those who noticed him, he looked the same as usual: cheerful and calm, if in more of a hurry than normal.
John was playing nine men’s morris, or large merrills. It took all of his concentration to win at this. He was fine with other games, but trying to win seven of his opponent’s pieces while avoiding capture himself always made him frustrated. This game was not helped by the side betting. He caught sight of Henry walking from the room, and their eyes met. Seeing Henry jerk his head, John nodded quickly before returning to his game.
Outside, Henry waited for his accomplice with his nerves fraying. It seemed like hours before John could wind up the game and leave the hall, and Henry spent the time starting at every sound as he walked up and down in the yard, trying to appear unconcerned. “What in God’s name have you been doing? Didn’t you see I had to talk?”
“What’s the problem? I couldn’t just get up and leave when there was money on the table; everyone would have known something was the matter. I came as soon as I could.”
“It’s not soon enough,” Henry said, and for the first time John saw the naked fear in his eyes.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Not here. Come with me.” Henry took his arm and led the way round behind the stables, to a shaded spot in the back lane where they could speak unobserved. “Sir Hector’s just had me in and was asking me about Wat.”
“Does he reckon Wat could have taken all the silver? The old bastard’s not got the sense.”
“No, he doesn’t. What he thinks is: Wat took the tunic he’d collected from the shop to Sarra and tricked her into thinking it was a present for her. Wat told her to get changed into it, expecting Sir Hector to murder her when he saw her wearing it. He probably thinks Wat killed her when his original plan failed.”
“Do you really think he could believe Wat killed her?”
“Yes. Right now, anyway. But if he talks to Wat, we’re dead.”
“He’d never…”
“He’s halfway there already. Just now he asked me if I’d ever plotted against him.”
“Christ Jesus!”
“Yeah.”
They both contemplated their immediate future for a minute. John said, “We’d better get to Wat and silence him before he can say anything.”
“That’s what Sir Hector just told me to do – kill him, but what good’ll that do us? You saw him talking to the bailiff’s servant. Other men heard what the fool said. If he suddenly dies, people will soon put two and two together. The fact that Sir Hector told us to won’t protect us. Anyway, we were seen going to Sir Hector’s room and it wouldn’t take much to guess we might have knocked her out. No. We’ve got to get away. Right away.”
“What, leave the team now? Go away for good?”
Henry nodded glumly. If only John hadn’t killed the bitch, there wouldn’t be a problem, but now things were getting complicated. Henry had knocked her out as soon as he had seen her in the storeroom dressed in that damned tunic, and ever since then their plan had gradually unravelled like a cheap shirt. Stabbing her was unnecessary. She hadn’t seen them – she could have been left there in the trunk for as long as they wanted, and no one would have cared. But once John had stabbed her, their chances of being able to enjoy the rewards of their theft were reduced to nothing. It wasn’t Sir Hector, for he could hardly care less about the death of a serving-girl; he cared far more for the loss of his silver. No, it was the local Keeper, the interfering bastard! He seemed determined to find out who had taken her life. Glancing at his friend, Henry had to bite back his bitterness. John had only done what he should have done himself. It was better not to leave witnesses. It was just a shame that this time they would have been better off leaving the girl alive.
“Come on,” he said. “This is what we’d better do.”
That evening Simon found it hard to relax. The evening meal was heavy for a fast day, with fish fresh from the stew ponds, and barnacle geese roasted with herbs and spices. Peter Clifford was not stinting in his efforts to appear in the best light possible before his Bishop.
“Goose?” Stapledon asked, sniffing at the aroma as the panter cut fresh trenchers and the carver sliced up the fatty, crisp and tender meat. He nodded and smiled at the page who held the bowl of hot, scented water for him to wash his hands, and then dried them on the towel while Peter washed.
“Barnacle goose,” Peter agreed.
“Some say that they are not fish,” Stapledon observed, and Peter was shocked.
“My apologies if it is not to your taste, my lord, but barnacle geese are fish. They live in the sea, growing from a worm. If you want I will have it removed and…”
“I think that would be a cruel waste of God’s plenty, and as you say, they are considered by most to be fish. It smells far too good to be thrown away.” He turned to Baldwin. “Have you enjoyed a productive day, my friend? Are you any nearer to finding who took the life of that poor girl?”
Baldwin dried his hands and leaned back. “I do not know who killed her yet, but I am suspicious of Sir Hector.”
“Ah, yes. Sir Hector,” said Stapledon, and sighed. “I wonder if he ever was knighted by an honorable man – all too often these leaders of wandering bands of soldiers call themselves ”Sir“ when it takes their fancy. This man’s sole claim to authority, I fear, is his ability to kill.” He broke off while grace was said by one of the canons. “And it is all too natural to suspect someone who can treat life as something to be ended when it suits, rather than a gift from Our Lord which should be honored and respected.”
Baldwin found himself warming to the Bishop, but before he could speak, Margaret said, “I don’t understand what they are doing here. Why have they come to Crediton?”
“Apparently they were considering joining the King’s army, but the pay did not satisfy them,” Peter said. “I have heard that they were with the King’s representatives, but decided not to go north. I think they were told they would not be wanted.”
“I doubt that the King or his men would miss such as these,” Stapledon said with a smile, but Baldwin was not so sure.
“Whatever their morals or the complexion of their souls, one thing the King could rely on would be their ability to fight and strike fear into the hearts of the Scottish. They may not be gentle or kindly, but they are undoubtedly soldiers, whereas most of the King’s army are raw peasants, unused to killing, who are as likely to turn tail and bolt when the battle gets too fierce as remain. At least Sir Hector’s men would know when to stand and when to give ground.”
“If they weren’t bribed at the wrong moment to change allegiance,” Stapledon remarked lightly. “You almost sound as if you hold them in some esteem, Sir Baldwin.”
“Not exactly, but I have been in wars where similar men have shown themselves as brave as any, and where they have been as honorable as many of their seniors should be. One thing I have learned is not to take such men for cowards or fools. They are often forced into their way of life against their judgment and will.”
“They cannot be the equal of a similar troop of men with better morals and clean hearts, surely,” Stapledon said.
“My lord, I fear that if you are ever in a battle arrayed with numbers of the godly on the one hand, all pure in heart and living life to Christ’s own principles, who are nevertheless matched on the other side by trained mercenaries like Sir Hector’s men, all well-versed in warfare and combat, you should look to your armor and ensure you have a fleet-footed destrier nearby. The mercenaries, for all their loose living, will undoubtedly win.”
“I too have fought, Sir Baldwin,” the Bishop said coolly. “And you may be right, but sometimes it is better to die in a good cause than live for a bad one.”
“Of course,” Baldwin said. “But no matter how good you feel your cause to be, you are the more likely to win your battles with trained and expert soldiers.”
“Baldwin!” Peter expostulated. “Are you trying to deny the achievements of centuries of chivalry? The whole of society depends on the virtue and thence the power of our knights, and it has always been so, ever since King Arthur ruled.”
“What is chivalry? It is a method of making war, and sometimes it does not work. We learned that in Outremer, in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, where all too often the Saracens beat us, even when we were strong…”
“Ah, Sir Baldwin, I think you may not understand the problems there,” said the Bishop seriously. “Too many of the knights were ungodly and were motivated by the wrong things.”
