with its three heavy sacks told its own tale.
Sighing, Peter went back inside to wait. Baldwin and Simon had arrived a little earlier, and the bailiff was out in the garden with his wife and daughter, while Baldwin was ensconced in a large throne-like chair, his fingers steepled together, head bowed as if in prayer.
Hearing the priest enter, he glanced up. “They’re here?”
“Yes.” Peter crossed the room to another seat. He had just settled himself when Stapledon’s men entered with their prisoners. Others trailed along behind and dumped their sacks with a merry clanking that sounded like hundreds of horseshoes clattering on the rush-covered stone floor.
Baldwin studied the two men for a moment, then gestured at the sacks. “Do you deny the theft now?”
Henry looked up sulkily. His eye was blackened, and his hair was matted over his forehead where he had been struck with a cudgel when he tried to make a run for it. He met the Keeper’s gaze with as much dignity as he could muster. “Look at us, sir. We’ve been beaten, bound, and hauled back here against our will, and…”
“Silence! Don’t think you can brazen this out. You were caught with the stolen goods on you, trying to sell them for the best possible price. I am sorely tempted to throw you to your captain for him to mete out justice, for I think he would be keen to exact his own price on you for your disloyalty. Tell me now, what happened on the day you stole all this plate.”
It was at this point that Simon entered. He walked in with Hugh, and they moved quietly along the wall to seat themselves at a bench a little way behind Baldwin.
Simon was surprised at the anger in his friend’s voice. He had often seen Baldwin interrogating people, but never had he witnessed the knight in such a state of complete cold fury. From where he sat he could not see Baldwin’s face, but the chilling tones obviously reflected his temper perfectly.
It was rare for Baldwin to feel like this, and he was himself a little shocked by his mood, but to his way of thinking, the robbery had sparked off the series of murders. He had an urge to blunt his bitter rage at so many pointless killings on the two men who had begun the chain of events.
“Sir, all we have done was take some things from our captain because he owed us money.”
“You robbed a man of his own possessions. And killed a girl, an innocent little girl who had done you no harm…”
“That’s a lie!” John Smithson declared hotly. “We never hurt her. She was just…”
“Shut up, you idiot! Do you want to wear a hemp necklace?” Henry snarled.
“You shut up. I won’t swing for what Hector’s done!”
“Tell us what happened, I am sick to death of the lies and innuendos I have been given by you two and the others in the gang. There have been three deaths now, and I want to know what’s been going on.”
“Three deaths?” Henry repeated. He was quieter now, his eyes wide with horror. “But we’ve had nothing to do with them.” Then, a little bolder, “They must have been after we left. You can’t say we did them.”
“I can say a lot,” Baldwin said pointedly. “I can say that one happened during your robbery, another on the night you left town. We don’t know when the third murder took place, but it was quite likely while you were still here.”
“Who? Who were they?”
“Sarra you know of. The night you left, a poor beggar woman called Judith was murdered in an alleyway, and today we have found the body of Mary Butcher.”
“Why would we kill a load of women we knew nothing about?”
“You knew Sarra,” Simon interjected. “You tried to rape her the night you all got here.”
“That wasn’t rape! We thought she was just a tavern-wench; we never thought she’d be worried. Anyway, we left her alone when Hector told us to.”
“But you wanted her, didn’t you?” Baldwin continued. “And you killed her later – from jealousy, maybe, or perhaps just because she was there and saw you stealing the plate.”
Smithson shot a look at his confederate. “No,” he said wearily. “That’s not how it was.”
His quiet tones were in contrast to Henry’s outraged protestations, and Simon breathed a little easier. While Baldwin had been examining the men, Simon had been unsure as to how the two would react, but John Smithson’s change of temper heralded a change in the wind for the pair.
“That’s not how it was at all,” he said again, his head downcast. “We had nothing to do with the killing. It was like this. We were here five or so years ago, staying in the same inn for a while. Me and Henry met Adam then, and we all got on. He was a bully man, keen on a joke and having fun, and had a good stock of comic tales. It was fine to sit up with a jug of strong ale with him of an evening. Of course, then he had been apprentice to his old master, who still has his shop in the shambles with the other butchers. Adam managed to get his new place three or four years ago.”
“Do you know how he managed to afford it?” Simon interjected.
“No, sir. But I could guess. Adam was never one to quail from risks if the money was good. He was always prepared to take a gamble if he could see profit, and I expect he won the money.”
“Or fooled someone into giving it to him,” Baldwin guessed.
“Maybe, sir. Anyway, Henry and me have been with Sir Hector for many years now. Earlier on it was fine, with good profits and the chance to rule ourselves as we liked, but things have been getting slack recently. Sir Hector’s become too easygoing. He used to be a strong man, able to bend anyone to his will, but times have changed. For the past year we’ve not won a single contract, and the money’s been hard to come by. It was late last year that we decided there was nothing worth doing in Gascony. We’d heard there were good sums to be gained out in Morocco, fighting with the Moors to protect their lands from their Eastern neighbors, but Sir Hector was against the idea, and others backed him up. So we set off to return to England.
“The grumbling began almost as soon as we landed at London. The prices there are insane! It’s a wonder that anyone can afford to live there, the way that the citizens have tied everyone into their guilds and clubs. Anyway, it wasn’t long before we heard about the war in the north, and the King’s new army, so we set off to join him.
“But even the King turned us down. For experience, for training, for determination, he could not ask for better troops, but Edward did not want us.”
“Perhaps,” Baldwin remarked, “he had heard tell that you had changed sides before.”
John stared with open astonishment. “But anyone would do that when his side begins to lose! It’s only common sense.”
Baldwin said nothing, eyeing him grimly, and the man continued defensively: “When Edward’s commissioners rejected us, the complaints became near to outright rebellion. Some of the lads were suggesting that the captain should be chucked. It was his responsibility to keep the men together, his job to find us new contracts, for there is no point to our way of life if we have no one who wants us, no one to pay for us. We might just as well be villeins in another’s army. And the trouble was, we were always seen to be loyal men of Sir Hector’s. None of the others trusted us because they thought we were with him.
“It came to a head some miles from Winchester, on our way back to the coast. We approached Wat to join his side. The last thing we wanted was to be killed for being too loyal to Sir Hector. But he refused to listen – denied any scheme to oust Sir Hector. So it was obvious we no longer had any safety in the company. We thought we’d better run – and the silver would make life easier for us.
“When we got back here, and met with Adam again, the idea of getting away seemed like the best one for us. If we stayed, we would get killed; if we left, we could find another company or do something else. Try farming, make a new assart: anything.
“We saw Adam on the way into town, and later that afternoon, he came to us at the inn and suggested we should meet the next night, when all the men would be a bit quieter. We couldn’t see him that night, because Sir Hector was set for a good banquet. As you know, our captain went out next morning, told us later he’d met with his woman again…”
“Mary Butcher,” Baldwin observed.
“Yes, sir. Like you say, Mary, Adam Butcher’s wife. We were horrified.”
“And you told Adam?”
“God’s blood, no!” The exclamation was too emphatic to be false. “Don’t you know what his temper is like? If we’d done that, Adam would have been in there straight away with a cleaver. No, we didn’t mention her at all.”
