The Templar's Cross: A Medieval Mystery (The Sir Law Kintour Mysteries Book 1)

by J. R. Tomlin

  The fifteen men of the assize filed through the door held open by the sergeant and proceeded solemnly to the enclosure. A buzz of speculation went through the chamber. Sir William rapped on the table, and the clerk jerked erect from dozing, almost knocking over his inkhorn. Once the sergeant climbed the steps to the dais and shouted for silence, Sir William briefly reminded the assize of the verdicts they were expected to bring and asked who would speak for them.

  The burly hammersmith who had questioned Law took a step forward. “I shall, my lord. Androu Gray, maister hammersmith.”

  “And what has the assize found on the first death, Androu?”

  “We’re agreed that it is Duncan Kintour, and the death was foul murder by stabbing.”

  “Gey well done, my good men. And do you agree to who saw to the death?”

  “No, on that we could not. Two thought that it was yon Sir Law but the rest of us held that there was no way to ken who had done the deed.”

  Law sucked in a breath of relief as a hubbub started up and everyone in the room seemed to turn to mutter about the verdict. The sergeant shouted for order. It took several shouts but after a few minutes the din quieted.

  “Keep silent or I’ll clear the room except for the assize,” Sir William said. “Now, Androu, what is the verdict on the second death?”

  “We do not ken who is he, but most of us think he is an Englishman. Some have whitish hair like thon. It is obvious how he died, by murder from having his throat slit.” The smith frowned toward the draped corpse. “But it is a different kind of stroke from behind, but most like by a dagger. It could have been the same or mayhap not. We dinnae ken enough to say who was the killer.”

  Sir William lunged to his feet, scowling. “The king expects me to keep peace in this burgh.” He glared about him. “If anyone kens more of this matter, they had best come to me with it.”

  There was a general muttering of disappointment at the lack of excitement in the verdict. Law suppressed an unwise grin, a feeling of dizzy lightness coursing through him. Sir William motioned to the sergeant and, after a whispered few words, thanked the assize for their service.

  “Hardly worth getting wet to come,” Wulle muttered, turning to join the stream of men leaving.

  Cormac tilted his head toward the doors but Law patted his shoulder. “I’ll join you in a while.” He shouldered his way through the moving stream of gossiping men toward the sergeant, who was handing each of the men of the assize his coin as a fee. Crossing his arms, Law watched everyone leave until the hubbub began to subside. “It seems to me…” This might be a mistake. He shouldn’t call attention to himself in this matter, but he owed Duncan at least this much, so he continued. “It seems to me that whoever that was, he had most likely been in Perth long enow to find a room. So someone must know who he was.” He couldn’t risk their knowing he had been searching before Duncan’s death. “But someone would remember a man with such unusual looks.”

  The sergeant hawked and spit into the reeds on the floor. “Aye. But he’s dead and anon buried. I dinnae have men to waste time finding out his name.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though if you ken more than you’ve admitted, the sheriff will have your skin for it.”

  “I don’t, but I do think finding out where he stayed might lead to whoever killed him.”

  “Most likely it was a thief frightened away by a passerby. Anyroad, I shall look about to see if anyone kens who the blond-haired man was.”

  “It might keep the sheriff happy.” Law nodded, carefully courteous without groveling. “Good day to you, Sergeant.”

  Law walked slowly down South Street into Meal Vennel to Cullen’s scabrous inn, where an ale stake leaned into the street. A rickety sign painted with a flagon creaked as it swung from the stake. He pushed open the door and entered the murky room that stank of peat smoke and spilled ale.

  When Law closed the door, Wulle was wagging his chin to a heavy shouldered, red-bearded man, probably sharing the morning’s tidings.

  Cormac had taken his usual place well away from the draught from the door and was strumming his harp. He waved to Cormac on his way to a table in a corner and sat with his back to the wall, gaze on the men bent over their cups. There were no strangers, though he noticed the man Wulle had named as the ratcatcher with his face half-hidden by a mug. There was no Lord Blinsele. If he was to collect the rest of his pay, he’d best find the man and report de Carnea’s death though it brought them no closer to Blinsele’s lady wife—if that was indeed what the man was seeking.

  Law took a sip from his cup, and worked his shoulders to loosen the tension. He hadn’t been sure they wouldn’t try to blame the murders on him until the assize brought in a verdict. Yet that still left a mystery that made his fingers twitch. Whoever had murdered Duncan, perhaps for having discovered something in watching the monastery, might decide it was best if Law was out of the way as well. Law would not be easy to kill any more now than he had been on the field in France, but better to look trouble in the face rather than have it sneak up on you. That way of living had been what had kept him alive this long.

  Cormac hit a louder note to gain silence. When the men looked up, he softly sang:

  As I was walking all alone,

  I heard twa blackbirds makin’ a moan.

  The one untae the other did say,

  Where shall we gang and dine the day, O.

  Where shall we gang and dine the day?

  It’s in behind yon auld turf dyke

  I wot there lies a new slain knight;

  So we may make our dinner swate. O

  So we may make our dinner swate.

  Ye’ll sit on his white neck-bone,

  And I’ll pick out his bonny blue eye

  Wi’ one lock o’ his golden hair

  We’ll thatch oor nest when it grows bare, O.

  We’ll thatch oor nest when it grows bare.

  Law snorted to himself. Cormac loved to sing of the horrid fall of knights, especially within Law’s hearing.

  Wulle hurried over with a pitcher and two cups. If the man was hoping for more gossip to share with his customers, he would hope in vain. Law tossed a groat onto the table. “Let the lad moisten his throat. Even though he’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

  The innkeeper sat heavily down and filled the two cups for them, but he waved to his wife to bring another. “A shame about your friend,” he said with an avid look about his eyes. “The two of you talked to that stranger before he went out, and now your friend is dead. Seems gey suspicious, you ken, some stranger like that coming to seek you out.”

  “Mere chance. A man thinking of hiring new guards would not then turn about and kill one of them for no reason.” In truth, he could think of no reason why the man would murder someone he had just hired, though it wasn’t impossible.

  “Ach. I suppose not.” His eagerness faded but he said, “Do you think they’ll ever discover who the other dead one was?”

  “I dinnae think they’ll bother to try to find out.” Law breathed a laugh through his nose. “No profit in it.” True, Law could have given them a name, though he had begun to wonder if it was a true one. Since it would not reveal the man’s killer to know that he’d been seeking someone found murdered, he’d keep his tongue between his teeth. He’d not uselessly risk his neck.

  “Aye, and they’ll be strictly tasked with keeping peace in the burgh since there’s trouble afoot.” Wulle lowered his voice and looked around but paid Cormac no attention as the man joined them. “The king has become right nasty to lords who don’t keep the peace. One of the Campbells stole an old woman’s cow, claiming it for his own, and even nailed horseshoes to her feet when she threatened to go to the king.”

  “The king heard of it?”

  “When King Jamie got word, they say he had the Campbell dragged to a dungeon, where he yet sits.”

  Law leaned back, with a skeptical huff. “Do you think that it’s true?”

  “They say so. And he’s right fond o
f Perth, stays at Blackfriars for every parliament he calls. Besides, now he’s arrested his uncle for treason, so he’ll be even more determined to keep peace here in Perth, so the sheriff will be keeping the king sweet.”

  “He’s arrested Albany, you mean?” Law’s mouth tightened. This would certainly mean fighting, perhaps even open rebellion. With the king returned to Scotland so recently… Law shook his head. It would be chaos for the country if the king were overthrown.

  Dave the ratcatcher had edged close to the table. Both hands were wrapped around his horn cup and his face buried in it, but Law was sure the man was listening.

  “What’s to do?” Law demanded. There was something about the man that made the back of his neck prickle. Odd that since Duncan’s death, everywhere he went the man seemed to be there.

  The man bobbed his head at Wulle. “Just about to ask if he wants me to take me dog to the storage room.” He nudged his brown, rough-coated terrier with a boot that was little more than rags. “We’ll see no rats be in the oats and barley.”

  “No need to listen to our talk to do that,” Cormac said, but the ratcatcher gave him a cringing shrug.

  The blue eyes under his greasy hair were taking everything in, and there was a wry twist to his thin lips.

  Wulle held up a hand. “I’ll give you a pence for any rat you kill but only a fresh-killed one, mind. I’ll not be cheated with dead ones you sneak in.”

  The ratcatcher tugged his forelock and, terrier at his heels, slinked towards a door that led to the back, where Wulle had a storage shed.

  The innkeeper shrugged. “I ken of no harm in him except he’ll claim to have caught more than he did given the chance.” He took a pull on his mug before he leaned toward Law. “The Duke of Albany is the king’s prisoner along with two of his sons.” Wulle lowered his voice even more. “And they say Albany’s youngest, Fat John, is raising an army in the west. It’s outright rebellion but if the Douglas and the Earl of Mar are siding with the king…”

  The new Earl of Douglas would be fighting at the king’s side. For a moment, Law squeezed the hilt of his sword, his mouth twisting. Here he was, stuck like a merchant in Perth because of his curst leg. Yet Douglas knew Law was a good man in a fight. It was not fair, but when had dukes and earls ever been fair?

  Cormac took the cup that Wulle handed him and filled it. “As long as they’re not fighting here, what has it to do with us?” He took a long draught of the ale. “Kings, dukes, and earls are no business of mine, except in songs.”

  Law’s laugh felt like bitter dregs. “Nor mine anymore, it would seem.”

  Wulle raised his eyebrows. “So that lord is not going to take you on?”

  “All talk.” His business was his own and he’d certainly not share it with a gossiping tavern keeper. “When it came to it, he decided he had enow guards. Anyroad, if there is to be fighting, someone must have room in their tail for a lordless knight, mayhap even one with a limp.” He drained his cup. “I think I’ll have a word at the guesthouses and feel out if anyone is looking, since my guest yesterday was a waste of my time.”

  “Who else forbye Douglas and Mar do you think will ride with the king?” Wulle asked.

  Law made his face wooden though his stomach was bile. “I dinnae ken. But I must find a way to pay my keep, so I’m off.”

  4

  Beyond the gray frame of the city walls, the weather was dreary with clouds strung from the distant hills like funeral shrouds. Shops of two or more stories towered over the rough paving stone of the street, cheek by jowl. Their outthrust upper stories frowned down at him, indifferent to the murders of yesterevening. His thoughts were so fixed on untangling the skein of events that he nearly stumbled over a granite paving stone fixed before the hostelry. He caught himself with a hand on the stone wall of the place and shook himself. Woolgathering could earn him a blade in his belly.

  Reidheid’s Hostel was near the kirk-end of South Street, a better neighborhood than where Law made his home, not a surprising place to bide for a man with good Scottish pounds in his purse who also did not want it noised about that he was in Perth. It was an imposing stone building with a stable and yard. Inside, he sat by the fire and stared up the stairs to where he hoped to find his erstwhile employer, more than curious about how the man would take the news of de Carnea’s death and if he’d want to continue the search for—whatever he searched for.

  When Law spotted the middle-aged hostel keeper, round of face and tidily dressed beneath a clean apron, he signaled the man and ordered a cup of the best malmsey. When the man returned with it, Law put a merk on the table and held it down with a forefinger.

  “Aye, sir. Is there aught that you need?”

  “I am seeking an old friend who I believe may bide here. He has dark hair with a touch of gray and a beard, in his thirties and middling height.”

  “I suppose that might be Maister Wrycht in the first room upstairs.” The hostel keeper gave a side-glance to the stairs and then down to the coin under Law’s finger. When he turned back to Law, he lowered his voice, bending closer. “He paid me merk to bring him any message that came for Lord Blinsele.”

  “Good,” Law said with a smile and lifted his finger from the coin. “I’ve been in France for too long and lost track of many of my friends, so I’m right glad to find him.”

  The man palmed the coin with a nod of his head. “I hope it’s who you seek, sir. Would you like a meal, mayhap?”

  “No, I thank you. I’ll just enjoy your excellent wine.”

  He sipped it as the man left. In a far corner, a minstrel tucked his vielle under his chin and began to bow a tune as Law emptied his cup. He took a deep breath and looked around. No one was paying him any heed so he slipped up the stairs, loosening his sword in its sheath.

  Law knocked. When no one answered, he hammered harder. The man who had called himself Lord Blinsele opened it at last, dressed only in hose, linen shirt and unfastened doublet. His eyes widened and a flush traveled from his neck up his face.

  Law gave a half bow and said, “Good day to you.”

  At the pleasantry the man’s face looked calmer, but his look was still wary. He let out a heavy breath and said, “Come in, Sir Law.”

  The room was comfortable enough, with a peat fire on a small hearth and two simple wood chairs drawn up to a table nearby. Law sat in one facing the man. “Maister Wrycht.”

  The man sat, clasped his hands together, leaning his elbows on the table, and gave Law a frank, open look. “I had reason to be less than honest with you. Mayhap what you would consider good reason. Mayhap not. But reason, I assure you.”

  Law smiled and nodded politely, holding his tongue.

  “The story I telt you about my wife was a lie. You must have guessed that by now.”

  “Ach, that.” Law scratched his ear. “I admit that I ne’er much believed it.”

  “But if you knew it was not true—” His brows drew together in a deep frown.

  “I believed in your coins. You’re a good actor but not that good.”

  The man shook his head, still frowning.

  “I’ve spent my life in service to a lord of high degree.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You are not one and were paying too much for a simple job. But for the coin, I was willing to ignore it.”

  The man’s brow smoothed and he leaned back in his chair, examining Law’s face. At last he said, “You would still ignore it then? But you would want more coin, I suppose.”

  Law stopped him with a raised hand. “That depends…” He breathed a soft laugh. “Is your name Blinsele or Wrycht?”

  The man grimaced and said, “It is Wrycht. Johne Wrycht. Neither maister nor lord, if truth be telt.”

  “The truth I am interested in is about the murders that happened last night.”

  Wrycht stiffened. “I had nothing to do with them!”

  “Two murders within hours of our meeting in my room—do you think that I’m stupid, man? Can you tell me it was chance wh
en one was working for you and one the man you sent us to seek? You cannae expect me to believe that.”

  The lines around Johne Wrycht’s mouth deepened, his lips drawn into a thin line. He pushed back his chair to take a turn around the room, clenching and unclenching his hands. “No, I cannae tell you that. What happened was partly my fault, though I’ll swear on any saint that you name that it was not I who spilt their blood.”

  “De Carnea carried a dagger that could have struck the blow that killed Duncan. It may be that you misjudged that he was not dangerous, but that I’d not blame you for.” Law shook his head. “Duncan was a knight and well used to danger. Only someone he didn’t fear could have come close enough to kill him with a dagger thrust. And someone strong enough to kill in two fast strokes, for Duncan had no other marks on him.”

  The man turned to face Law, face creased with a frown. “Did you tell the assize who had hired you?”

  “No. I said I’m no tittle-tattler. It would have brought them no closer to the killer had I spoken, so I kept you out of it.”

  Wrycht seemed to deflate. “I need your help. I’ll pay for it. I have gold to give you.” His shoulders slumped; he flopped down in the chair placing his hands palm down on the table to stare blankly at them. “We were in Rome—had mutual friends. He had a plan to gain a great profit from this scheme, more than anyone could dream, but could not do it alone.”

  “How? I still must ken what this is about. There are two men dead. I’m not going further blind.”

  Wrycht’s gaze darted around the room, his hands twitching. After a moment, he shook his head. “That I cannot tell you.”

  Law slapped a hand down hard on the table. “Then there is no way I can help you.”

  “You are already in it. Can you truly walk away?” The man gave Law a sly look. “They might come after you next.”

  Shaking his head, he asked, “Did you truly not ken where de Carnea was?”

  “No. I needed to find him to discover what he had done with…what we were seeking. I needed to find out who he was meeting and where…” Wrycht chewed his lower lip.