“Perhaps he was too unworldly…?” the Bishop murmured, but Baldwin smiled and shook his head.
“It will not do, Bishop. He had seen Sir Hector at close quarters for more than a day, and in any case, he knew of such men – his brother had died, and one who had known him had returned to tell Cole how he had died. Cole could not have been so stupid or naive as to have missed how dangerous Sir Hector was. It was one final piece of evidence which convinced me though.”
“What was that?”
“When I thought about it, there were two pairs of assaults. Cole and Sarra were struck by someone with a club or similar weapon, both hit in about the same place; Judith and Mary both had stab wounds in the back. The only different wounds were young Sarra’s: stabs to her chest from having a knife thrust down at her – so forcibly that the knife penetrated the cloth behind her. Cole and she had both been knocked out with blows to the left side of the head. It was not proof on its own, but it was quite conclusive when all the other points were taken into account.”
Simon rested his elbows on his thighs. “Cole was unlikely to have been the thief, and equally unlikely to have killed Sarra. If we accept that people would prefer to rob anyone other than a mercenary leader, who would have dared? Surely only another mercenary!”
“It is clear now what happened,” Baldwin said. “Henry and John knew Adam from the last time they were here. When they met and drank again, the two told the butcher how sick they were of their master’s overbearing manner. They had worked out the details of their theft in advance, and asked Adam if he would help them, but he refused. However, they knew something he didn’t: his wife was having an affair with their captain. Maybe they told him, maybe they didn’t; but he assuredly went home and found his wife in bed with Sir Hector, and that sealed the pact. He went back and saw Henry and John once more, and agreed to help them.”
“I expect they thought he’d just beat his wife, which was no more than they believed she deserved for her whoring around, and would agree to help them just so that he could get even with their master,” Simon said.
“Sir Hector trusted them most of all,” said Baldwin. “He told them he had an assignation with Mary that afternoon, and they made their plans accordingly. He went out, as they saw, and they visited his chamber a little later, on the pretext of seeing him about a horse. They unlocked the back shutters – it was more private than the front – and then left. Once they were outside again, while John stood guard, Henry climbed inside, opened the front, and began passing the plate out to the others. Adam was needed to repel unwelcome witnesses, and he managed it by eviscerating some animals. That, in the heat of the afternoon sun, was enough to scare everyone away. People in the streets tend to keep moving. They do not hang around in one place too much; they have errands to run, messages to deliver, or some other purpose. The men could pass the silver out, stow it in the wagon under sacks or something, and remain undiscovered.”
“And when they were done, John helped Henry out again,” said Simon, “before they went inside once more to lock up the shutters.”
“Meanwhile, Wat had given the dress to Sarra to try on. He was hoping it would anger his master so much that Sir Hector would kill her – his rages were known well enough – but she arrived too early. Henry knocked her out and stuffed her into the chest to hide her.”
Simon nodded. “But while they were outside, before they could get back in to lock the last shutter, Wat entered. He was hoping Sarra would be dead. He had given her the dress, taking it to her room and letting her think it was a present from his master, knowing it would enrage Sir Hector to see it on another. Wat was sure the captain would do for her.
“He was acting as servant to Sir Hector, so he was often in and out of the solar, fetching things from chests. That day, he went to the chest and there he found the girl. I suppose he must have been confused at first, staring down at her and wondering what she was doing there, but I imagine he quickly thought that his master had put her there for some reason. It was a heaven-sent opportunity. Sir Hector had not killed her – but everyone would think he had! Just to make sure, Wat was prepared to spread the story of how angry Sir Hector would have been to find his dress on another woman. So he stabbed her, and slammed the lid down.”
Baldwin continued: “All this time Adam was outside, keeping an eye on things for his friends to make sure they were all right. He heard Wat in the room before Henry and John closed the shutter at the back, and assumed it must be Sir Hector. When he heard about the murder, he was sure Sir Hector had done it.”
“But in that case, why did he not merely tell you?” Stapledon frowned.
Baldwin shrugged. “I think he saw a way of disposing of his wife at the same time. How else could he get rid of the woman who had cuckolded him? It must have seemed an inspired plan to kill Mary and put the blame onto Sir Hector.”
“When did he kill his wife?”
“I have no idea. Probably during Tuesday. He was heard rowing with her then. She has certainly been dead some days.”
“Where could he have hidden her?” Stapledon wondered. “It is not easy for a man to conceal a corpse for long.”
“It is easier for some than for others,” Baldwin smiled dryly. “For example, Adam had a cool room to store his meats and carcasses. His apprentice has been refused permission to enter it just lately. I think we can assume that her body was secreted there for a few days.”
“The only question remaining is, who killed Cole’s brother?” the Bishop said.
Baldwin allowed himself to sink down further in his seat. “I am glad I have no jurisdiction over that matter. The death – if it was a murder – happened over the sea.”
“But do you know who did kill him?”
“I have little doubt it was Henry and John. According to others, they profited by his demise, but equally he may well have fallen in the battle. I fear I do not care: he was a mercenary himself, and knew the risks of joining such a company.”
“So,” the Bishop sighed, “we are left with the poor victims of this series of tragedies.”
“You are thinking of Rollo?” Simon asked tentatively.
“Yes. The poor lad needs to be looked after.”
Baldwin frowned. “I suppose we might find a place for him.”
“But we have a solution here,” Stapledon exclaimed.
Simon drew a deep breath. “I am afraid not, Bishop. Much though I’d like to help, I fear I cannot take the lad with me.”
“But…”
“No, we have lost a son, and it would be cruel to expect an adopted boy to take Peterkin’s place. He would upset us whenever he misbehaved or got something wrong, and if he was good and obedient, he’d be doing no more than what we’d expect. His life would be a misery, with no comfort or joy.”
“Simon, I think…”
“And I wouldn’t be prepared to allow Margaret to suffer it. Every time she looked at his face she would be reminded of her ordeal today, and that’s a slow torture I’m not going to expose her to.”
“Bailiff, if you would let me speak,” Stapledon smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of forcing the lad on you. I had thought of a much simpler solution – I shall take him to Exeter with me. He may be useful in the kitchen or stables, and if he shows an aptitude I can teach him. Who knows? If he shows any promise, in years to come he might be able to go to my college at Oxford. He can be assured of food and drink and shelter in any case.”
Simon sagged with relief, “Yes, yes. That would be perfect.”
Stapledon nodded happily, but then a small frown crossed his brow. “I wish I knew why that murderous fool had to kill Judith in the first place. It was such an evil act! How could he deprive Rollo of his mother, purely to create a spurious connection with Sir Hector in the hope that it would lead us to arrest him?”
“I think it might be simpler than that,” Sir Baldwin said gently. “You recall I said that people tend to hurry along a street? Well, there is one class which does not.”
“What do you mean?”
Baldwin took the jug and topped up his goblet. “One group in particular will stand in a certain place for a long time every day: beggars. Judith may have spotted something odd on the afternoon of the robbery, and when she heard of the theft, realized that she actually knew someone who had been involved. We shall never know for certain, but she may have mentioned the butcher to Sir Hector when we saw him knock her down. He might have thought she was threatening him. I have often noticed that guilty men hear what they expect to, rather than what
