3 The Outlaw's Tale

by Frazer, Margaret

  Nicholas, intent on making out Payne’s entries, jerked a hand at him. “In a while. I say when.” Though maybe it would be simpler to let Evan be caught and hung for Colfoot’s murder. Then there would be no hunt for anyone else. But that would deny himself the pleasure of confronting Payne over the matter, and there were few pleasures sweeter than having the upper hand. Nicholas doubted he could deny himself the sport of twisting Payne to his own ends.

  Cullum shrugged and went away to where most of the men had built up the fire under a canvas and were trying to roast two small pigeons for their inadequate dinnner.

  Intent on seeing how high his profits had grown by now, Nicholas went to the second page. As he worked his way down it, it gradually came to him that what he was reading did not agree with what Payne had been telling him. There was something wrong and only slowly did he puzzle it out, so that not until the third time through did he realize the words said exactly what they seemed to say. That Payne had been lying to him. That Payne had been losing his money.

  In a rage he did not try to control, Nicholas rose to his feet, crammed the pages into the front of his doublet and, heedless of the rain, went out yelling, “Someone bring me the horse, and bring it now!”

  * * * * *

  Sister Emma slept on. Evan drowsed and wakened through the unending afternoon with Magdalen always beside him. Occasionally they spoke together in low voices but mostly were like Frevisse and Bess, silent in their waiting. Bess tried to sew but it was only pretence. Frevisse sat praying as much as she could, and willing Nicholas to come soon.

  They heard Jack come to replace Adam on watch, and the children at play in the hall downstairs, and once the cook’s voice raised in wrath at something in the kitchen. But no one came to the room itself. They were left alone, and as the afternoon went on they sank into a kind of numb enduring, so that none of them were ready for a rush of children’s feet on the stairs and a small girl’s cheerful scream outside the door and Jack’s laughter. Frevisse, Magdalen, and Bess all came to their feet on the instant, but no one was near enough to catch the door as small Kate flung into the room, red-faced with laughter and running. “He’s after me!” she shrieked. “He’s after me!”

  “Kate!” Bess exclaimed and tried to intercept her. But Kate dodged past her and into Magdalen’s arms, crying “Save me!” as Magdalen stepped between her and Evan. Frevisse caught Bartholomew at the door as he charged in, and Magdalen caught Kate up and swung her around, back away toward the door. But Kate craned her head past her aunt’s shoulder and exclaimed, “There’s a man there!”

  “No!” Magdalen cried.

  “There is!” Kate insisted. And from Frevisse’s hold, Bartholomew yelled, without being able to see at all but glad of a new game, “The murderer! The murderer! Aunt Magdalen’s caught the murderer!”

  “Out!” Magdalen cried. “Get out!” All her gentleness gone, she set Kate down hard and pushed her at the doorway. “Go away!”

  Confused by the anger breaking over her, Kate retreated. Frevisse grabbed her by the arm, and with Bartholomew in one hand and Kate in the other, swung them both toward the doorway and Jack coming in.

  “Here!” Frevisse ordered, shoving them into his hands. “Take them out of here!”

  Suddenly encumbered with two small children, Jack caught hold of them but was looking past her into the room. “They said…”

  “Out!” Frevisse snapped at him.

  “There’s a man over there!” Kate cried excitedly. “I saw him!”

  “I saw him, too,” Bartholomew joined in.

  “You didn’t!” Magdalen cried back at them. But the sob in her voice betrayed what was already lost. Jack, dragging the children backward with him out of the room, was already yelling over his shoulder for help and everyone to come.

  Bess, terror-stricken, retreated to the farthest corner of the room, hands over her face to hide herself. Magdalen moved to shut the door, then knew the hopelessness of that and turned back to Evan. Frevisse stayed where she was, between them and whoever would come.

  Sir Perys first, with Edward and Richard behind him; they must have been at their studies in the next room. “Stay back!” Frevisse warned. There was nothing with which she could threaten them, but Sir Perys went backward a step, taking the boys with him; and then Jack, still yelling down the stairs, pushed the children toward Edward, nearest to him, and Edward took them.

  Richard, neither easily threatened or charged with children, demanded, “What is it? Is there someone in there?”

  “The murderer!” Bartholomew exclaimed, enjoying himself immensely. “He was trying to kill Aunt Magdalen and we stopped him!”

  “Shut up!” Edward said fiercely, shaking him. “Shut up!”

  And then everyone was there, in a rush up the stairs and from the solar. Iseult, caught in the middle of it with Katherine hanging frightened on her skirt, cried out to know what was happening but went unheeded in the babble of her servants and the other children. Only Edward, bundling the children away into someone else’s hold, kept his head. He pushed past Sir Perys and blocked the doorway, letting no one past. There he and Frevisse faced each other, with no words now, only their tense realization that neither of them could stop what was happening. In that moment, face to face with him, Frevisse saw the man that he could grow to be: Controlled and strong and understanding more than he would ever say.

  Then his father was there. Come behind all the rest, he shoved through them, swearing at them to stop their caterwauling. He had his sword unsheathed in his hand, and there were both anger and determination in his set face as he said at Edward’s back, “Edward, stand away.”

  Slowly Edward obeyed, drawing his eyes from Frevisse.

  “All of you stay out,” Master Payne said and moved forward. For only a moment Frevisse held her ground. But there was no point to it, no way that she could stop him. Caught in a nightmare feeling of helplessness, she drew aside and let him pass.

  Evan had struggled to rise, had dragged himself up against his pillows but had no strength for more. Magdalen knelt by him, staring defiantly across the room at her brother.

  “Leave us be,” she said in a low, commanding voice. “We’ve done no harm. Leave us alone.”

  “He’s a murderer, Magdalen.”

  “He’s not.”

  If it had been only a matter of will, she might have held her own against him, they were so much alike. But he had the sword, and his household at his back, and she had nothing but her love.

  “Magdalen,” Evan said gently, putting her away from him, his eyes fixed on her brother, reading his death there as clearly as she did. “Go. Let Dame Frevisse take you away. Don’t stay for this.”

  Magdalen began to cry soundlessly, the tears huge in her eyes before they slipped down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  Suddenly Master Payne came forward, but stopped at the foot of the bed. His sword still directed at Evan, he stooped and groped and pulled from the shadows a long leather belt that snaked from his upheld hand to the floor as he straightened and held it aloft by the buckle.

  “Not hidden well enough, man!” he said triumphantly. He swung around to the faces crowded in the doorway, Iseult and Edward first among them. “Here’s proof! Here’s evidence enough. Look at the end of it. That’s blood there. New blood. Colfoot’s blood.”

  Near the end of the tongue, the belt was darkly stained and crusted, plain to see. Master Payne flung the belt down, out of his way, and turned on Evan. “Can’t you even stand up, you coward? Hiding in my sister’s bed and behind her skirts. You deserve to die for that alone!”

  “He’s hurt!” Magdalen cried, trying to put herself between Evan and her brother.

  But Evan held her away, and begged in desperation, “Dame Frevisse, take her out of here!”

  Frevisse moved but there was no time. Payne was already around the bed, his arm drawn back for the thrust that Evan could not avoid.

  “Payne!”

 
The roar from the doorway brought Payne around on his heel, instinctively crouched to face a new threat.

  Nicholas shoved past Edward and into the room. “Payne, you lying dog! Where’s my fortune?” He dragged the crumpled account pages from the front of his tunic and threw them on the floor. “You’ve done nothing but lose my money! I’m no better off than when I started!”

  “Nicholas, that isn’t…” Frevisse began.

  But Payne, dark-faced with new anger, cut across her words. “You’re right! You were a cur when you started and you’re a cur now!”

  “You lying cheat!” Nicholas yelled, drawing his sword and closing on him. “I want my fortune! And if I can’t have it, I’ll have your blood instead!

  Payne brought up his own sword between them. All the hatred for each other that they had buried for the sake of mutual gain was now in the naked open.

  “Nicholas, your pardon!” Frevisse cried. “Listen to me!”

  Unheeding, Nicholas thrust at Payne. Payne caught it aside with his own blade, more ready than Nicholas had expected. Mistress Payne screamed and would have thrown herself between them, but Edward caught her by the arm and waist and held her back. “No, Mother!”

  Frevisse backed into the narrow space between Evan’s bed and the wall, trapping Magdalen behind her. The room was too small for wide swordplay. Payne and Nicholas could only manage thrust and slice, their swords held double-handed in front of them for shield and weapon both. Neither was much skilled and both were plainly long out of practice. But Payne’s skill had come in the casual way of needing protection in his travels, while Nicholas in his long-since youth had at least had proper training. It showed as he knocked aside Payne’s heavy thrusts, not able to force in any of his own but better able to defend himself.

  They went clumsily, in ragged starts and stops, a little down the room, then back to its center. Stunned, no one interfered. Even Mistress Payne made no more outcry but stood huddled against Edward, her fists clenched to her mouth.

  Then Nicholas’s sword caught along Payne’s blade. Nicholas wrenched his sword around and Payne’s sword broke loose from his hands and clattered wide away from him across the floor. Payne jerked backward, head up, still angry but his hands spread out, surrendering. Nicholas without even pause lunged forward, driving his blade in to the left and under of Payne’s breastbone. Then he jerked back, hauling it out, and blood followed, gouting down the front of Payne’s gown. Payne reached to stop it but he was already falling. And dead before he reached the floor.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nicholas stepped back, panting heavily. With a gesture of finish and satisfaction, he let the blade’s point drop toward the floor and was not ready for Edward’s anguished cry and single forward movement that scooped his father’s sword from the floor at his feet, brought it up, around, and down as he leaped at Nicholas. Barely Nicholas jerked his own sword up in time to catch the blow, but the force of it drove him backwards and Edward so headlong after him that they grappled together.

  Iseult in the doorway turned wildly on the men behind her and screamed, “Stop them!”

  Released from their shock, Adam, Jack, and Tam pushed forward into the room. Before Nicholas could break free from Edward, they were on them, Tam pulling Edward away, Jack and Adam grabbing Nicholas from behind, twisting his sword from his hand and wrenching his arms up behind his back.

  Nicholas fought but they had him. They forced him first to his knees, then jerked him to his feet as Edward ordered, “Take him out of here. Put him in the barn. Tie him and guard him.”

  “You dog’s whelp!” Nicholas raged. “I’ll kill you next and anyone else between me and mine!”

  “Take him!” Edward yelled.

  They did; and by the way his shouting cut off suddenly on the stairs, someone knocked him senseless on the way.

  By then Mistress Payne was kneeling beside her husband, bent over and weeping on his back. Richard, crying, too, was trying to put his arms around her. The three younger children, not fully understanding yet what they had only half seen, stood staring around Sir Perys and the maidservants in the doorway.

  “Take them away,” Frevisse said quietly to anyone who would; and the two women did, gently drawing the children back, herding them away to somewhere else.

  Behind her Magdalen had crumpled down beside Evan, clinging to him, her face hidden in his shoulder while he held her as close as he could.

  Edward stood where Tam had left him in the middle of the room, dry-eyed, staring down at his father’s body, his hands held out open and empty at his sides.

  The only sounds in the room were Iseult’s and Richard’s crying, and Sir Perys’ hurried prayers from the doorway.

  Then Jack and Adam returned. Frevisse stirred from her own paralysis, knowing things had to be done. As they hesitated behind Sir Perys, she said quietly, “You had best move Master Payne’s body to his own bed. Bess, help Mistress Payne.”

  At a direct order, Bess was able to move, to come forward from her corner and draw Mistress Payne to her feet with Richard’s help so the men could lift her husband’s body carefully between them and carry it out of the room. Bess, Mistress Payne, Richard and Sir Perys followed after them.

  Edward stayed where he was, did not even lift his head to watch their going. Behind him, Frevisse picked up the forgotten belt, rolled it and, holding it, tucked her hands up her sleeves.

  “Edward,” she said.

  He looked around at her, slowly, as if uncertain he was still able to move and see. She went to stand in front of him.

  “Edward, the sheriff and crowner will be here, probably soon.”

  Edward tried to answer but no words came; he was still too empty with shock.

  “Would you have me speak to them first?” she offered. “To explain what’s happened?”

  Vaguely, trying to draw his mind around to it, he said, “I have to talk to them. I should…”

  Frevisse gripped his arm to make him look at her. “No. You should not.” Holding his eyes with her own, she said very slowly and forcefully, “Edward, listen to me. You know Evan did not kill Colfoot.”

  Edward tensed and made as if to draw away from her hand. Then he steadied and said in a rather desperate voice, “I know.”

  “Because you know your father did it.”

  Edward opened his mouth, protest in every line of his body. Frevisse dug her fingers more deeply into his arm and repeated ruthlessly, “You know your father did it. No peddler ever wore a belt like the one your father showed us. That’s a rich man’s belt. Your father brought it deliberately into the room to accuse Evan of the murder. But it was your father who killed Colfoot.”

  Edward began to shake his head in denial. Again Frevisse cut him off, driving her words at him. “Edward, your father is dead. He can’t be hurt by our saying this. No accusation can touch him anymore. Do you truly think he would want it otherwise, now that he’s dead?”

  Edward shuddered and dragged his eyes away from her. “No. He wouldn’t.”

  “Then that is what I will tell the sheriff and the crowner when they come. That your father went out after Colfoot in a rage and killed him. You didn’t even know about it until now. They won’t have many questions for you after that. Do you understand?”

  His whole body stiff with pain, Edward nodded.

  In the bed Sister Emma stirred. She would shortly be awake. Frevisse, aware of how much simpler her questions would be – and that Edward needed to do something more than stand imprisoned with his thoughts – said to him, “Evan should not be here when Sister Emma awakes. A man in her room would sorely distress her. Will you help Magdalen move him to your bed?”

  Edward, ready to do what he was told, nodded again. Together he and Magdalen helped Evan to his feet and, with most of his weight on Edward, took him out of the room.

  Sister Emma roused with heavy coughing. It jerked her fully awake, and before Frevisse could give her anything to drink, she had sat up and leaned over the side of
bed, beginning to throw up.

  Frevisse caught up a basin from the table and held it for her until she had finished, then helped her ease back on the pillows and wiped her face with a damp cloth.

  “I feel awful,” Sister Emma moaned. “Awful.”

  “You’ll feel better soon, now that that’s out of you,” Frevisse said. She hoped she was right, but Sister Emma’s pallor was alarming.

  Bess had returned and been waiting. Now she came forward, and after she had felt Sister Emma’s face and laid an ear against her chest to listen to her breathing, she said, “Her fever hasn’t come back and the rheum’s not sunk into her lungs. It’s the medicine in her now that’s making her feel worse. She’ll be better for being awake and sitting up.”

  “And eating something,” Sister Emma croaked. “I think I’m starving.”

  Frevisse and Bess exchanged looks. “She’ll mend,” said Bess and went to see what could be found in the kitchen.

  Frevisse stayed with Sister Emma, and when Bess returned with broth and bread and ale, took the duty of feeding her while Bess, without a word, went with a cloth to clean the blood from the floor where Master Payne had fallen. Sister Emma could not see it from where she lay; Frevisse kept her own face turned away, unable to watch.

  When they were both done she gave Sister Emma’s care over to Bess and left without explanation. As she had told Edward, the sheriff and crowner would be here, probably soon, and there were matters she had to see to before they arrived.

  She went to Magdalen and Evan first. They were alone in Edward and Richard’s room. Magdalen had been weeping but was quiet now. Evan was as white and sunken with exhaustion as Frevisse felt. Neither of them said anything as Frevisse entered. She was not sure whether their silence was because there was nothing else to say, or because there was too much. Through the wall, unintelligible, she could hear Sister Emma’s unwitting chatter at Bess.

  “You heard what I said to Edward?” Frevisse asked. “About Colfoot?”