Oathbreaker (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  “Think what?” Ribald asked.

  None of us had heard or seen Ribald coming. Elvina stood next to him, glaring from her mother to me. I swallowed a mouthful of air at the arrival of the burly farmer.

  “Nothing,” I hurried to say. “A stupid misunderstanding. I just want to know who gave your daughter this kerchief, and why he needed to buy her silence with it.”

  Estrid’s bosom still rose and fell in angry heaves, but she didn’t say anything. It was unclear, but also unimportant, whether she believed me or was just scared stiff of angering her husband by telling him what I’d implied. All that mattered to me was that she didn’t say anything.

  I had to seize the conversation, before it was too late.

  “Ebba, who gave you the kerchief?”

  I might have convinced her mother, but I could tell from the look Ebba gave me that she did not believe me. She wasn’t just hurt, but angry and offended. She stopped her spindle without a word, raising it and the finished yarn in one hand. She picked up the basket of carded wool in the other and walked past me, flashing me a taunting look.

  I planned to stop her by putting my hand on her arm when an ahem from Ribald made me think better of it.

  Ebba went into the farmhouse and closed the door behind her. I turned to her parents.

  “Then I will have to ask you,” I said.

  They exchanged glances; then Ribald nodded to the door. Estrid went inside and Ribald followed her, pulling their youngest daughter in behind him.

  Elvina turned around in the doorway and stuck her tongue out at me.

  Chapter 28

  I swore at myself, banishing myself to the darkest pits of hell. How could I have been so dumb? Obviously Ebba could never have so flagrantly shown off something she’d earned through whoring. And the realization stung that I’d actually known this before I rolled out my “I’m sure all three of us know what I’m implying.” If only I had held my tongue, I was convinced Ebba would have told me the truth about the kerchief.

  I asked after Winston at the monastery gate and learned that he and Alfilda were with Turold, so I headed for the hall. The monastery was completely peaceful—no spearmen to be seen. The only sign that soldiers were staying at the monastery came from Ulf and Wulfgar, who sat side by side in the sun in front of the guesthouse.

  I greeted them on my way to the hall, where I stepped into Turold’s chamber after a quick knock on the door was followed by a quiet “Come in.”

  Once inside, I stopped in surprise. Winston and Alfilda weren’t the only ones present. Brother Edgar was there as well, which didn’t surprise me, because I hadn’t bought his assurance that he wasn’t the abbot’s trusted man. But I was taken aback to see that the two Benedictines were in the room, too.

  Apparently I’d walked in on yet another monastic squabble, judging from the way the four clergymen were looking at each other.

  Edmund—breathing heavily, the back of his neck bright red—leaned over in front of Turold, whose lips were pressed together into a line. Edmund was so focused on whatever Turold had just said that he didn’t even glance up when I stepped in.

  Simon was just as pale as Edmund was red, but I suspected that wasn’t just due to the argument. Simon was not merely leaning on the wall. He seemed to be pressing his body back into the wall in an attempt to get as far away from Alfilda as possible.

  I smiled at him cheerfully and then at Winston, who threw up his hands, shook his head in disgust, and said, “Allow us to leave you to your business.”

  Winston shot me a look and then spun on his heel and headed for the door, followed by Alfilda, who I noticed made no effort to leave space between herself and Simon as she walked past him. She stopped and thanked Turold for his time, and then I followed her out of the room.

  Once we were well clear, Winston glanced across the grass at Ulf and Wulfgar, who didn’t look up from their one-sided conversation. Even in a case where only one of them could actually speak, off-duty soldiers always felt an easy sense of camaraderie with each other as men who have known fighting and danger. I hurried after Winston, who headed for the gate.

  Soon we were once again seated on the bench in front of the village’s little public house, each with our own tankard of ale.

  “So what was the argument about this time?” I asked, in no hurry to explain my stinging defeat with Ebba.

  “You have to admire Turold’s patience,” Winston said, shaking his head. “Can you imagine: those two louts barged in without so much as a knock on the door, interrupted our conversation, and demanded to know how long they were going to have to wait until Turold was ready to travel.”

  “Ready to travel?” I looked from Winston to Alfilda. Did the monks not understand that no one would be allowed to leave the monastery until we’d completed our investigation? Then I realized that they had never even dreamt that the travel ban applied to them as well.

  “Ready to travel,” Winston repeated. “You remember that first night? They demanded that Turold go to Peterborough with them so they could convince him that this monastery is a daughter to their own?”

  “I remember, but Turold rejected that rather forcefully,” I said with a nod.

  “And you think that settled the matter?” Winston asked rhetorically. “That the two parties agreed to disagree? Edmund doesn’t see it that way. He believes that if he just keeps pushing his perspective, eventually Turold will concede. It’s like a lie: if you get enough people to repeat it, it ends up being accepted as the truth.”

  “What did our hosts tell him?”

  “Told him to go to hell,” Alfilda said with a chuckle, “which almost made Simon the Subordinate open his mouth, but then he saw me—he had otherwise been avoiding looking at me—and he clammed up.”

  “So did you get to talk to Turold?” I asked.

  “He willingly discussed Eadwin’s stay here,” Winston said. “Thane Eadwin arrived unannounced but was of course welcomed since he’s the jarl’s son. However, after hosting him for three weeks, Turold decided it was time for Eadwin to move on.”

  Things obviously hadn’t gone the way Turold wanted. And sure enough, Winston continued, “An opinion Eadwin loudly dismissed.”

  “So the monastery sent a messenger to the jarl?” I guessed. That would have been the normal thing to do.

  “Who immediately dispatched Ælfgar to come retrieve Eadwin.

  “And Eadwin obeyed?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” Winston said.

  We looked at each other, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing: only Ælfgar could tell us both why Eadwin had felt compelled to stay at the monastery for so long and what had been said to get him to come back home.

  “And this Erik?” I asked.

  “Godfrid, as he’s still called here. Yes, he and Eadwin spoke to each other quite a bit. Turold claims he doesn’t know what they had to talk about.”

  “Claims?” I said.

  “I’m sure Turold knows more than he’s admitting,” Winston said, tugging at his nose, “but I’m also sure that we’ll never get him to open his mouth about it.”

  “The confessional?” I guessed.

  “Turold is an honest man who would rather die than break the sanctity of the confessional,” Winston said with a nod.

  We sat for a while in silence, and then Alfilda asked if I’d had any luck with Ebba.

  I pouted at her, but when she just looked back innocently, I shrugged and told them what had happened.

  They listened in silence, but I saw the crease appear between Winston’s eyebrows as my account proceeded, ultimately ending with my admission of how dumb I had been not to see how things fit together sooner.

  “Dumb?” Winston said, his voice thick with anger. “Damn foolish is what you were.”

  “Well, if I was, it’s not like I was the only one,” I sulked. I looked at Alfilda and said, “You said yourself that noblemen pay farm girls to spread their legs.”

  “Yes,” she said with a
nod. “You and I think the same way.”

  At least she wasn’t making excuses.

  “Well, what’s done is done,” Winston said with a sigh. “Now the question is what the devil we do next.”

  Chapter 29

  I suppose you’ve considered his name?” Alfilda asked, pushing her half-emptied tankard away and leaning in over the table. I was about to answer that there were as many Eriks in the Danelaw as there were sheep, but then I realized what she meant and nodded.

  “He was seeking God’s peace, hence the name Godfrid. Yes, we’ve considered that,” Winston said, picking up Alfilda’s tankard and drinking.

  “Or he’d found it,” Alfilda said, snatching her tankard back.

  Which Winston had also implied. Men who run away from their past, sinking into monastic amnesia, are usually struggling to come to terms with that past. Or, as Harding used to say: The monastery is where remorseful men or those lacking influence seek refuge.

  Although of course a person who feels he has already made up for his sin could still choose to live among silent brothers to make sure he remains at peace—or to keep from sinning again.

  “Not that it matters,” Winston said with a yawn, scratching at his scalp.

  “Doesn’t it?” Alfilda said. Something in her voice got our attention.

  “The abbot said Eadwin and Godfrid talked to each other quite a bit,” Alfilda said, her elbows propped on the table and her hands over her eyes, as if she needed a moment alone with her thoughts in order to express them. “Let’s suppose they either knew each other in the past, or Eadwin recognized Godfrid, whom he had once known by the name of Erik… Actually,” she said, taking her hands off her eyes briefly, “it might not matter which.”

  Neither Winston nor I spoke. We both waited as she covered her eyes again and continued.

  “What matters is that they didn’t just exchange a polite word or two,” Alfilda said, “but ‘talked quite a bit with each other’—that was how the abbot put it, you recall. In other words, the jarl’s son knows that Godfrid is the same as Erik, so he must also know what drove this Erik to the monastery. Do you agree?”

  We both nodded. What she was saying made sense.

  “And that knowledge could have been dangerous for Godfrid,” Alfilda continued. “If Godfrid had made his peace with God, Eadwin could have threatened to reveal his true identity. Maybe his sin was so great that the monks would have wanted to kick him out. Maybe the threat was that Eadwin would tell the victim of the sin where Godfrid was.”

  “But,” I objected, “surely Godfrid would have just said that nothing could threaten the peace he felt in God?”

  “Maybe,” Alfilda said, “but would it be the truth? Although you’re probably right. But, maybe Eadwin realized that Godfrid hadn’t reconciled with Our Lord. If that were the case, Godfrid would die in sin and be robbed of his chance at salvation. Then the threat of revealing him would carry more weight.”

  “Revenge would have lain him in his grave without atonement,” Winston said, “ensuring him all the agonies of hell—if the sin was as serious as we’re assuming.”

  “Exactly,” Alfilda said, finally removing her hands from her eyes and leaning back with a satisfied smile. Then she suddenly bit her lip and looked at us despondently. “Aside, of course, from the fact that it’s a bunch of hogwash, which can’t be important after all.”

  Winston and I exchanged puzzled looks, but then he nodded.

  “It’s hogwash because Eadwin wasn’t the one killed,” Winston said.

  “Exactly,” Alfilda said, her mouth twitching in exasperation.

  I leaned over in annoyance and rested my forehead in my hands. Aside from that, her idea had made so much sense. I heard ducks quacking mixed with geese cackling and saw the wispy-haired goose girl out of the corner of my eye, driving her flock across the green. Above me a kite cried shrilly, and a small bell rang somewhere in the monastery. It must be time for Vespers, which made sense given how empty my stomach felt.

  “But,” I said, groping after the thought that had flitted through my mind. “But… maybe you were on to something after all. Maybe we just need to look at the whole thing the other way around?”

  They both looked at me.

  “Eadwin recognized Godfrid,” I continued eagerly. “We all agree that’s how it started. And then Eadwin left the monastery when he received a message from his father, whereas Godfrid stayed behind. A few months later, we find Godfrid murdered. There’s got to be some kind of connection.”

  “Sure,” Winston said, reaching his hand out and stroking Alfilda’s cheek. “Eadwin told someone where Godfrid was.”

  “Either because he made good on his threat, or—if we’re wrong, and he didn’t threaten the monk—maybe purely by accident,” Alfilda said, and then sat up straighter.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Winston said. “So now we just have to find out who Eadwin talked to in the last few months.”

  “We were supposed to have a little chat with Ælfgar next, weren’t we?” I said with a smile.

  Winston turned to Alfilda and said, “If it’s alright, Halfdan and I will see to that. Will you try your hand with Ebba?”

  Alfilda nodded in agreement.

  “Good,” Winston said, standing up. “Vespers will be over soon; then the monks will head to the refectory for dinner. We’ll do the same and see if we can get a seat close to Thane Ælfgar. I wonder if you couldn’t convince Estrid to let you dine at her table?”

  Alfilda thought that would probably work and left us with a promise from Winston that he would come find her as soon as we were done with Ælfgar.

  When we arrived at the refectory, the monks were already seated around the long table. Edmund and Simon had found seats next to Turold, possibly because Turold wanted to emphasize the polite obligations of a host despite their failure to see eye to eye.

  Ulf and Wulfgar sat at the only other table in the room. Ælfgar and Alwyn had taken seats at the other end of that table, so Winston headed for them. Without an invitation, he simply sat down next to Ælfgar and nodded for me to take the seat across from him, so that I ended up sitting next to Alwyn. Neither of them looked up when we sat down.

  The food was good: roast pork and root vegetables fried in fat on thick slices of bread. The ale that went with it was hoppy and strong.

  I ate in silence, waiting for Winston to take the lead. When he eventually finished chewing, he just said flat out, “So you had to bring Eadwin home by force.”

  “What in the world—” Ælfgar said, his head coming up with a jerk.

  He didn’t get any further, because Winston held up a hand to silence him.

  “Spare me,” Winston said. “I know that Leofwine’s son stayed here this summer, and I also know that you came to get him. What had he done to his father that made him need to hide out here for so long?”

  “It’s none of your business,” Ælfgar said with a scowl.

  “Oh yes it is,” Winston replied calmly, “if it has anything to do with the monk’s murder.”

  “Nonsense,” Ælfgar said.

  “Eadwin knew Godfrid,” Winston said. He spoke calmly, as if he were discussing the weather. “They talked together, and then shortly after Eadwin left the monastery, Godwin was murdered. And I know what he did.”

  “Impossible,” Ælfgar said, looking right at Winston.

  “So you admit he committed an offense,” Winston said, a smile playing on his lips. “He was trying to foment opposition to King Cnut.”

  Alwyn moved in his seat next to me, caught off guard, but Ælfgar’s eyes had already told me that Winston had hit the nail on the head.

  “Eadwin has not forgiven Cnut for his eldest brother’s death and doesn’t care if there was good reason for the king’s actions,” Winston said, still speaking very softly and calmly. “Which is why Eadwin sought to consult with other disgruntled thanes.”

  Ælfgar pressed his lips together, which caused Winston to lean in over the t
able in confidence.

  “I wonder,” Winston wondered aloud, “what Cnut would pay for information about his jarl colluding with his enemies?”

  I had to admire the way Winston avoided revealing that we were actually here on assignment from Cnut. His words could be interpreted as any man’s musings over what the king would pay for information.

  “You would lie?” Ælfgar said grudgingly.

  His voice was hoarse and hardly as toned down as my master’s. I looked up, but it was clear that no one was paying any attention. The monks kept eating in silence, and Wulfgar had apparently accepted responsibility for entertaining the tongueless man, because Wulfgar was leaning forward and running on at the mouth, but keeping his voice quiet. Presumably he was taking a cue from Winston, guessing that Winston was speaking softly to avoid disturbing the other diners.

  “So my guesses about Eadwin are correct?” Winston asked.

  “Come with me,” Ælfgar said, nodding.

  We followed him out of the hall and across the grass to the church, where he continued on around the building and then walked over to the palisade. Here he sat down in the grass with his back against the posts so that he had an unimpeded view of the monastery grounds. We sat down next to him while Alwyn walked down to the door to the Lady Path, which I’d opened yesterday. He pulled it open and positioned himself in the doorway so he could be sure no one was on the path outside.

  “Do not think that I haven’t guessed that you ride on the king’s business, Winston the Illuminator,” Ælfgar said, eyeing Winston gloomily. “Take him the truth.”

  “Which is?” Winston inquired politely.

  “That your guess was wrong.” Ælfgar sounded certain. “Leofwine and his sons realize that Norman deserved to die by Cnut’s order. And none of them would dream of opposing the king. They realize that Cnut is the only one who can secure England against harrowing feuds and wars and also ensure their power as ealdorman and thanes.”

  “So what was Eadwin doing here in the east?” I could tell from Winston’s tone that he believed Ælfgar.