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

by Martin Jensen

  I nodded.

  Winston stood up and said, “You’re right. It’s worth a try. If it works, we have our murderer.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” I asked, getting to my feet as well.

  “Then we’ll have to try to lure one of them into a trap. But let’s check if Arnulf had a list of debtors first.”

  I let them go ahead and then strolled over to the woolen goods stall on my way out. Brigit stood with her eyes downcast as I leaned in toward her.

  “Expect me tonight,” I said.

  “But . . .” she didn’t continue because her husband had turned toward us.

  “Tonight,” I repeated and hurried after my master and his lady friend.

  33

  When we got back to the tavern, there was no trace of anyone from the village, so it took a while to track down Gertrude. Willibrord told us the three farmers had left the tavern just after us, and that the women and Sigurd had stuck around briefly before they went out as well.

  This news about the farmers made us discuss whether there was a risk that they might run off. Winston didn’t think so. If only one of them was guilty, he wouldn’t dare reveal himself, and if he somehow did anyway, the others would keep him here.

  “Why would they?” I protested.

  “They’re farmers, up against a powerful thane and the reeve. If they let a neighbor sneak off after he killed the thane’s son and clearly broke the reeve’s orders, they would certainly feel the weight of the noblemen’s revenge.”

  I wasn’t convinced. I was about to head out to look for Gertrude, in the hopes that she would let us look through Arnulf’s effects, when Winston agreed with my suggestion to send one of the tavern’s slaves to Stigand with news of the situation. Stigand was a man of action, and as soon as he realized who the message was from, I was confident he would send word to the guards at the town gates that they should keep an eye out and prevent any of the farmers from leaving town.

  We decided Winston and Alfilda would stay at the inn to catch Gertrude if she turned up, while I took a turn through the market. I popped back into the tavern three times, since all of us wanted to be there when we finally talked to the widow. On each occasion, Winston looked up from the table right across from the door where he and Alfilda were sitting and shook his head.

  I was on my fourth round of the market and coming down a narrow lane behind the wool merchant’s stall when I allowed myself to take a brief rest, since the spot permitted an excellent view of Brigit’s alluring rump.

  A merchant with at least six boxes balanced on his head was trying to squeeze by me. His arms stretched upward as he strained to hold his swaying boxes in place. I took a step back to make room for him.

  Someone behind me exclaimed in warning, but it was too late because I’d already stepped on his or her foot. That person turned out to be Gertrude, who eyed me reproachfully, and I hurriedly apologized for the pain I’d caused her.

  “But you’re just the person I’ve been looking for, Gertrude. My master is waiting for us back at the inn.”

  Women are funny. Most of the women I’ve encountered are unlike men. If you give a man a piece of information—let alone an order—most men will simply accept it without wanting to know why. Women on the other hand . . . I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had to convince a woman to obey me, when a man would have just said “alright” and done whatever I’d said. In this regard, Gertrude was more like a man than a woman. She simply nodded, asked me to lead the way, and then calmly walked back to the inn with me.

  This was not so much the case with Rowena, who followed in her lady’s wake, hand in hand with Sigurd. Sigurd didn’t say anything. In fact, he looked as though the world could demand anything it wanted of him as long as he could obey the orders without letting go of his girlfriend’s hand. Rowena, on the other hand, began a barrage of questions: “What happened? Did you find anything out? Do you know who the murderer is?”

  The wench peppered me with these questions and more. Relieved to have found Gertrude, I brushed all the questions aside as I led them toward the inn, where Winston and Alfilda got up the instant they saw us.

  Winston politely asked Gertrude to follow him and Alfilda upstairs, and she immediately complied. Rowena apparently thought the request pertained to her as well, and since Winston made no move to stop her or Sigurd, I let them go ahead of me. Thus Rowena’s bottom was right in front of my eyes as I climbed the stairs, and I was able to determine that its curves were every bit as nice as Brigit’s.

  Winston stopped in the hallway in front of the door to Gertrude’s room and quietly explained to Gertrude what he wanted.

  “We’re certain that the murderer is one of two people. If among Arnulf’s effects you can find some kind of account of who owed him money, we might be able to solve the case. Would you help us?”

  The widow nodded and held her hand up to shush Rowena, who wanted to know immediately who the two men were.

  “Listen, my child,” Gertrude told her. “You and I can both figure out they’re men from the village, otherwise my husband wouldn’t have recorded anything about them. Of course you’re afraid one of them is your future father-in-law, but I honestly don’t care. For me it’s a question of getting this business resolved so we can go home and get going on everything that’s waiting there.”

  A wise woman. Amazingly enough, Rowena didn’t say anything, but what struck me most was that Sigurd didn’t react at all to the notion that his father might be a murderer. Apparently he was still satisfied just to be able to hold Rowena’s hand. There you see what being in love can do to a man.

  The women’s room wasn’t large. Actually, it was so small that Winston chose to step aside and let Gertrude go in while he signaled to the rest of us with a hand gesture that we should wait outside.

  I stared past Alfilda’s shoulder at the widow, who leaned over and fished around under the bed. A moment later she stood up with a leather pouch in her hand.

  She loosened the drawstring that held it closed and dumped the contents onto the bed. We all instinctively craned our necks and followed her hand excitedly as she picked through the things she’d dumped out: a narrow ingot that gleamed of silver, four gold coins, two silver armbands, and a flat wooden disk.

  Winston exhaled a sigh, cocked his head at Gertrude, and when she nodded, held out his hand for the disk.

  The light in the hallway where we were standing wasn’t good enough, so Winston had to push his way past Gertrude to the little round window at the far side of the tiny bedroom.

  We watched him in silence as his fingers followed the marks carved in the wood. Finally he looked up and summoned me over to him with a bent finger. I obeyed, watching wide-eyed as he handed me the disk.

  Though I hadn’t mastered the art of reading and Winston knew as much, I let my eyes scan the wood and laughed to myself. Of course Arnulf hadn’t learned any of those odd letters that Winston and other schooled people use either. Runes, on the other hand, he was familiar with, and like me he could both carve them and read them.

  As we stepped back into the tavern, I couldn’t help but gasp involuntarily because just as we set our feet on the floor, the door opened and the three farmers walked in. I grinned at Winston and he responded with a shrug of his shoulders, because he didn’t believe any more than I did in miracles that made men appear just when it suited us best.

  They noticed our serious expressions as we approached them.

  “You have news?” Sigvald asked.

  Winston said, “Yes. Shall we have a seat?”

  He had Gertrude and the young lovers sit all the way against the wall, Bjarne next to them, and Alfilda at the end of the table. He sat down at the other end and gestured that Herward and Sigvald should sit down on the bench on the long side of the table, which they did, both with uneasy glances at me when I didn’t sit down but instead leaned against a pillar just behind them.

  Willibrord rushed over and when Winston requested tanka
rds of ale for everyone, our host made a clicking noise to a slave wench that she should bring the first few and he would bring the rest as soon as he’d filled them.

  Winston raised his tankard, drank, and then set it down. None of the farmers drank.

  “Three hundred shillings. More than your farm is worth, I would imagine.” Winston dropped the words onto the table, but all of us who’d been up in the women’s room a minute ago knew whom he was talking to.

  Sigvald apparently also figured it out, because he turned toward Herward.

  Herward licked his lips.

  “Had Arnulf promised to forgive your debt if he won the court case?” Winston asked, looking right into Herward’s eyes. “Even though,” he continued, “it wasn’t like him to forgive such a large sum. Surely he would sooner have offered you some sort of peaceful arrangement.”

  Herward didn’t say anything. His eyes were twitching.

  “Did the sheep deal fall through?” Winston asked. “And yet. Only an idiot would lose three hundred shillings on a sheep deal.”

  Sigvald turned to Herward and said, “You’ve never been a good farmer.”

  “No, we heard that while we were waiting for you back in the village,” Winston said. “So you put money into both farming and sheep trading?”

  Herward tried to stand up from the bench, but I stepped forward and placed my hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. It took a couple of heartbeats before I realized that he was speaking to Gertrude.

  “He should have kept his word,” Herward muttered.

  “So I was right,” Winston said. “You agreed to an amicable solution?”

  Herward suddenly seemed drained of his strength. His body slumped, and even his tousled hair looked thinner than before.

  “I’ve been losing money for years. Arnulf was willing to loan me money and, without my realizing it, my debt grew out of control. Last winter he laid it out for me, how much I owed him. I couldn’t even make reasonable installment payments. I had to transfer my farm to him. And then the rape . . .” He looked at Rowena, who looked back without blinking. “The court case was supposed to . . . Well, you knew him. He was almost giddy at the thought of winning against a nobleman. So he promised me I could stay on the farm if he won . . . no, when he won . . . and pay off the debt in installments.”

  “A promise that he took back after the court decision?” Winston said.

  Herward nodded.

  Winston continued. “And then you were powerless, so impotent that you seized the opportunity when you ran into Darwyn.”

  “I didn’t plan it. It just happened,” Herward said, nodding again.

  “But then I prevented Delwyn from killing Arnulf and you were forced to do it yourself.”

  Another nod.

  “And then Alwyn came to see you?”

  Herward shook his head and said, “No, but he knew of my distress. One time when I was drunk, I confided in him.” A tear ran down Herward’s cheek, paving the way for more, which wet his beard. “He was a man of his word, Alwyn, and he didn’t tell anyone. But then—”

  “Then suddenly he was standing here in the tavern, claiming he’d figured the whole thing out,” Winston summarized and drank a swig of ale.

  We were all staring at Herward, who was on the verge of sobbing outright.

  “He was a good man,” Herward said.

  Unlike Arnulf, I understood him to mean. The murderer had not shed any tears at the loss of that skinflint Arnulf.

  A deafening silence prevailed around the table. Rowena squeezed Sigurd’s hand, Gertrude cried softly to herself, and Bjarne glanced at Sigvald, who was sitting very still.

  “What are you going to do . . . to me?” Herward asked feebly.

  “I suppose I’ll have to . . .” Winston began, but was interrupted by the sound of the door. We all turned and saw Delwyn striding across the floor, his footsteps heavy. He was followed by three spearmen.

  “The reeve tells me you’ve had the gates sealed.” Delwyn eyed Winston coolly.

  “That’s not entirely correct. I . . .” Winston didn’t get any further than that.

  Delwyn’s eyes were glued to the sobbing Herward.

  “Him?” the thane asked.

  We were all silent. The farmer crying was the only sound.

  Delwyn leaned toward the Saxon farmer and growled, “You murdered my son?”

  Herward collapsed, sinking to his knees on the floor like an empty bladder, where he clasped the thane’s calves, pleading, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  I heard the door open again and turned to look in spite of the drama unfolding before me. Stigand stood in the doorway.

  Delwyn kicked at Herward, who continued to cling to his legs, and when Delwyn couldn’t free himself, he reached down and grabbed the farmer’s shoulder. He pulled him to his feet and shoved him forcefully toward the door.

  “Out!” he yelled.

  Herward yammered and stretched out his hands to us at the table. No one moved.

  Stigand stepped aside to make way for the thane’s spearmen. They went out, and then another shove sent the murderer out the door. Breathing heavily, Delwyn strode after him, followed by the rest of us. Gertrude tried to hold Rowena back, but the girl shook her mistress’s hand off and pulled her boyfriend outside with her. Alfilda squeezed Winston’s hand, and I walked out with Sigvald. Only Bjarne remained seated at the table, I noted.

  By the time I made it outside, Herward was crawling away from Delwyn, sobbing. Delwyn ordered his men forward with a yell.

  I turned to Stigand and said, “Doesn’t the reeve have anything to say about this?”

  Stigand gave me a gruff smile and replied, “If I understand things correctly, that man is the murderer?”

  I nodded.

  “And Delwyn is entitled to take revenge on him for murdering his son?” Stigand said.

  I nodded again. Stigand’s only response was a raised eyebrow.

  The men had gotten Herward to his feet and turned him to face the thane. Delwyn drew his sword and was striding toward the farmer with his weapon drawn. With a howl, the Saxon farmer freed himself from the men’s grasp, turned and staggered away, wracked with sobs, but was stopped by the circle of chattering, curious onlookers who had flocked around at the first sign that something was going on.

  While Herward searched in vain for an opening in the crowd that he could slip away through, Delwyn stood, legs wide apart, weighing his sword in his hand.

  “Turn around and meet your destiny,” Delwyn said, his voice slicing through the murmur of the onlookers.

  Herward screamed and tried to push his way into the crowd at the closest point. When he couldn’t manage to force his way through, he turned around and ran sobbing around the perimeter of the circle.

  Delwyn grimly watched Herward’s attempt to get away, which was foiled by the ring of onlookers. Then he resheathed his sword and held out his hand to one of his spearmen, who handed him his spear. He weighed the spear in his hand, peered at Herward’s back, and then let the weapon fly. It took less than a heartbeat from when it left his grasp until it skewered Herward’s back.

  Herward fell flat on his face, howling in pain, and kicking at the ground with his feet. His body shuddered. His muscles tensed in pain and then relaxed as he died with the sudden stench of shit.

  By then, Thane Delwyn had already turned and left.

  34

  The message arrived from Delwyn just as we sat down to dinner. Winston, Alfilda, and I were on our own. None of the others were in the tavern. Gertrude had been up in her room since we’d returned to the inn, and Rowena was with her. Sigurd had reluctantly consented to go with his father to see the reeve.

  Sigvald had wanted Turstan’s word that they could leave Thetford. Of course he realized as much as we did that the reeve’s orders for the farmers not to exit the gates could no longer apply. Still he insisted on obtaining permission to leave from Turstan’s own mouth so that—as he put i
t—he wouldn’t be guilty of having disobeyed an order.

  It had been seen before, he claimed. We nodded in confirmation that since farmers did indeed have to pay a price for not having secured a nobleman’s explicit permission, it was wise to obtain the reeve’s express consent in advance.

  Bjarne had not come outside with us when we followed the revenge-hungry Delwyn, but we found him at the door when we returned to the tavern after Herward was killed.

  Bjarne walked over to his dead neighbor’s body in silence. The body lay alone on the ground now that the onlookers had drifted off and Delwyn’s spearmen had left with their master. Bjarne bent over the body, briefly placed his hand on Herward’s shoulder, and then stood back up.

  From the doorway I had watched him walk over to Stigand, ask him a question, and then look around as Stigand nodded. Bjarne spotted three shabbily dressed men of the type that can be found in any town, who get by on whatever work is available, and summoned them over. A coin wandered from his hand to one of theirs, after which they picked up Herward’s body and carried him off, followed by Bjarne, who didn’t look back.

  After that, I had sat alone over a tankard of ale, wondering how early Brigit would leave her husband’s market stall and return to her room. I decided probably not until after dinner, so I welcomed Winston and Alfilda when they joined me. They’d been up in their room since we came back inside and now wanted something to eat, which suited me just fine since I hadn’t eaten anything since the bread and pork I’d had with Alwyn.

  “We’ll move on tomorrow,” Winston said, accepting a clay bowl of peas and pork from Willibrord, who nodded at the information.

  I had asked for cabbage and pork and was enticed by the aroma that rose from the bowl placed in front of me.

  “And what about Cnut’s job?” I asked.

  “That’s what sends us on,” Winston grumbled, wiping grease from the corners of his mouth. “We were sent to Saint Edmund’s Town, I’m sure you remember. That’s where our assignment is. The good coin makers gave me quite a bit of information, and I really think they’re well informed enough that there’s nothing more for us to obtain here in Thetford. But you know how a monastery buzzes with rumors. So let’s head to Edmund’s Town and keep our ears open.”