A Man's Word (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  “Arnulf would make me pay the fine that he didn’t get from the court.”

  “On top of the bride price?”

  “Yes,” Sigurd said.

  I had doubted Winston, but now I was convinced. The boy couldn’t have asked his father for enough money to buy himself a slave wench.

  “But the desire for revenge lived in you and when Darwyn swore himself free, that fed it,” I said. “Then when Arnulf refused to keep his promise to charge you only the standard bride price, the thirst for revenge overwhelmed you.”

  “No,” Rowena said calmly.

  Sigurd’s lips tensed and then he said tiredly, “No, I didn’t kill either of them. Ask Delwyn.”

  Delwyn? We looked at each other in surprise. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Sigurd sighed and said, “When I saw Darwyn walk away from the court, having lied his way out of what he’d done to Rowena, I was furious and thought only about revenge once the court had let us down.”

  I remembered him standing next to Arnulf, pale and angry, when Arnulf said that all agreements were now voided.

  “But how does Delwyn fit into this?” I asked.

  “He . . .” Sigurd sighed.

  Rowena leaned against him and kissed him on the cheek. “You don’t need to be ashamed,” she murmured.

  Winston, Alfilda, and I exchanged glances.

  “Ashamed?” Alfilda asked.

  “It’s common knowledge how Rowena and I feel about each other,” Sigurd said. “And Arnulf never made any attempt to hide the fact that he wanted to make twice as much money off this slave girl—first for the fine and then from the bride price. He even bragged about it whenever he was drunk.” Sigurd glared ashamedly at the table. Then he continued, “When Darwyn went free, Delwyn had me summoned and offered to pay the difference between the bride price and the sum Arnulf was demanding.”

  He blushed in shame at the thought, and I understood. Instead of taking revenge, he had allowed himself to be bought.

  “Sigurd chose me over revenge,” Rowena said, sounding proud and defiant. She seemed to be able to read what I was thinking.

  Before I had a chance to respond, Alfilda leaned forward and calmly asked, “And if you didn’t accept his offer?”

  Sigurd slumped and said, “He assured me that I would be a dead man before the sun set if Darwyn fell to my sword.”

  It was anything but an empty threat when a powerful thane said such a thing to a young farm boy.

  “And yet after the murder his angry suspicion was directed at Arnulf, not you. Why? He must have thought you chose honor in spite of your fear of his power.”

  Sigurd shook his head and said, “No, I was with Delwyn when news of his son’s death arrived.”

  That couldn’t be right. I thought back to the marketplace, where I’d run into the farmers, who asked me to keep an eye on their drunken companion. Then I remembered that it had been Sigvald, Herward, and Bjarne, the three men who had sworn with Arnulf, that I had run into.

  The boy was telling the truth.

  22

  Winston inhaled deeply and gave me an angry look. As if I could help the fact that the boy had the best alibi anyone could want for his innocence in this case.

  “You might have mentioned that to me before,” Winston grumbled at me.

  I didn’t even try to hide my annoyance.

  “You weren’t interested,” Rowena told me with a glare. “Last night you claimed that Sigurd killed Arnulf, and then when he denied it, you just ordered him to come to Thetford with you.”

  My look of fury didn’t intimidate her.

  “Sigurd and I talked about the murders last night, and he told me the whole thing,” Rowena explained, not looking any friendlier.

  I cursed to myself. The wench was right. I hadn’t pursued the matter yesterday. I just assumed that Sigurd was the obvious killer and let it go at that. Now I understood his frank looks at Winston earlier, as well as his girlfriend’s undaunted behavior.

  Suddenly I remembered that Winston had specifically sent me to the village to investigate whether there were any obvious reasons for the murder back where the whole case had begun. But after Sigurd showed up, I hadn’t pursued that any further.

  There was nothing else to do but to give Winston an apologetic look and let him know with a shrug that I’d screwed up and I knew it.

  “So we’re back to nowhere again,” Winston said calmly. He turned to Gertrude and said, “Mistress, do you have any suggestions as to who might have wanted your husband dead?”

  She smiled and said, “Arnulf did not have any friends. That’s what happens when you value silver above all else.”

  That was no answer.

  I thought it was about time for me to make up for my shortcomings, so I asked, “What about foes?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again and sat in silence for a long while before answering. “Foes, no. He was not a man who stood up to his superiors. Nor did he take up arms against his equals. There were those who wished he would go to Hel because he had power over them, but enemies, no.”

  I seized at her opening. “And who wanted him to go to the shadow land?”

  I had once heard a clergyman complain that the Christian faith lay over us as just a thin layer, we who not so many years ago had worshipped the old gods, which the king had only recently rejected, and whom my own grandfather had clung to until his death. One of the things that particularly riled this clergyman was how we failed to understand that the sufferings of hell involved fire, which burned hot. We continued to cling to the ancients’ belief that the fate of the wretched in the afterlife would be cold and rain.

  Gertrude obviously thought that an afterlife in the heat would be preferable to having to wander around in slush and wretched fog in Hel, and there was no reason not to let her believe that I shared her view.

  “If only I could list them for you,” Gertrude said with a joyless laugh. “Arnulf didn’t sit on his silver. It worked for him. He was always willing to lend his silver to a neighbor or someone who came with another man’s recommendation as surety, as long as they were willing to pay silver on silver when they repaid it. He never avoided a good deal either, and for him that generally meant one where the other guy lost at least as much as he gained from the deal. Does a man like that make enemies? Perhaps. He certainly ensures that no one will lift a finger to help him up if he should fall, even if they don’t personally hate him.”

  “And was there anyone Arnulf hated?” Winston held Gertrude’s eye.

  The widow shook her head and then began, “Not since . . .” She paused and didn’t say any more, but Winston wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

  “Since? Since what?”

  “Since the one he hated died. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Gertrude glanced over at Rowena and then Sigurd, and smiled wanly at them both. “There was someone, but the person in question died a long time ago.”

  I remembered what King Cnut had told me the first time we met: Don’t waste your hatred on a dead man.

  “In other words, not someone who killed Arnulf for hating them?” Winston said. Like me, Winston knew that other people’s hatred can be just as hard to bear as your own.

  “No.” Gertrude’s answer was firm and decisive.

  Alfilda, who had been unusually quiet for a while, shuddered and then asked, “Could someone have killed him expecting to inherit something from him?”

  “I’m his heir,” Gertrude said, suddenly terse.

  “The only one?” Alfilda gave me a look I couldn’t interpret.

  “We never had children,” Gertrude said dismissively.

  Rowena leaned forward and put a hand on her owner’s arm, which brought a brief smile to Gertrude’s face.

  “Well, if that’s everything,” Sigurd said, standing up.

  Winston glanced at Alfilda and she nodded subtly.

  “Just one moment more,�
� Winston said. “I believe Alfilda has a couple more questions.”

  I looked from Winston to Alfilda. He didn’t seem to have any better idea what she was going after than I did, but something important had occurred to her. Her face was placid, but there was a glint in her eye.

  “Did you become a slave by being captured by soldiers, Rowena?” Alfilda asked.

  Rowena shook her head.

  Alfilda turned to Sigurd and said, “You said before that Arnulf made no attempt to hide his desire to earn twice as much on ‘this slave girl.’ Why?”

  “Did I say that?” Sigurd looked slightly stunned from his girlfriend to Gertrude. “That was just . . . Did I say that?”

  I thought I saw what Alfilda was going for now, and her next question confirmed that.

  “Are you Arnulf’s daughter, Rowena?”

  The slave girl sighed, but didn’t answer.

  “I was surprised,” Alfilda said softly, as if she were talking to herself, “that Sigvald was willing to acknowledge a slave girl as his daughter-in-law. Not wanting to pay more than the going bride price is one thing, but why not ask his son to give up on the girl and find a free farm girl who would bring a farm or at least an inheritance to the marriage? And now I see why: Sigvald thought that someday Arnulf would be forced to recognize Rowena as his daughter.

  “Halfdan, who is a keen observer, told Winston and me that there was something he couldn’t figure out between you two”—she gestured toward Gertrude and Rowena—“and I was also surprised you would bring a slave and not a household servant with you when you rode to town to bring home your husband’s body, Gertrude.”

  The widow bit her lip.

  Winston, who had sat very quietly, nodded approvingly at Alfilda and leaned forward.

  “The truth, Gertrude, please,” said Winston.

  Her lips trembled, and then she straightened up.

  “I was given to Arnulf by my father, who owed him money. He lay with me when the need came over him, but otherwise he preferred the company of a slave woman he had bought for her beauty. In the beginning she refused to spread her legs for him, but whippings, hunger, and imprisonment have broken stronger women. So she lay with him, but never left him in any doubt of her hatred for him.

  “When she became with child, he wanted to grant her her freedom and drive me out, but she spit in his face at the suggestion and swore that if he forced her to accept her freedom from his hand, she would kill herself and the unborn child.

  “All he could do was say that he would take her son from her as soon as he was born, give him freedom and publicly recognize him as his child; but from that day on, his hatred for her was as ardent as hers for him.” Gertrude paused, biting her lip.

  “But the baby was a girl,” Winston said gently.

  Gertrude said, “Yes. And the woman died in childbed.”

  “And you?” Alfilda asked, leaning forward.

  “I had lost a baby a week earlier, a son, who tore my womb apart so I could never become heavy with child again. Arnulf forced me to nurse the girl, because, as he put it, she was worth money. But when he realized I was beginning to love her, he ripped her from me and brought her to the slave house because the hatred her mother bore for him still burned in him. He swore Rowena would pay for the loss her mother had inflicted on him by dying—her death, above all, meant the loss of her monetary value. So yes, Alfilda, it was a slip of the tongue on Sigurd’s part, but Arnulf did want to make as much money off this slave girl as he could.

  “And that’s why—and also because of her mother’s hatred—he refused to avenge her rape. That’s why he tried to collect the fine and as high a bride price as he could. And yes, Alfilda, Sigvald was willing to do a lot to secure his son’s marriage to Rowena.”

  “But surely Arnulf would hardly let Rowena inherit?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Hardly?” Gertrude laughed bitterly. “Never is more like it! But if I should outlive him, Rowena and Sigurd knew that I would acknowledge Rowena as my child right away. I breastfed her and let her come to me as often as possible. She is mine. She drank the milk that should have nourished my son. She was in my arms the minute Arnulf left the farm. That’s how it has always been.”

  Gertrude paused, watching us with her eyes aglow, and then said, “So call it my revenge at that unfeeling layabout of a man, that I should raise up the very person he had pushed down.”

  Winston turned to Sigurd. “And you told your father about Gertrude’s intention?” he asked.

  “My father wanted to force me to give up Rowena,” Sigurd said. “And marry the daughter of a free farmer instead. What was I supposed to do?”

  So we had learned two things: Arnulf was, if it was possible, an even shabbier man than we had previously believed; and Sigvald did have a reason to kill him.

  The Trails Diverge

  23

  So you think Sigvald did it?” I asked.

  We were alone, the three of us, after sending Gertrude and the two young lovers away. We leaned over the table and kept our voices down, although that was hardly necessary because of the racket from the patrons crowding the tavern’s tables.

  Winston didn’t respond to my question. He just reached out and took Alfilda’s hand.

  She let him stroke the back of her hand with his thumb, then licked her lips and looked up at me.

  “He has a motive,” Alfilda said.

  I didn’t believe it and said, “But Sigvald could just wait until Arnulf died an inglorious ‘straw death’ of old age or sickness, then the farm would have gone to Gertrude. Is Sigvald a poor man?”

  They shook their heads.

  “So Sigurd’s inheritance from his father isn’t small,” I said, my head spinning now. “I certainly appreciate that the more you have, the more you want, but I don’t believe that Sigvald would murder Arnulf to get his son an early inheritance.”

  They didn’t say anything. Winston’s thumb slid persistently over Alfilda’s hand.

  “It has to be one of the farmers,” Winston finally said, breaking his silence.

  “Nonsense.” I leaned back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “Everyone in the village had dozens of opportunities to kill Arnulf. They saw him in the pastures and in the fields, in the woods and behind the dunghill. And he was often alone. Not to mention how easy it would have been to lure him away from the farm to meet somewhere. All an attacker needed to do was entice him with a coin or two. It makes no sense to kill him in the middle of Thetford. Think of the risks! There are people all over the place. The murderer was remarkably lucky that no one witnessed the crime. You can’t plan on that kind of luck.”

  “What do you think happened?” Alfilda asked, pulling her hand free from Winston’s.

  “Darwyn was the target,” I said with a smile. “I don’t know what Arnulf saw or heard that made him a threat to the murderer, but somehow he knew something. Obviously it was common knowledge that Darwyn had a number of rapes on his conscience. The law spoke and found in favor of the rapist thanks to the perjury. Maybe Arnulf just figured out which boyfriend, brother, husband, or father had enough courage and a manly enough heart to take matters into his own hands after the court let everyone down.”

  Alfilda nodded but then seemed to change her mind, shaking her auburn locks. “No,” she said.

  “No?” I looked at her crossly.

  “Arnulf had been doubly wronged,” Alfilda said. “By the rape and the outcome of the court case. By killing Darwyn, the murderer avenged that double wrong. So Arnulf didn’t have any reason to reveal Darwyn’s killer.”

  “You’re forgetting the most important thing we know about that bumpkin,” I said, struggling to keep the arrogance out of my voice.

  “His love of silver,” Winston said.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Revenge is good; silver is better.”

  “You mean he was blackmailing the murderer?” Alfilda asked, shaking her head in bewilderment.

  “Arnulf refused
to kill the rapist even though he caught him with his cock in the slave girl and had witnesses,” I said, picking at the tabletop with my fingernail. “Sure, we heard how Arnulf hated Rowena’s mother, a hatred that guided his actions toward the girl. But believe me, a man who would rather seek a fine than cool his rage by seeking the revenge that was justified is a man who could turn things to his advantage. And for Arnulf, advantage was the same as silver.”

  Alfilda nodded reluctantly, while Winston stood up.

  “There are two trails—each of you will pursue your own.” Winston stretched.

  “What about you?” I asked, looking at him in surprise. “Which trail will you follow?”

  “I promised my coin smith friends that I would pay them a visit. Which is what I intend to do,” Winston said with a nod to me. Then he leaned over and kissed Alfilda’s ear and then the back of her head. With that, he left.

  My anger followed him across the room. By the time the door fell shut behind him, Alfilda had risen, too. She gave me a devil-may-care look and said, “Who knows, perhaps our two trails will converge.”

  It was late afternoon by now. The market, which I learned would run for another two days, was at its peak and packed with people and commotion: matrons with serving girls and slave wenches in tow; Vikings on the lookout for nice jewelry or ornate weapons on which they could spend their conquered silver; farmers comparing the prices of woolen items, linen tunics, and shoes with what they’d received for their own goods.

  Gruff guards pushed their way through the crowd, while thieves ducked under tent flaps, brazenly darting through the crowd and grabbing a money pouch here, a bundle there, and then rushed off as horrified cries of “Thief, thief!” rang out.

  Most of them managed to evade the hands attempting to catch them, but I watched as one pathetic puppy of a robber tripped over an outstretched leg and was brought, struggling and whining, to a large oak tree. There he quickly kicked the last bit of life out of himself, side by side with the swaying corpses of others who had thought they could escape the law of the market, which dictated that thieves who were caught in the act could be noosed up right away, without needing to wait until the hundred’s reeve had time to hear their case.