The innkeeper was sitting at a trestle in his hall when they arrived, both flushed from the sudden warmth after their ride. He was not alone.
This late in the afternoon, the inn was filled with people after their day’s work. Farmers and labourers, local villeins and others lounged on the benches or stood near the fire. Round and portly, slight and thin, no matter what the drinker’s figure, all became silent at the sight of the knight and his friend. The black and brown dog followed, slinking quietly as if he realised the impact of their entry.
“I think we’ve been noticed,” said Baldwin quietly, almost laughing.
Simon could not find their situation amusing. His eyes were darting over the men in the room, trying to find a friendly face. There was none.
“Sirs! Please, come in and sit,” said the keeper, evidently trying to put them and the others present at their ease. Walking to them, he quickly led the way to a table in a dark corner, at the back wall, near the curtain to the screen, and pulled over a pair of chairs.
“Wine,” said Baldwin shortly, and the landlord nodded as he walked away. Pulling off his gloves, the knight looked around the room, and as he met the eyes of others there, they looked away. Gradually they began talking again under the firm gaze of the knight. The dog curled up under the table.
“Here, gentlemen, your wine. Warmed and spiced.” The innkeeper set the tray down and poured them each a large measure.
“Good,” said Baldwin, smacking his lips as he drew the mug from his mouth. “Ah, yes. Very good, innkeeper. Will you join us? Will you take a drink?”
The expression of harassed nervousness disappeared.
“Yes, sir, I’d like one. Here, let me…” He waved to a woman at the far end of the bar, a short and stout woman of a few years less than the landlord himself, whom Simon took to be his wife, and soon another tankard arrived.
“It seems to be a busy inn you have here, keeper,” said Baldwin appreciatively.
“Yes, sir,” said the publican, smiling as he looked around his empire. “Yes, we have some good customers here.”
“Are they all locals?”
“Yes, all of them. We don’t have many travellers at this time of year, not with the snow. That trade begins again later, when the spring begins.”
“I see.”
Simon leaned forward and set his pot down, resting his arms on the table, while Baldwin leaned back and gazed at the man sitting with them. The bailiff stared thoughtfully at his hot wine, then said, “We’ve been to see the de la Forte family. Do you know much about them?”
The innkeeper took a long pull of his drink and glanced from one to the other. “Not very much, no.”
“So you do not know about their business?”
He shrugged. “Merchants. They import wine. Well…”
“What?”
“Oh, I was going to say, they used to, that’s all. I think they’ve suffered more than most over the last few years. I used to buy my own stocks from them.” He waved an airy hand vaguely towards the far side of the room, where he kept his barrels. “But then, when they began to lose their ships, I had to go elsewhere. Now I buy it from…”
“So you know the father, then?”
“Old Walter? Yes,” he chuckled. “He still comes here every now and again, but not too regularly.”
“What is he like?”
“How do you mean, what’s he like?”
Before Simon could answer, Baldwin leaned forward conspiratorially, beckoning the landlord closer and peering round as if to make sure no one could overhear their talk. “You see, my friend,” he said quietly, “Walter has suggested, in a way, that perhaps I might like to invest in some of his ideas.”
“Oh yes?” The landlord’s eyes were large moons, bewitched by the confidence.
“Yes.” Baldwin peered over his shoulder, then beckoned again, settling farther forward on his elbows. “But… You will understand I’m a little suspicious, eh? I hardly know the man. What can you tell me of him?”
“Ah well.” He settled, convinced of his audience by the knight’s firm and steady gaze, and Simon could not help a small smile at the similarity between the innkeeper and a bird preening itself. He suddenly realized that this man spent the whole of his life having to listen to other people, and he was rarely asked to give his own opinion or express his feelings. He was enjoying the experience.
“I think he’s a steady sort of businessman, in truth. He’s been a merchant now for many years, and knows all the ways of the sea, and of Bordeaux in Gascony. Yes, if you want someone who knows his trade, he is good. He learned it while aboard ship as a boy, and soon managed to make enough to start to hire his own.”
Frowning, Baldwin said, “But surely he would have had to make a fortune to be able to charter his own ships? How could a man who began as a crewman make that much?”
“Well, sir, I’ve heard tell…” His eyes darted nervously towards Simon and back, then his voice dropped. “I’ve heard tell that he was in Acre. I think he helped bring people out of the city when the Saracens took it, and he could charge as much as he wanted for that.”
“Ah!”
In the dark, Simon found it difficult to read the knight’s expression, but he was sure that he caught an angry glint. He recalled the knight’s stories of how Acre had fallen, of how the seamen of all nations had appeared, like carrion crows to a corpse, demanding gold and jewels for taking people away to safety. After centuries of life in the Holy Land, families were ruined over a few short days, while the mariners became fabulously wealthy in hours.
“I think it was after that he managed to earn enough to hire his first ships. And build his house. But recently it seems he has suffered from the French pirates. I think he has lost several boats, and cargoes. That’s probably why he wants a new partner.”
“Yes, because he already does business with… Er… He told us his partner’s name. Who was it?” The knight snapped his fingers as if frustratedly trying to remember.
“Alan Trevellyn, over towards Crediton. Yes, they have both been badly hurt by the troubles. You know, there have even been rumours that Trevellyn has somehow been responsible for the failures. I’ve heard that he was in debt to the French and told them when his ships were leaving, so he could pay back his debts with his partner’s half of the shipment as well as his own.” He sat back, his head nodding knowingly.
“Where would you have heard that from?”
Winking confidentially, the innkeeper said, “Walter de la Forte’s son, sir. Stephen.”
“So you think I should be careful, then?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Yes, very careful.” His eyes flickered to the hilt of the sword at the knight’s waist. “It’s said he was quite a warrior in his youth, you know. That he was in many sea battles, not just at Acre, and that’s how he got all those scars. Yes, I hear he’s a bad enemy to have.”
“Thank you, my friend, I am very grateful to you. You have given me a great deal to consider.”
“Sir, I’m sure it’s an honour to help,” said the innkeeper, recognising the dismissal and rising slowly to clear the table. When he had finished and left them, Simon glanced over at the knight. “If he was in so many battles, that explains his scars.”
Baldwin nodded. “Yes,” he mused. “But there seems to be little to connect him to Agatha Kyteler apart from both of them being in Acre when the city fell – and that was over twenty years ago.”
“Well surely that itself is enough of a coincidence.”
“By the same token you might as well suspect me, Simon,” said the knight drily. “No, I don’t see it. But who did kill the old woman?”
“I don’t know. If Stephen de la Forte is telling the truth, it wasn’t Harold Greencliff, though.“
“No. No, his evidence shows that, doesn’t it?”
Simon nodded. “Yes, we will have to let him go. Although I would like to know why he tried to run away.”
“But if he refuses to tell us, we shouldn’t keep him imprisoned,” said Baldwin, “I will try to talk to him again tomorrow. Perhaps I can get him to tell us why he ran off.“
