refund of your investment in the farm of the tolls, is that