The Sticklepath Strangler aktm-12

by Michael Jecks

  Cecilia stood nervously at Drogo’s side with a tray of bread and wine. The Forester appeared to notice her for the first time, and reached out to take a pot and a hunk of bread, which he dipped into the wine, sucking it. ‘This is good wine, Alex. You do yourself very well, don’t you? No, we only wanted to talk to you and make sure that you weren’t considering chopping any of us in to save your own neck.’

  ‘I hadn’t even thought of it,’ Alexander said, motioning his servant over. He took a pot from her and waved her from the room. ‘I have other problems. This Coroner will want someone to be the guilty party. He’ll not leave until he thinks he’s got the murderer.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘I don’t want to see any man from here hanged. It would only mean a feud between one family and another. You’ve seen that as often as I have. A juror accuses a man, and that fellow’s family try to avenge him as soon as his body’s stopped dancing on the rope. I don’t want that. A blood feud would only cause more trouble.’

  ‘Aye. True enough.’ Drogo spat onto the rushes. ‘We need to find someone we can blame. The Coroner won’t be satisfied without a felon.’

  ‘No, he’ll want someone.’

  ‘Well, don’t think of offering him me or my men, because if you do–’

  ‘Before you start threatening me, remember we stand together, Drogo.’

  ‘And don’t you forget,’ said Drogo, ‘that if I’m caught, I’ll know who’s responsible, and I’ll see you die before me, Reeve!’

  He was leaning forward now, and in his eyes Alexander saw a terrible determination. Drogo was close to the end of his tether. He looked like a man who was staring over a precipice into Hell.

  Simon left the inn to go and relieve himself behind a tree. As he peed, he considered all he had seen that morning, and had to confess to himself that he had shown a complete lack of spirit. At the first sight of a corpse, he had scuttled to Jeanne’s side.

  Not that he was ashamed of his queasiness in the presence of sudden death – especially when the body had been left to putrefy. The sight of a worm- and maggot-infested corpse was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

  With that merry thought, he returned to the inn. The room was gradually emptying as people left, some gazing curiously at the men in the corner, but most looking away. Adam Thorne and Vincent were talking earnestly to William the Taverner, who ducked his head and left them as soon as he saw Simon.

  The Coroner’s foul temper had returned as soon as Alexander had left, and now he was trying to assess how much to fine the Reeve and the vill for their gross irresponsibility in evading their legal duties.

  Jeanne was still in her seat. ‘Like you I have no interest in seeking answers to questions which were posed so many years ago,’ she said when Simon drew near. ‘I feel great sympathy for the girl, but that is all. May her soul rest peacefully.’

  Simon would have prefered to remain drinking wine with her, but when Baldwin and the Coroner walked from the room, he trailed behind them.

  ‘It’s ridiculous, man like him, playing with the law,’ the Coroner fumed. ‘I have children too, but that doesn’t mean I’d flout my responsibilities. God’s blood, but I’d like to have him gaoled for his stupidity!’

  ‘Do you wish to arrest him now?’ Baldwin enquired mildly, patting Aylmer’s head.

  ‘You know I don’t! It’s just that the man was intolerably smug and that grates on my nerves. Cretinous idiot! As though he could have got away with it.’

  ‘He almost did,’ Simon pointed out. ‘If that fellow Houndestail hadn’t given the game away, we’d have been none the wiser. Obviously Alexander didn’t mean anyone to hear that this was a case of cannibalism.’

  Baldwin said, ‘That I find quite curious. Almost as odd as the two girls’ deaths.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Coroner said. ‘But it’s plain that there’s one man who has committed two murders and we have to find him if we can.’

  ‘Only a madman could eat a child,’ Simon stated with conviction.

  ‘Certainly someone driven to extreme measures,’ Baldwin said.

  They were in the roadway, and in all directions the peasants could be seen heading back towards their fields. Felicia and Gunilda were at the top of the road near the mill; Joan was running past, chased by a giggling Emma. A steady ringing told that the farriers were back at work, and the low grumbling spoke of the mill’s wheel turning. The place was returning to normal.

  One group were apparently not returning to work. Ahead, leaning against the wall of a house, were Adam and Vincent. As the two girls rushed past him, Vincent caught hold of Emma, making her scream with delight as he tickled her, making her torn apron fly up in the air as he threw her up once, twice, thrice, and then set her down again and watched her pelt off after Joan once more.

  When he saw the men approach, Vin’s face turned suddenly grim. At his side, leaning against the Reeve’s house and evidently unbothered by their appearance, was Adam, who greeted them, ‘Inquest all done, then?’

  ‘Your name is Adam?’ Baldwin responded.

  ‘Adam Thorne, master. Yes. This is my friend Vin.’

  ‘Were you both Foresters when the children were killed?’

  ‘Yes I was. Although Vin was only a lad then. I can remember Peter’s girl being found, and then I can remember Swet’s concern when his own girl disappeared. It was a terrible time.’

  ‘Peter atte Moor was the father of the girl named Denise?’

  ‘Yes. Swet’s maid was third to disappear.’

  Simon said sharply, ‘Third? We have only been told of two.’

  ‘Ah! You should speak to the Reeve again, master. Perhaps he forgot little Mary. Her parents died a while ago, so it wouldn’t be surprising, I suppose.’

  Baldwin noted that. Another dead child. ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Same as the others, about ten or so, I think.’

  ‘Were there any travellers who were in the vill prior to each of these girls going missing?’ the Coroner demanded.

  Adam shook his head. ‘No, there were few travellers then. Not enough food to go round.’

  Vin nodded to each of Adam’s responses. He hated the interrogation, but he daren’t leave while they were talking, in case Adam gave something away. It was bad enough that Adam disliked Vin and might make some sly remark behind his back, about Vin always hating girls or something, but worse was the fact that Adam treated him as though he was soft in the head, the bastard.

  ‘Do you have any idea who could have wanted to kill these children?’ Coroner Roger asked.

  Adam threw a sideways look at Vin, and there was a slight smile on his face as he opened his mouth.

  Vin gabbled his words: ‘You already know!’

  Baldwin blinked with surprise. ‘We do?’

  ‘It was a vampire, that’s what it was! A sanguisuga!’

  Simon blenched, and the Coroner made a quick movement of his hand to ward off evil, but while Adam laughed, Baldwin merely looked intrigued.

  ‘Vampire? How did you know we spoke of such things?’

  ‘They’ve been talking to William Taverner,’ Simon said. ‘He must have overheard us last night.’

  ‘Yes. And Vin likes to imagine things like that,’ Adam said dismissively. ‘Spends half his time daydreaming. There’s no vampires here in Sticklepath.’

  ‘But there are rapists,’ Baldwin said. ‘What of this Samson?’

  ‘Rumours, nothing more,’ Adam said comfortably. ‘If I had any proof, I’d kill him myself. He’s a wife-beater, for sure, but a murderer? No. I expect the murderer was someone who hated the vill.’

  As he spoke, Baldwin, who was watching him closely, saw a brief concentration in his expression. It was as though he had realised someone might have had a motive after all. ‘Such as whom?’ he asked.

  ‘I was only thinking that Ivo Bel has always hated this place, mainly because he can’t stand Thomas Garde, and he was here, I think, when Denise and Aline died. But again, there’s
no proof.’

  ‘Where were you when the girls were killed?’ Baldwin said pointedly.

  ‘Me?’ Adam shrugged. ‘When Denise died, I was with Peter, her father. We were in South Zeal at the tavern, drinking with Drogo.’

  ‘What of you?’ Baldwin said, turning to Vincent.

  ‘I was on the moor. I lived up near Ivy Tor Water, with my father. My mother died when I was young and my father was a miner, a friend of Drogo’s, and when Denise died I was there with my father.’

  ‘And he can confirm that?’

  ‘No. He died years ago. Anyway, when Aline disappeared I was a fully-fledged Forester. I was with Drogo that night. I remember it clearly.’

  ‘You have a good memory,’ Baldwin said drily. ‘What of this third girl? What happened to her?’

  ‘Mary was an orphan. No one knew when she disappeared. I expect I was on the moors.’

  ‘So you have no alibi for the deaths, apart from Aline’s?’

  ‘I…’ Vin’s face reflected his confusion.

  ‘Don’t be hard on the boy,’ said Adam.

  ‘It’s a long time ago,’ Vin said, trying to remember, but his mind kept returning to that other night, when the Purveyor had been killed.

  ‘Very well,’ said Coroner Roger. ‘In the meantime, do you have any other suspicions as to who might have killed the children?’

  There was a long silence, then Adam spoke.

  ‘That’s for you to find out, Coroner, isn’t it?’ he said with a cold smile.

  The three left Adam and Vin a short time later, walking slowly on up the main roadway.

  ‘Vampires, my arse!’ Coroner Roger said.

  ‘The wall between the hall and the tavernkeeper’s room is thin,’ Baldwin said, ‘and I’ve never known an innkeeper yet who could keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said, ‘that must be it.’

  ‘Hey! That’s Miles Houndestail, isn’t it?’ Coroner Roger said, peering ahead intently.

  ‘Looks like him,’ Simon said.

  ‘I want to talk to him.’

  ‘Do you think he can tell you any more?’ Baldwin asked doubtfully.

  ‘As you suggested, I want to send someone to find out whether there was ever news of this Purveyor. That’s another ruddy missing person on our hands!’

  Simon decided to leave them to their investigation. For his part, the murders were too long past to interest him; he couldn’t believe that they would discover the murderer, and after the excitement of the tournament he wanted rest. What’s more, he found the mention of vampires repellent. He knew such creatures existed, for men were daily warned of demons by priests, but to hear that a sanguisuga might actually be responsible for the deaths here was unnerving.

  He strolled over to the spring at the foot of the sticklepath. Here, a narrow way led along the valley towards Belstone, and he idly walked down it, whistling tunelessly.

  The sun was already high overhead and Simon could feel the heat seeping into him. In the bright sunshine it was hard to imagine the tale which Alexander had told of torrential rains and famine, yet Simon clearly recalled those terrible years. Down here, he thought, if the river were to flood, it would wash all along this valley, and then thunder into the vill and fields beyond.

  He had reached the end of the flat section, where the ground became boggy and marshy. After this he remembered the path curled upwards, following the track of a spring, climbing away from the river, and then heading as straight as a ruler for Belstone. Rather than take that route, he sat on a convenient boulder and selected a smooth, flat stone, sending it spinning on the water. The river here was very fast and narrow, and his stone bounced once, then clattered onto the rock wall on the opposite bank.

  So intent was he on his game that he didn’t notice the two at first. It was only when he glanced over his shoulder that he saw them.

  They were approaching from Belstone, two young girls of maybe ten years or so. One was chubby, with a freckled, cheerful face and reddish hair, while the other was taller and more slender, with a heart-shaped face and regular, pleasant features. For some reason her dress was damp and badly stained. Simon recognised the shorter one as the girl Vincent had tickled earlier on.

  They stopped when they saw him watching them, the chubbier one looking about with a quick anxiety, though the taller of the two appeared unconcerned. She studied Simon with a gravity he had not known in a young girl before. ‘You’re a stranger.’

  ‘Not in my home I’m not.’

  ‘Where is your home?’

  ‘Lydford, in the castle.’

  She looked surprised. ‘I thought that was where the people were sent to gaol. Are you a prisoner?’

  ‘No!’ he laughed. ‘I am the Bailiff. Sometimes I have to put people into the gaol, but I never stay there myself. Who are you?’

  ‘I am Joan Garde, and this is my friend, Emma. We have been trying to see our friend Serlo.’

  ‘Is he a miner?’

  ‘No, he looks after the warrens.’

  ‘On the moors?’

  ‘Yes. He protects the warrens for Lord Hugh.’

  Simon nodded. The girl’s face was as solemn as her manner. Perhaps she considered that this was the fitting way in which to address a Bailiff. All Simon knew was that it was novel to be treated with such respect. It was considerably more pleasing than the abuse he was used to receiving on the moors.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ he asked.

  ‘Home. He wasn’t at his hut. Maybe he was at the inquest.’

  Emma peered at him with interest too, and Simon suddenly recalled Houndestail saying that two girls had found the body. ‘Were you the two that found the skull?’

  ‘Yes. It plopped out and rolled away,’ Joan said.

  ‘Ugh! It was horrible,’ Emma added, with a grimace of disgust. ‘It came right at me, and just sat there staring at me. Horrible.’

  ‘She was sick.’

  ‘I was not!’

  ‘She was, and she peed herself. I stayed up there with Master Houndestail.’

  ‘Have you seen him here often?’ Simon asked. He only had Miles’s word about his infrequent visits to the vill. The girls wanted to return, so he fell into step beside them.

  ‘I think I saw him once,’ Joan said doubtfully, ‘but I was very young then.’

  Emma interrupted. ‘I ran to get help, and soon everyone was up on the road.’

  ‘Were there many travellers here that day?’ Simon wondered.

  Joan answered. ‘Only Master Houndestail and Ivo Bel. I don’t like him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, he’s my uncle, but he’s never acted like one. My father has been very poor, but Master Bel wouldn’t help him.’

  ‘What of your parents?’ Simon said to Emma.

  She reddened. ‘My father is dead, and my mother was away.’

  Her tone was defensive, and Simon wondered whether her mother had a reputation – perhaps she was a whore. Rather than upset her further, he nodded to Joan. ‘It’s a shame when brothers fall out.’

  ‘They just had an argument, I think, and now they won’t talk.’

  ‘What did they argue about?’ Simon said, idly spinning another stone.

  ‘Serlo said it was about the vampire,’ Emma said.

  ‘Father says there never was a vampire,’ Joan sneered.

  Simon had been picking up another stone, but it fell through his fingers. ‘What do you mean, vampire?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Joan said scathingly. ‘Vampires aren’t real. I asked my mother.’

  ‘This Serlo – what did he tell you?’

  Emma looked at Joan, suddenly nervous in the face of Simon’s interest. ‘He just said that a girl had been killed, but not by a vampire.’

  Joan said, ‘Parson Gervase says that there never was one here.’

  ‘My mother was very upset when I asked about them,’ Emma said in a small voice. ‘My uncle wasn’t a vampire, she said.’

  They
were nearing the main sticklepath, and Simon opened his mouth to ask more, when he heard a yell. It came from the right, down near the river, and he immediately pelted off in that direction. There was a shrill scream, then a woman’s voice shouting for help, then the loud roar of a man’s voice raised again in horror, and what sounded like pain.

  It was the mill. Splashing through muddy puddles, he sent jets of filthy water in every direction, and then he was on grass at the rear of the mill’s building, and he could see her. A woman standing near the leat, her hands clenched at her cheeks, but still she gave vent to her shock.

  Simon took it all in at a glance. In the water was a man’s body, and even as Simon ran to it, it was sucked under, the massive wooden paddles of the wheel clubbing it remorselessly with the sound of damp cloth being pounded clean in a tub, leaving only a feather of reddened water streaming away from the wheel, and then the foam at its base turned crimson.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reeve Alexander sat in his hall for a long time after Drogo had left. He heard the Forester greet his men outside, their laughter, then the sound of their booted feet fading away in the distance. He was just about to shout for his maid and a fresh jug of wine, when he heard more steps in the screens.

  ‘Who the devil is it now?’ he wondered aloud, grimly staring at the gap which gave onto the passage. Then: ‘Ivo? What do you want?’

  Bel walked in smiling and went straight to Alexander’s table, taking his seat at the end. ‘Hello, Reeve. I was surprised at the inquest today. Were you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The skeleton. Hadn’t it shrunk?’

  ‘If you want to talk in riddles, man, bugger off. I’m not in the mood for stupidity today.’

  ‘Very well. I shall speak to the Coroner instead then, or the Keeper. It’s nothing to me. I was just wondering how that girl could have been found in that grave today.’

  ‘You’re drunk!’

  The smile vanished from Bel’s face. ‘I’ll take no more shit from you, Reeve, and that’s your only warning. You’ve accused me of stupidity and drunkenness; now I’ll accuse you of murder.’