Long Jack pushed through the materials, using his cudgel to move the cloth aside as he came closer, ever closer. There was no sound but the rasping breath of Lybbe’s victim and the cold tones of the merchant. Long Jack got to the edge of the last hanging screen of material, and took a deep breath as he prepared to rush forward.
That was when Hugh hit him over his ear, and he fell like a pole-axed steer.
The sudden crack, rustle, and groaning sigh as the man fell made Lybbe look quickly over his shoulder. Hugh shrugged, and the merchant nodded. “Your last friend seems to be having a sleep now. What’s your decision, friend?”
“I give in, I surrender,” the man gasped.
Lybbe eyed him contemplatively, then kicked him hard in the base of the spine. The leader fell prostrate before the other two, who stared at their friend with angry consternation. “Get that garbage out of my stall, and don’t let it back here,” Lybbe rapped out. “You’re lucky. There are two of you, and two pieces of excrement to take away, so go!”
Hugh watched as the two men circled warily round the merchant and grabbed their friends. The unconscious man was dragged away, his head bumping gently over each tussock of grass, while the other had to be helped to his feet, cradling his sore arm, and led off.
When they had disappeared, Lybbe tossed his new cudgel up, spinning, and caught it again. “And now, ladies, after what you have gone through, and especially since your servant here has just saved me from a beating, you can have your choice of cloth for half-price.”
Simon and Baldwin stared as Lizzie hurled her cup at Holcroft’s head. He ducked and it hurtled past him, shattering against the far wall.
“Murderer! Killer! Coward! Why did you have to kill him? What had he done that many others hadn’t already – eh? Was it because you were so weak you had to kill him? You never dared speak to me much before, did you?”
Baldwin prepared to grab her in case she flew at Holcroft. “Lizzie, please, be quiet and explain yourself.”
“Quiet? Why should I be quiet? I accuse him, that man, our port-reeve, of killing Roger.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s always wanted me, ever since he first saw me in here. Because he spotted me going off to my room with Roger yesterday, and was waiting at the doorway when I came out. He didn’t come into the tavern afterward – he must’ve hurried after Roger and killed him.”
Baldwin glanced at Holcroft.
The port-reeve sat with his head lowered as if expecting another missile. He had never anticipated that Lizzie would accuse him of murder. Hearing her denounce him gave him a fleeting terror, as if her contempt had scalded his very soul. But somehow it made him feel easier, as if her outburst had destroyed his infatuation completely, leaving nothing, not even regret, in its wake.
The loathing in her voice had cured him of his love for her, whatever its cause. He lifted his head and met Baldwin’s gaze steadily.
“She’s right. I did want her, and I was devastated when I saw her leaving the room arm-in-arm with Roger. But I swear I had no part in his death.”
“You were there waiting when I left my room,” she blazed.
“Yes, I was. If I’d wanted to kill Roger, I would’ve been out in the road to ambush him.”
“Oh, rubbish. You had time to chase after him, to stab him and…”
Baldwin held up a hand. “Please, Lizzie, you have done enough guessing and accusing already. Calm yourself. Agatha – more ale! Now, Lizzie, tell us exactly what happened when you, er, finished with Torre.”
She glared at Holcroft as she spoke, her voice still trembling with anger. “I heard the bell for compline, and realized we’d been longer than I’d intended, so I got up and dressed while he was still in bed. When I told him that Holcroft here fancied me, he said he had had no idea. He was upset, thinking he might have made the port-reeve miserable by taking me from the tavern so obviously, especially since Master Holcroft had been arguing with him. That argument must have been very nasty, that’s all I can say!”
“Yes, and what then?”
Under his patient questioning, she organized her thoughts. “He dressed and went out. I was still braiding my hair and putting it right. I put on my coif, and had to retie my apron, and I’d missed one of my shoes, so I had to find that and then I went out. As I was shutting the door, I saw him, Holcroft, leaning against the doorway to the tavern.”
“So he was at the back door to the screens?”
“Yes,” she snapped, irritated by the interruption. “He stood there as I came out. When I walked toward him, he turned round and went away.”
Baldwin nodded. “Holcroft?”
“That’s all true enough. I had been waiting a while. I remember the sound of a door opening and slamming, and when I looked, I saw Torre. He saw me at the same time, and hung his head as if he was ashamed, and hurried past me. I waited some time longer, and was about to go back in when Lizzie came out. She looked right through me.” He sipped his drink. “I decided to go home.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Which way did you go, Holcroft?”
“Straight up the hill toward Brentor.”
“So the other way from Torre.”
“He must have run after Roger and killed him!” Lizzie proclaimed.
“Was Torre a fool?” Simon asked caustically. “Was he deaf? Are you telling us you think a man would walk down a road in the middle of a fair at night-time, and not turn at the sound of approaching feet? If he heard someone running after him, he would have readied himself in case he was to be attacked.”
“Not Roger. He knew his way around the town, he’d been here every year for ages. If he heard someone coming down the road after him, he’d just think it was someone in a hurry.”
“You’ve just told us that Roger was nervous at the thought of upsetting Holcroft here,” Simon pointed out. “If that’s so, he’d certainly have kept an ear out for any steps hurrying after him – unless he was a complete idiot! Who would turn his back on a man who thought his woman had been stolen?”
“I wasn’t his woman,” Lizzie said lamely.
“And what of Elias?” Baldwin asked. “You were sleeping with him earlier in the afternoon, weren’t you? Could he have become jealous of Torre for having you?”
“Jealous – what of? I’m no one’s wife; no one owns me, I live as I wish. Why should Elias get jealous of me?”
“Elias left the inn while you were out with Torre. He scurried back in later. It could be that he followed Torre and murdered him. He had to drink some ales quickly to calm himself, or so some have reported.”
Lizzie stared at the knight as though he was mad. “Elias – kill? If you believe that, you’ll believe me when I say the sky’s green. This man here was the jealous one, not Elias. The baker just got lonely sometimes, and he’d ask me for company. No, Elias wouldn’t kill. This man was the one who wanted me all to himself.” She rose, gazing scornfully at the port-reeve, who stared back with a hurt surprise. “Anyway, I have work to do. I can’t sit here dreaming all day, and as far as I am concerned, I don’t want to sit anywhere near you, David Holcroft, ever again.” Spinning quickly, she flounced from the table.
“Now, David,” Baldwin said kindly. “I suppose you realize we have to know all about this? I can promise you that if it has no bearing on the killing, it will go no further.”
Holcroft gave a bitter smile. “Now Lizzie’s made up her mind, it’ll be all over the town. The Abbot’s bound to hear – and my wife.” He sighed.
“Well, Sir Baldwin, it’s a brief enough story. I was married when I was very young, and my wife is five years older than me. It was my father’s wish that we should be wed, for her father owned a good portion of land out toward Werrington, and that together with my family’s holding would have made a sizeable farm, but shortly after we married, my father died, and what with the debts he had at the time, the holdings were ruined. They had to be split up, and afterward there was less than when we married. Still, I gre
w to love her, and I was content.
“But lately she’s become reserved. It’s hard for me to get a word out of her, and at night she’s always tired, or has a headache. This has been going on for a good two months. Maybe it’s my fault. They say a man should beat his wife, but I never have.” He continued tiredly, “I’ve always worked hard at my trade, but three months ago she started complaining because she never saw me. I couldn’t stop, not with the job of port-reeve as well.”
There was a moment’s pause while Holcroft collected himself.
“I already knew Lizzie, and as you can see for yourself, any man would want her. Every time I saw her she asked how I was, and always had time to listen. She seemed to care. I suppose you could say I got infatuated with her. At first I’d come here for a quick drink on my way home, but recently I’ve been coming here just to see her. She takes an interest. It made her really desirable.” He took a long swallow of ale and met their eyes defensively.
“What did you argue about with Torre? Was it her?” Baldwin prompted quietly.
“No, Roger didn’t know about my feelings for her – Lizzie herself has told you that. No, it was the monk.”
“Monk? What monk?”
Hesitantly, Holcroft told of Peter and the near-fight with Torre.
“What was Torre on about?” asked Simon with incomprehension. “The Abbot seems a kindly man, not the sort to upset anyone.”
Holcroft gave him a hard look. “Robert Champeaux became Abbot here when the place was falling apart. The monks had no money, and everything they tried to do drained more of their resources until they were near desperation. Then Champeaux took over. All at once he found old papers which gave the Abbey certain rights, and he quickly took these up. He borrowed money, loaned money, made profits which he plowed back into new schemes, ever increasing the Abbey’s reserves. I believe he is an honorable man, and all he wishes to do is make sure that the Abbey is strong and protected for the future, but there are many who take a different view. They think he’s like all the others – simply lining his own pockets at the expense of all the townspeople.”
“And Torre thought that?” Baldwin probed.
“Yes. He thought the Abbot was victimizing him. Roger simply couldn’t understand that the Abbot would have treated anyone else exactly the same.”
“How was Torre treated?”
“Fairly enough. Roger was one of the Abbey’s bondmen – a serf. The Abbot is gradually letting men take on the land with leases for several years, because that way he can charge them annual rent but he can also get them to pay him extra with the amount they make. He was trying to get Roger to take on a lease, same as everyone else; the trouble was, Roger didn’t see it like that. All he could see was that he was being forced into a deal that would cost him many shillings a year to grow the food he depends on. That was why he hated the Abbot, and that was why he insulted him in front of the monk.”
“This monk you say was young Peter?”
“Yes. The boy is still a novice. He was happy to defend his master, just as any young squire or man-at-arms should. I don’t know how the Abbot would feel, but he should be grateful that one of his own would want to uphold his name and honor. Anyway, I had to stand between them and suggested the monk should leave before he got into a tavern brawl.”
“And Torre relaxed then?”
“No, Roger thought I was on the Abbot’s side and didn’t want to stay with me afterward. That was why he left me and went off with Lizzie.”
“Fine. So later, you went to wait at the door.”
“Yes,” Holcroft agreed heavily. “I saw Roger leave, and he pushed past me, sort of embarrassed. I just stood there until Lizzie came out. Then I went off home.”
“On your own?”
“I doubt whether anyone saw me. If they did, I wasn’t looking. I wasn’t in a good mood.”
“Why? You knew she was a prostitute,” Simon pointed out.
“I don’t know. Look, as I’ve said, my wife won’t talk to me any more, and Lizzie was sympathetic. You may think it stupid, just a puerile infatuation, but it felt real enough to me. Seeing her go off with Torre brought it home to me. I wanted to make her feel guilty, waiting there by the door. But I swear I had nothing to do with his murder.”
Baldwin nodded. “Now Lizzie has accused you of murder, you can hardly help in the inquest. Whatever we found with your help would be disbelieved. It would prejudice any findings.”
“You will have to tell the Abbot.”
“I will tell him nothing. All he needs know is that a woman from a tavern became hysterical and shouted your guilt. That is no proof, and I do not expect it to affect you. But it does put us in a difficult position. If we were to find the real culprit with your help, some might be willing to assume you had sought a scapegoat to protect yourself, and if people are prepared to believe that the Abbot is devious,” he held up a hand to stop the port-reeve’s protestations, “they might also spread rumors that an innocent was hanged to protect the Abbot’s man – if, that is, we ever do find someone to accuse.”
Holcroft nodded slowly. “In that case, I shall return home now. You can always contact me there.”
Simon watched as he stood and made his way out through the door. “Poor devil!”
“He’ll recover. Holcroft will soon pass on his responsibilities to another, and then he’ll have time to resolve things with his wife. All he can do now is go home, and that’s the one place he can never find any sort of peace. What it must be, to be caught in a loveless marriage.”
“It happens often enough,” said Simon, with the insensitivity of a man who loved, and was loved by, his wife.
“Yes,” Baldwin agreed, thinking of Jeanne’s bright smile. Somehow he was sure she could never be as cruel as Holcroft described his wife. He pushed the picture from his mind. “I think we should see to Elias now, don’t you?”
12
Edgar was sitting at a bench, a mug of ale in one hand, a small pastry in the other. He had an air of contentment. The knight kicked his seat. “Eating? I thought I told you to watch Elias?”
“He’s there,” Edgar said, pointing with his pie. “He’s not once been out of my sight.”
Baldwin looked. Elias was standing chatting to a bearded man and a friar. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”
As they approached, the bearded man faded into the crowds, but the friar remained. Baldwin walked straight up to the cook.
Elias stood resolutely. His face had taken on the same mulish aspect it had held before. “Yes, masters? Do you want to buy a pie now?”
“Elias, we have been to your house, and we found something in your yard.”
Baldwin watched him closely as he said this. If there had been even the faintest stiffening of his features, the most momentary movement of his eyelids or twitch of his hands, Baldwin would doubt his strengthening conviction that the cook was innocent, but there was nothing. If anything, Elias looked amused.
“Well, I don’t have to clear my yard when there’s a fair on. You can’t amerce me for that!”
“We found a head buried in your yard, Elias. Torre’s head.”
Elias caught at the trestle-top and gaped. “Torre’s head in my yard? Sir, I had nothing to do with it – I didn’t kill him. Why would I kill Roger? We never had a cross word. Why, even the night he died, I was sitting with him. Ask Friar Hugo here, he was there with us.”
Baldwin motioned to Edgar. “I’m sorry, Elias,” he said stiffly. “There’s nothing else I can do. With the body in your alley and the head in your yard, we have to arrest you. I do this with the Abbot’s authority.”
“Speak to the friar,” Elias begged desperately.
“Friar?”
Hugo had seen much of England on his travels, and he was wary of knights. Many of the men he had met who bore swords were little more than robbers themselves, and some openly committed felonies. Yet the tall, dark-skinned man before him looked different. There was no ostentation to his dress
, and Hugo got the impression that compassion, not violence, lurked behind the shrewd dark eyes.
“Sir, he’s telling the truth. I had gone to the tavern with Roger Torre, and this cook joined us.”
“Was this before compline?”
Hugo bobbed his head shyly. “Sir, I had been there some while with Torre, and by the time Elias arrived I had drunk quite a lot of ale.”
“Then it’s no good, Elias. Your alibi is too weak. Edgar, take him to the jail.”
Baldwin watched while the protesting cook was taken away, held between Daniel and his servant, and when they were out of earshot, he looked at the friar again. “Before you protest, friar, I agree. I don’t think he is a killer – but what will the mob think when they hear the head was found in his yard?”
“I see. It seems harsh to jail him just because of the mob doubting his word.”
“Better to be harsh now than see him hanged by hotheads,” said Baldwin. “And now, is there anything you can tell us about that evening? You say you were with Torre – did you see anyone threaten him, or overhear anything which might help us find the killer?”
Hugo gave him an apologetic look. “Sir, the ale in that tavern is very strong. I’m not used to such powerful drink, and for most of the evening I wouldn’t have been able to hear someone talking to me directly.” He quite liked the look of this knight, but he wasn’t going to speak of the other man – not yet. If he was wrong, Hugo didn’t want to see an innocent man sent to the gibbet on his evidence. And what evidence did he really have? Just the fact that he thought he recognized a face from years before.
No, he decided. He would wait and consider, and if he became certain, he would tell the knight. Not until then.
With a quick glance after the cook, he walked away.
Baldwin watched him go with a feeling of anticlimax. He was sure that the friar knew something, and that he had been close to telling the knight. “No matter,” he muttered to himself. “I will find out another way.”
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