"He would not have," Eustace replied instantly, "not last night, nor at any time since he married Lady Offord a few months ago. He'd made that bell part of Lady Offord's dower. He would never have been forsworn."
Faucon studied the bailiff, wondering at the man's certainty. "Huh," he said with a shrug. "Well then, the bell has most definitely gone astray."
"Of all the things," the bailiff murmured, still sounding stunned, as he began again to walk along the path.
They continued in silence until they reached the sheepfold. The pen stood just beyond the farthest-flung cottage and shared a wall with the fence around that home's toft. As with the animal enclosures at Blacklea, this one was built of tall, woven withe panels that had been lashed together. It was large enough to hold a good number of sheep, and from the ovine cries coming from inside the walls, it did.
As he and Eustace drew near, a dog began to bark in vicious warning. "Hsst, you. It's only me," the bailiff called in his native tongue, announcing himself to the canine.
That won a far friendlier whine from the hidden watchdog. Eustace pulled a wrapped packet out from under his hidden arm. From that scrap of hempen sacking he produced a thick, meaty bone. This he tossed over the enclosing fence. As the dog settled into its meal, Eustace started around the pen, testing the lashing that held panel to panel.
"I'm told it's been a difficult year for Offord's flock," Faucon said, as he watched the man retie a knot.
Eustace shot him a frowning glance. "That's hardly true. This year has been better than some, but not been as good as others." His tone suggested that any discussion of Offord's business or its luck, or lack thereof, was none of his Crowner's concern.
"Then you did not lose lambs to disease and the wool buyer did not complain about the quality of your fleece?" Faucon countered.
Yet holding the bit of braided rope he was tying, Eustace eyed him for a moment. "You've spoken with my sister," he said at last, his tone defeated. "You may have noted she's not so fond of me."
"She told me you spent coins that belonged to her," Faucon replied.
The bailiff's expression hardened until he looked as angry as his sibling. "That is a lie," he retorted.
He gave his knot a final jerk, then put his back to the wall to face his new Keeper of the Pleas. "Or at least it offers but half the tale. I'll give you the other half and you can choose to believe what you will.
"I had only come to Offord when Sir Adam inherited Bagot upon his father's death. Shortly after that his stepmother died in childbirth, leaving Sir Adam in need of a nurse for Sir Luc, his newborn half-brother, a nurse who spoke the noble tongue as he doesn't tolerate any of his kin speaking my language. It so happened that my sister's husband had also just passed, leaving her with no dower and a child at her breast. She had learned her French well, having served in our lord's house before her marriage.
"Matching need to need, I brought her to Bagot and Sir Adam offered her a fine sum for her services. Being a stranger to this land and fearing theft because of it, Milla didn't wish to keep such riches with her at Bagot. She asked me to hold the purse safe. But I was also newly come, having only just arrived at Offord, and wasn't comfortable doing this for her. After much discussion she at last asked me to carry the purse to our father, believing she would one day return to our family home.
"I warned her against it," Eustace continued, "but in the end the choice was hers, and didn't our sire do just as I warned? He claimed what belonged to his daughter by his right as her father, she being widowed.
"Milla didn't discover this until she finally left Bagot years later. Didn't she come to me then, begging my aid? But, what was there for me to do?" Eustace offered helplessly. "The coins were gone and there was no getting them back.
"In her rage at being cheated by those who should have been trustworthy, Milla let her anger spill over onto someone who had done no wrong. Who, in fact, did what he could by begging his master to find a place for her at Offord."
Eustace paused for a breath. When he continued, his expression was flat and his tone lifeless. "Now sir, having told you this tale in my own defense, I cannot see what it has to do with Sir Robert's death."
"Nor can I," Faucon agreed with a friendly smile. He kept his gaze fixed on the bailiff's face. "Then let me ask a more pertinent question. Why did you hold the hall door against Lady Bagot and her daughters today?"
The bailiff only shrugged. "Because Lady Offord begged me to do so. She is my master's widow. Offord is still her home, at least for the moment. She feared Lady Bagot meant to lock her out of doors. Earlier in the day Lady Bagot had said things in her grief that made me think she might do as she threatened, driven to it by her upset.
"To honor Robert, I protected Lady Offord, who knows nothing of the village. As for Lady Bagot, she knows very well she is always welcome in my home. She could have taken her daughters there to wait in comfort for Sir Adam's return."
Faucon eyed him, brows raised. "To your home, where Sir Luc was hiding?"
The bailiff blinked as if startled, then cocked his head and crossed his arms. In that moment he looked very much like his sister even though he was the weaker of the two. He said nothing.
"Why did you give succor to Sir Luc last night after Sir Robert banished him?" Faucon asked.
No emotion crossed the man's face. "Because Sir Robert commanded me to do so."
It took all Faucon's will not to gape. "How can you say that? Not only do both Sir Adam and Lady Bagot claim that Sir Robert banished Sir Luc from Offord, so does Sir Luc. Does the knight not bear the bruises laid upon him as Sir Robert beat him out of the hall?"
"All of that is true," Eustace agreed. "However, again it is but half the tale. After Sir Luc left the hall, Sir Robert instantly regretted what he had done. He stopped where I sat at the table and whispered to me that I should follow after the knight and offer sanctuary. This I did. You may ask Lady Bagot if she remembers me following Sir Luc from the hall. I know that she watched both of us leave."
The bailiff drew a breath and some of the harshness drained from his face and form. "Robert was angry at himself for allowing Sir Adam to provoke him to violence. He didn't want Luc leaving Offord before they made peace. Later that evening, after I told him Luc had agreed to stay in my home, Robert promised to come on the morrow so they could speak privately and out of the reach of Sir Adam's ears."
Here, he sighed. "Little did either of us know that his illness would take him before he could do so. In the end it cheated him of the opportunity to make right where he felt he had done wrong."
That had Faucon frowning. "Once he knew he was dying, why didn't Sir Robert call for Sir Luc to come to him?"
"Because Sir Adam refused to leave his side, save for when the prior was in Sir Robert's chamber. At that moment, Sir Luc's presence would only have driven Sir Adam deeper into his madness," Eustace said, then turned back to the fold to test the final knot.
As he completed his inspection, the bailiff drew his cloak around him again as he looked at his Crowner. "Thus ends my day, sir. I'm for home now. Best you make your way back to the hall before Lady Bagot commands the gate barred for the night."
"You have yet to answer my first question," Faucon replied. "What would make Sir Adam believe that human hands helped Sir Robert to Saint Peter's gate?"
"How can I know what Sir Adam believes?" Eustace said, his expression as flat as his voice. "All I can tell you is that most of the household was in the hall last night, and most of us for the whole of the celebration. Didn't we all notice that Sir Robert once again overindulged, just as he had done more than once these past months? And didn't we all watch as he grew steadily more ill over the course of the hours, just as he had done in the past? Now good night, sir." The man offered a nod of farewell, although he remained where he stood.
However unsatisfying Eustace's answers, Faucon could think of no more questions to ask. "To you as well," he replied, and started his walk back to the manor.
&n
bsp; He reached the bailey of Offord Manor just before the same manservant who had rekindled the hall fire closed and barred the gates. Without a man at the gate overnight, and unless there was a postern door, Sir Adam and Will were locked out of Offord Manor until dawn.
Entering the hall, he stopped at the corner of the screen. With the fire now blazing and additional torches in place on the far wall, Offord's public room was warm and decently illuminated. The pot that held the posset sat on the hearthstone. It was close enough to the flames to keep it warm, however there was no sign of Nobby, nor did any cups remain on either of the lower tables. If the servants had also been allowed a taste of the treat, they'd already drunk up, and the manservants had departed. That left only four maids in the room. They were unrolling their bedding, hempen bags stuffed with hay or straw.
Idonea and Helena sat on their stools at the back of the hall. Having set their cups at their feet, they were playing a game that required a complicated pattern of hand movements timed to a chanted song. When one of them made the wrong motion or said the wrong word, they broke into giggles and started the game anew.
Lady Bagot had pulled a bench close to the fire and sat with Martha cradled in her lap. Her youngest daughter had tucked her cup into the crook of her elbow. The two were singing quietly to each other.
Although Brother Edmund's precisely arranged writing tools remained at the end of the high table, he was no longer there. Faucon found his clerk near the curtained bed in the room's far corner. Head bowed, the monk knelt at a prie-dieu, something that had appeared in Faucon's absence. That Edmund used the private prayer stool made Faucon wonder if the monk and Lady Bagot had parlayed, setting aside their differences as they discussed their Crowner and his life. Drawing a bracing breath, he stepped around the screen and started toward his hostess.
As if she'd been watching for him, Lady Helena noticed him first. Hot color stained her cheeks. Idonea followed her step-granddaughter's look, then leaned closed to Helena, her hand to her lips as if to hide her words. Helena's face flamed even brighter, then the two of them snickered.
Their laughter brought Lady Bagot out of her song. She lifted her head. Exhaustion had carved hollows beneath her eyes while the fresh signs of grief had stained her cheeks. "Ah, there you are, Sir Faucon. We held aside a bit of posset for you if you wish to have some," she called.
"I've already enjoyed my cup and cannot take more than my portion, my lady," Faucon said as he came to a stop on the opposite side of the hearth from her. "Share what is left among you and yours."
Martha gave a happy gasp. Taking her cup in both hands, she looked up at her mother. "May I, Maman?"
"Be patient, my little love," Joia said to her youngest.
As Martha made a sound of dismay, her mother shifted on the bench toward Brother Edmund. "Brother, what of you? Have you changed your mind?"
Having heard his employer's voice, Edmund had stirred from his prayers and started toward the high table and his belongings. "As I told you earlier, I am fasting," the monk said, his tone flat and cold.
Faucon's brows rose. So no parlay. Perhaps Lady Bagot had offered the prie-dieu as a sop, using it as a way to thank the monk for the information she'd managed to sniggle out of him.
"Now may I have more, Maman?" Martha pleaded.
"Now," her mother agreed. "Idonea, you and Helena may also share what's left with Martha."
Both girls gave pleased cries and hurried to Lady Bagot's bench, their cups in hand. "I'll pour," Idonea offered. As the younger ladies portioned out the remainder of the brew, Edmund began to pack his tools into his basket.
"It appears that Sir Adam will not return this night," Lady Bagot said to Faucon, then sighed. "Would that I had been more clear-headed earlier this day. If I had, I would have asked Sir Luc to escort you and your clerk to Bagot. We are too many," she continued, the movement of her head indicating the girls she shepherded as well as her maidservants, "and we cannot sleep in my father's bedchamber, not with him in it. We must use the hall. The only decent space at Offord that can serve you and your clerk for your nightly rest is our kitchen."
Never had Faucon been more grateful that no woman, regardless of her status, slept near unrelated men without a kinsman to act as guard and chaperone. He offered her a tight smile. "My clerk and I are accustomed to rough conditions as part of our new duties. Having visited your kitchen, I can safely say that it offers better accommodation than I usually enjoy," he replied. That was no lie. In the last weeks, he had indeed slept in places far less welcoming than Milla's domain.
"Are we truly so far from Blacklea that we cannot ride for your home, sir?" Edmund asked swiftly as he rolled up his lengths of parchment.
"Farther than I care to ride in the cold and dark, and most certainly farther than your mount will tolerate," Faucon replied. "I promise, Brother. You'll find the kitchen adequate. The door has a bar. Your prayers won't be disturbed."
The monk glanced from his employer to the women. Resistance flared in his eyes. "Does Offord have no church or chapel I can use?" he almost pleaded.
It was Lady Bagot who answered. "We do not. The priory at Wootton Wawen, where my husband went, serves as our parish church. But there is also Saint Mary's at Haselor. Father Otto is a commoner, but a kind man. I'm certain he would welcome your company for a night."
Having to bear company with an English priest was almost as distasteful to Edmund as sleeping in close proximity to women. His resistance melted into reluctant acceptance. "Perhaps you are right, sir. It's too dark for riding. The kitchen will do."
Faucon again lifted his lips in that tight smile as he offered Lady Bagot a brief bow. "Many thanks for your hospitality, my lady. We'll bid you a good night, then."
Dismay drove the grief from Lady Joia's face. She shifted her daughter out of her lap and came to her feet. "But there is no need for you to leave the hall right this moment. Milla is not yet finished with her chores for the evening. Come and take your ease until she enters the hall. Brother Edmund tells us you were a crusader with our king. Perhaps you would share your adventures with us?" It was a reasonable request. Tales were the usual coin with which a guest paid for his bed and board.
"We like stories," said Martha as she sat on the bench. She swung her feet as she continued. "We also like songs, don't we, Maman."
"We do," Lady Bagot agreed.
Standing near the fire, Idonea covered her mouth with a hand to hide her laugh, then looked at Helena. "We all want Sir Faucon to sing for us, don't we?" she taunted her step-granddaughter.
That drove Faucon back a step as he scrambled for a polite way to excuse himself. He bumped into Edmund.
The monk leaned closer as he tucked the pouch containing his quills and ink into his basket and slammed the lid upon its top. "For the sake of your position, I have tolerated the lady's many questions," he muttered in complaint, proving he was oblivious to the hornet's nest he'd stirred. "I have also agreed to stay here rather than seeking out my brethren. I pray you, do not force me to listen while women sing."
Again, Faucon offered his hostess a brief bow. "Would that we could join you in your entertainment, my lady. Unfortunately, Brother Edmund and I have work to complete before our day is done."
That still wasn't enough to stop the lady. "Milla is an excellent cook but an unlikable woman, who especially dislikes strangers and allows no interference in her kitchen. Far better that you wait until she arrives in the hall." Lady Bagot's tone said she was certain of her snare this time.
Faucon almost sighed in relief. It was irony indeed that Lady Bagot had herself given him the key to her trap when she sent him after Sir Luc. "I didn't find Milla unlikable when I joined her in the kitchen earlier," he replied. "Indeed, she offered me both posset and food, then gave me a seat near the fire, out of her way as she worked. I cannot think she'll mind if my clerk and I do the same again while she completes her day."
Lady Joia frowned at that. Edmund dragged the strap of his basket over his sho
ulder. "Is there a proper place for me to work in the kitchen?" he asked.
"Very acceptable, considering the tasks that need your attention this evening," Faucon told his clerk. That was no lie since there was nothing for Edmund to do.
That spurred Edmund into motion. He turned toward the door. "When you are ready, sir," he said.
Faucon once again began to bend in preparation of offering his final farewell.
"But Maman, the sir cannot leave until he asks me about Grand-père," Martha cried to her mother in protest. "You promised me I could tell him what I know."
That had Faucon once again eying the forward child in dismay. If he had no other reason to reject an alliance with this family, Lady Martha would suffice.
"Hush, my love," Lady Bagot warned her youngest. "You may speak with him on the morrow, once your father has returned."
"But I don't wish to wait until the morrow," Martha whined. "The sir should talk to me tonight."
Faucon hesitated no longer. "Good even to you all, my ladies," he said, then hurried to catch his clerk.
Edmund had stopped on the porch to wait for him. As Faucon stopped next to him, the monk looked at him. "What is it that needs doing this night?" his clerk asked.
"Nothing at all. I didn't wish to remain in the hall without Sir Adam present," Faucon replied, gathering his words as he prepared to chide Edmund over his wayward tongue.
"We most certainly should not remain in that hall!" his clerk said harshly. "That woman is beyond forward. It was bad enough that she refused to tell me the name of her confessor. Can you believe that after you left with that other knight she pressed me to explain all the particulars of the position of Coronarius? No response or refusal to answer on my part stopped her pestering. At last, for the sake of my sanity I gave her what she wanted, just to end her interrogation.
"Someone," Edmund added, looking pointedly at his employer, "should speak to her husband, reminding him that it is his honor his disrespectful wife besmirches with her behavior."
The Final Toll Page 10
