Simon could see that Baldwin was smiling to himself with a kind of world-weary amusement. Then he turned, peering at Sir Hector with a sudden sharpness. “Were you in here before your meal?”
“What is this? The lad was found with my silver on him! What’s the point of these questions, Sir Knight?” Sir Hector spat, but Baldwin gazed at him imperturbably.
“The point, as you so elegantly put it, is this: you are asking me to believe that a single man could have taken all the silver from this room on his own, without a horse or assistance from another, when I have heard it took three men to carry your chest when full. I find that hard to swallow. Either he removed it piecemeal over a period, or he had an accomplice. If he took it over a period, it would be helpful if I knew how long he had to do so.”
“Ah…”
“And that means I have to know how long this room was empty before you discovered your loss.”
“It doesn’t matter. We – you – have him. Interrogate him. He can give you the answers to your questions.” A trace of acerbity had returned to his voice. He stood, and the interview was over; the knight and his friend were no longer welcome.
“I will ask him, of course.” Baldwin gave a smile in which there was not a hint of warmth. “And if there is something interesting which leads from that, I shall let you know, naturally.” He nodded to Simon and made his way to the door.
The men had begun to filter back. Those who were less keen on the search had speedily decided to return, and the hall was already raucous with their laughter and swearing. Simon noticed one group grow quiet as he and Sir Baldwin appeared from behind the tapestry and crossed the floor. He thought he recognized the two who had caught Cole among them.
Baldwin had seen them too. They were being feted as the heroes of the moment, and no doubt the story of the capture was being retold to an appreciative audience, with plenty of embellishments. On a whim, he motioned to one of the serving-girls and asked for ale. “Is your master here? It is Paul who owns this inn, isn’t it?”
She gave him a bright smile. Cristine was a buxom, cheerful girl, almost thirty years old yet remarkably untouched by her life as servant and companion to travellers through Crediton. Pushing an errant lock of hair back above her forehead, she nodded helpfully and disappeared into the buttery. Soon she returned with Paul, directing him to their table before making off to fill more pots.
The innkeeper wore a harassed frown. His day had been, quite simply, awful. The headache his wife had woken with had not eased as the guests began to get up and demand ale and food, and Paul had felt himself flagging quickly before noon, exhausted by lack of sleep and the unaccustomed effort. His wife had disappeared in the early afternoon, snapping that she’d had enough and couldn’t carry on without a rest, but Paul had to struggle on, enlisting the help of Nell and Cristine. Sarra was either refusing to answer her door or had gone out.
He had hoped that Sarra might want to try to help when she knew how pushed Margery was, but the strain of serving so many people soon forced her from his mind. Occasionally, as he stood waiting for the ale to flow from the cask and fill the jug, he remembered to curse her, but for the most part he was too busy.
He gave his most servile smile to the knight. “Sir, you wanted me?”
“Innkeeper, you look dreadful!” Baldwin gave him a faint, understanding grimace of sympathy. “These guests are working you hard?”
“Yes, sir,” said Paul, and gratefully accepted the knight’s invitation to sit. Checking briefly that there were no men complaining, he watching his two serving-girls for a moment. “But at least we have a full inn.”
“You have been here all day, serving these men?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve not had time to sit until now. Missed my lunch, and all. It’s been mayhem. And last night we didn’t get any sleep hardly.”
“The men stayed here all the day, did they?”
“Most of them. Running me and the girls off our feet.”
“I suppose you’ve hardly had time to notice whether anyone left the inn at any time? Or if someone – a stranger – came in?”
Paul’s eyes snapped to the knight’s face. “If you mean, did I see who went and stole the silver from Sir Hector – no, I didn’t.”
“Is there any other way into his rooms apart from through that door?” Baldwin asked, jerking his head toward the tapestry behind the dais.
The innkeeper shrugged. “There are windows in all the rooms, though no one can get in through them. They are kept shuttered during the day – Sir Hector’s orders. Never mind the heat. I suppose he was justified, seeing what’s happened.”
“They are barred?”
“Yes. All of them.”
“The windows open out onto the street?”
“Most of them. Some, like those in his bedchamber, look out over the stables and yard.”
“And none, I think, open on to another alley or road?”
“No, the far end of the solar part of the hall was sold some years ago, before I came here. That’s all owned by the butcher now – Adam.”
“So someone would have had to open all the shutters and pass the silver out at the front or back, or carry it through the hall itself?”
“Yes, sir, but they’d have to be brave to take it through the hall.”
“Why?”
“Because some of the mercenaries were there all day. It would have been hard to get past them, and they all know Sir Hector hasn’t given permission for anyone to enter his rooms since he got here. I was only let in once, when I made sure he was comfortable just after he arrived.”
Baldwin scratched his ear. “Could anyone have spent time outside his window without being seen?” he hazarded.
“What, in the yard? No.” Paul was definite. “There’s no possibility of that. The yard’s in use all day, and even at night people are always going backward and forward. The girls have rooms out there above the stables, and they walk past those windows regularly when they go to the cookshop for pies and so on.”
“You don’t make your own food here?”
“Some of it, but not all. It’s bad enough trying to brew ale enough for this number. We’ll have a roast, a stew or pottage for guests, but when it’s like this,” he waved a despairing hand at the swiftly filling room, “well, we have to get extra from the cookshop. We couldn’t cope otherwise.”
Baldwin nodded. “So they would be passing by that window throughout the day?”
“Yes. Someone would have noticed if there was a man loitering.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” Baldwin said mildly.
“Eh?”
“Did you see all Sir Hector’s silver?”
“Yes. He had the whole of the top of the cupboard filled, and a couple of shelves beneath.”
“How could one man carry all of that out? Even if he had a confederate in the yard it would be quite a task, wouldn’t it?”
“I see what you mean. He’d have needed a friend outside and a wagon or something.” Paul looked around. The serving-girl was passing not far away, and she caught his eye. She finished pouring a pot of ale, slapped at a hand which was trying to lift her skirt, and joined them.
Simon glanced at her sourly, then sighed and rubbed his temples; while Baldwin wanted to keep interrogating the innkeeper, he felt duty-bound to remain with his friend, but this endless series of questions was surely irrelevant. The boy had been caught carrying some of the stolen plate, and he was a recent, unknown recruit to the band, with no loyalty or commitment to it. It was plain as a hog in a goldsmith’s that he must have committed the robbery, and tomorrow they would begin to question him about his accomplice. Cole would answer or suffer the penalty. There was no point in this, Simon thought irascibly, and he had to bite back a few choice words.
Cristine looked at them, her cheeks dimpling. It was her duty to remain calm and happy, to make men relax and forget their worries, and she was good at her job. Under her look, she saw the knight shift uncomfortably on his seat, and she concentrated on him. He looked shy, she thought. And rather sweet.
Baldwin coughed. “Cristine, we’re just trying to work out how the missing silver could have been removed from Sir Hector’s room, because with so many men in here all day, no one could have carried it through the hall
