The door banged shut behind them.
“You found Arnulf?” Winston asked.
“Yes.”
“Dead?” Alfilda asked.
“Yes,” I said again, and explained that Stigand had informed the reeve.
“Do tell,” said Winston, sitting back down and gesturing to the bench across from him.
They both listened to my account and then sat for a while, Winston with his hands folded on the table in front of him, Alfilda with one of her hands on his arm again.
“So Stigand thinks Delwyn took his revenge?”
I confirmed this.
“And what do you think?” Winston asked.
I grinned at them. “I think words mean a lot right now. Untruthful as well as truthful. I believe Delwyn will swear himself free in this case.”
“And will he be swearing truthfully?” Winston asked with a penetrating stare.
“In my opinion, yes.”
Winston was quiet again. Then he looked me in the eye. “Do we owe Arnulf anything?”
Before I could respond, Alfilda said quietly, “He did show us hospitality.”
“And,” I said just as quietly, “that would give us an excuse for remaining in town for a while.”
“So we’re going to—” Winston didn’t get any further than that.
The door to the tavern opened and Reeve Turstan’s expensively dressed form entered. He headed straight for our table.
“You!” He was pointing at me. “You led Stigand to the body.”
I saw Stigand glance at me from behind Turstan.
“No,” I replied.
“So my man is lying?” Turstan said, glaring at me.
“That depends on what he said.” I leaned back on the bench forgetting there was no backrest, so I must have looked downright silly as I jerked back upright trying to regain my balance.
“He told me you led him to the paddock and then to the body.”
I looked over Turstan’s shoulder at Stigand and shook my head sadly. “If he used the word ‘led,’ then, yes, he’s lying.”
I saw Stigand blink, and I understood. That was the reeve’s word choice, not his. I turned back to Turstan. “As I’m sure Stigand told you, it occurred to us that Arnulf might have fled, fearing Delwyn’s thirst for revenge. We both thought of it at the same time, and we walked down to the paddock to see if Arnulf’s horse was there. My horse led us to the body. Hopefully you won’t hold that against me.”
Reeve Turstan didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. “The farmer had no reason to fear Delwyn.”
Now Winston joined in. “Surely farmers always think they have reason to fear thanes.”
“Farmers think a lot of things. Law and order prevail in my town.” Turstan flung his hand up in a gesture of annoyance, and I thought it was wisest not to mention that the previous day’s court session had demonstrated that law and order did not always ensure justice.
“If I might ask?” Winston is always his most polite when he most wants to be impolite. “What does Delwyn himself say?”
“I have sent men for him.” Turstan heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up. Our traveling companions were coming downstairs with Sigvald in the lead. There was no knowing whether they were drawn by the noise or hunger due to the approaching dinner hour. They stopped short when they saw the reeve.
“You found him!” Alwyn exclaimed.
Before anyone could respond, the front door flung open again, and Delwyn walked in with three soldiers. It was starting to get crowded in this tavern.
“You had me summoned.” Delwyn didn’t deign to look at the rest of us, addressing only the reeve.
“I wanted to inform you that Arnulf the Farmer has been found dead.”
Delwyn’s eyes widened. “Dead? Killed?”
“Yes,” Turstan said.
“Who did it?” Delwyn glanced at the rest of us.
“That we don’t know,” Turstan said, biting his lip.
Delwyn looked at Winston and said, “You asserted yesterday that Arnulf hadn’t killed my son. Do you still claim this?”
Winston nodded.
“Do you think I believed you?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Winston’s voice.
Delwyn looked back at Turstan and growled, “Shall I swear to my innocence?”
Turstan opened his mouth, but Winston spoke first. “That’s hardly necessary.”
Everyone looked at Winston, who gestured to me and said, “Tell them where you found Arnulf.”
I repeated my account and looked at Stigand as I finished and asked, “Do you agree?”
He cleared his throat and said yes.
“And my oath, which I will gladly give, isn’t necessary, because . . . ?” Delwyn began, his brow furrowed.
“Because Arnulf was stabbed with a knife.” I strove to speak as objectively as possible. Everyone was staring at me now, so I continued. “The stab wound in his chest was too narrow to have been caused by a sword or a spear. The cut in his neck was thin, almost delicate. At any rate, it wasn’t from a sword. It came from Arnulf pulling away from a swinging knife blade.”
I nodded to Delwyn and his men and explained, “You carry swords and spears. Your daggers are double-edged and wide. Arnulf was defending himself against a single-edged knife.”
The tavern was completely silent. If I were a bard, I would have been proud of my ability to captivate my audience.
“Arnulf grabbed with his left hand to fend off the blow,” I explained. “Only his fingers were cut by the blade. If the knife had been double-edged, he would have had wounds in his palm as well. He had that in his right hand since his palm was facing the knife he was fending off. The fingers of his right hand, however, had no wounds.”
I stopped.
Delwyn was the first to speak. “My son was also stabbed with a knife.” Then he looked at the farmers. All farmers carry a single-edged knife.
I cleared my throat and continued. “That occurred to us as well, Delwyn. But two things suggest the farmers didn’t do it: Why would they kill your son? His lie did not harm them. It only harmed Arnulf. And why go to Thetford to kill Arnulf? Surely they had better opportunities to do that at home.”
Silence fell over the tavern. Everyone seemed to be considering what I’d said.
When Delwyn finally spoke, he was still growling. “You and your master can certainly think. Do you believe there’s any connection between the two murders?”
I let Winston respond. “It seems obvious that there isn’t.”
Delwyn turned to look at Turstan and said, “Thank you for not demanding my oath. But my son perjured himself, and if I have to live with that shame, I would feel better at least knowing his murderer had been found.”
He looked me in the eye and said, “Will you clear up the murder of my son?”
“I’m not my own man.”
Delwyn turned to Winston, who nodded. “We will get to the bottom of both killings if we can.”
It was drizzling and although the evening was mild, I shivered in my wet clothes. The red gelding stretched beneath me, seeming glad to be allowed to move, and the trail lay open ahead of me, so I maintained a good speed and would reach my destination before dark.
Winston had sent me north, back toward where the case had begun. I would have preferred to stay in Thetford doing my part to solve the mystery. However, Winston felt that in town we would bump into Turstan no matter where we turned, and since Winston was the one who paid my wages, the decision was his.
And he was probably right, my master.
Which was why I was now riding north toward Arnulf’s farm instead of resting between Brigit’s inviting thighs.
15
Nothing is ever as straightforward as one would like, however.
Turstan had pulled Delwyn away from the rest of us by his arm, and into the shadows up against the wall. We couldn’t hear everything they said, but Turstan was obviously expressing his dissatisfaction.
Delwyn had twisted his arm free from Turstan’s grasp, looked over his shoulder at Winston, and said, “When you have the murderer, bring him to me.”
Winston nodded.
Turstan flung up his hands, giving up. He looked at the farmers who stood in silence by the stairs, watching the angry nobleman with wide eyes.
“You lot stay here,” Turstan instructed the farmers.
“Our business in Thetford is done,” Sigvald said, looking up suddenly.
“But you will remain here!” Turstan spat. “In my experience, men are killed by people they know, people who are close to them. Let the damn illuminator look elsewhere for the murderer. When he eventually admits the folly of his investigation, then you can leave.” He paused and then added, “Once you’ve sworn to your innocence.”
“But . . .” Sigvald said, pushed to the front of his group by the others, “we can’t sit around here in the tavern, waiting for days.”
Turstan twisted his lips into a stiff smile and conceded, “You can go as far as the gates.”
It was an unreasonable order, that farmers should sit trapped in a town when the spring farmwork was only half-done in their fields and meadows. But Turstan did not give them the opportunity to argue. He turned his back on them and walked toward the door, his legs stiff. Then he waited for Stigand to open it for him and stepped out, not like a man leaving a tavern, but like one entering his hall.
Delwyn hesitated a little, then agreed, and exited, followed by his three soldiers.
It was quiet. Winston tugged on his nose. Alfilda’s eyes were on the farmers, who hadn’t moved since coming downstairs. I was contemplating how many farm wenches Darwyn had raped.
“Can any of you tell me anything that could simplify my task?” Winston eyed the five farmers. Herward snorted so his mustache quivered. Alwyn scratched his crotch. Bjarne ran his fingers through his beard. Sigvald pulled his knife in and out of his sheath until he suddenly realized what he was doing, stuck it back in, and let go of the handle. His son looked at the floor, biting his lip.
“Well?” Winston asked patiently.
They shook their heads.
Winston let me eat before sending me off. At Alfilda’s suggestion that we find a place to eat where we could sit by ourselves, we left the tavern and found an ale tent at the edge of the market. We sat down at the farthest table, out where the meadow began its drop down to the river.
“Turstan is right, isn’t he?” Alfilda asked, biting into a piece of rye bread so sour that she made a face and set it down again. Instead she took a bite of one of the boiled pork neck bones, which had been placed before us in a dish, bit off a good-sized chunk of it and licked the drippings off her fingers before she pushed the clay dish over to me.
“About what?” Winston asked, drinking from the birch burl cup.
“Killing is often done by someone who knows the victim,” Alfilda said, sucking on a finger. “Murder, I mean. Not killing in battle or a barroom brawl.”
And of course she—and Turstan—were right about that. I have yet to see a man be murdered by a stranger. A stranger might kill someone by accident, but murder takes place between people who know each other.
“And yet Turstan didn’t make the farmers swear right then and there,” I pointed out. The meat was tender, and I sucked a neck bone clean.
Winston smiled fleetingly, then spoke. “He emphasized that since Delwyn chose to go his own way in seeking revenge, that’s the path the reeve has to follow.” He paused to take a bite of the meat, then licked the grease from the corners of his mouth before continuing. “Delwyn chose us. Turstan interprets that to mean that he no longer needs to solve the mystery.”
“Yeah,” I said, spitting out a thyme stem. “But then why not let the farmers go home?”
Alfilda was the one who responded. “Turstan doesn’t think we can solve the case.”
“Exactly,” Winston said, looking at me. “And hadn’t you just told him and everyone else that we don’t think one of the farmers killed both victims? In other words, he’s hoping we’ll fail. Then he can take over the case and show that one of the farmers is the murderer.”
“I was right when I said they weren’t, wasn’t I?”
“I think so,” said Alfilda. “For the reasons you stated. None of them had any score to settle with Darwyn, and each of them had had countless opportunities to murder Arnulf back at home.”
“Darwyn could have done something to one of their women,” I said, thinking about what Turstan had said.
Winston and Alfilda nodded.
“I thought that, too.” Winston spat out a piece of cartilage. “That’s why you’re going to ride to the village.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“For a few reasons,” Winston continued. “Here in town, the reeve will undoubtedly try to impede our investigation. Which he can do as easily as he can scratch his own ass. So let’s make sure there’s no overlooked reason for murder back where the case began. Let’s make sure that Darwyn was the only one Arnulf had a case against. Once we’re sure of that, we can meet the good reeve and point out that the case needs to be solved here in town. If necessary, we’ll convince the farmers to swear to their innocence and thereby force Turstan to help us, or at least to remove the impediments from our path.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just have them swear their innocence now?” I asked.
“It would”—Winston acknowledged with his familiar knowing smile—“but you’re forgetting one thing.”
“The reeve won’t accept it,” Alfilda said.
The dish was empty, and I pushed it to the middle of the table, let Alfilda fill my cup from the pitcher, and eyed Winston.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“What’s Arnulf’s wife’s name?” Winston asked.
Alfilda and I stared blankly at each other.
“I really have no idea,” I finally admitted.
Winston leaned forward, looking expectantly at Alfilda, who shook her head.
“I don’t remember it either,” she said.
“Because no one ever told us her name,” Winston said. “That’s no way for a farmer to treat his wife. And not just any farmer, a well-to-do farmer so rich that all three of us thought he was a thane. He didn’t invite her to join us at the table even though there were guests for dinner. He didn’t introduce her or let her meet Alfilda, which is customary when a woman comes to visit. He was greedy and obsessed with money as we’ve seen, but also obviously stingy in other ways toward his wife.”
Winston paused and drained his cup.
“Am I the only one of us who would be interested in knowing how a wife who has been treated that way by her husband reacts when she receives the news that he’s been murdered?”
16
I reached Arnulf’s farm before nightfall. The ride sat like lead in my thighs as I arduously swung my leg over and out of the saddle. Although the drizzle had stopped a while ago, I still felt damp and cold, and I was looking forward to a blazing fire and a tankard of warm ale.
It was quiet. Not even the sound of a dog.
My red gelding neighed and a shiver ran down his flank. I put a hand on his shoulder, drew my sword, and peered around, alert. I had never known a village to be this quiet. As a rule, you were greeted by dogs barking as soon as you approached the outer fence; barks alerted the menfolk and sent the women and children indoors until the men made sure that the traveler came in peace.
I looked up. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but the sky was still lit by the dusk. A shadow swooped in from the right, and I heard the rustle of a nightjar, so I immediately raised my left hand with my pinkie and ring finger outstretched the way Harding had taught me to ward off the evil of the wretched dead, doomed to fly
in the form of the bird.
I sniffed. The sour odor of smoke hit my nostrils—not the smell of burning, I determined, but the smell of wet firewood and damp peat. A glance at the roofline revealed gray smoke rising from the smokehole. I turned to look at the other two farms in the village and saw white smoke rising. I suppose Arnulf figured his wife, slaves, and servants could make do without dry wood for a proper fire when he was away.
With my sword at the ready, I walked around behind my horse, who stood stock-still. I peered around from building to building without seeing anything suspicious. Then I walked up to the door, and rapped on it with my sword hilt.
There was no discernable sound from inside.
Once again I scanned the area without spotting anything that looked out of place and then hammered my hilt on the door again.
It took a while, but then it opened a crack to me.
“I’m Halfdan bearing a message for the wife of Arnulf the Farmer.”
The words were hardly out before the door was shut in my face. I stared at its solid timbers in outrage, shivered grumpily in my wet clothes, and then heard the gelding nicker. When I turned around, I swore a grumbling curse at the sight of four men behind me. Why I hadn’t heard them, I had no idea. They were way too close to me.
The one on my left lowered his sword, which caused the rest to slowly follow suit, but from their hesitation, I had already determined that I was not facing soldiers. So I lunged at them with a bellow, feinting at their leader with my sword, but allowing the blade to drop so that it slid in below his spear shaft, which I was then able to knock out of his hand.
The other three jumped back in fear, but since I had determined these were men from the two other farms in the village, I lowered my sword and addressed their spearless leader.
“You heard me. I’m Halfdan and I have business with Arnulf’s wife.”
He opened his mouth, swallowed, and then croaked that she was in the hall behind me.
“Mists of Hel, don’t you think I already know that?” I resheathed my sword with exaggerated drama. “Call in there and make them open up.”
A Man's Word (The King's Hounds series) Page 9
